5 comments/ 14670 views/ 22 favorites Freyas Saga Ch. 01 By: villanova THE SAGA OF FREYA AELFRETHE Ch. 01 In the days of old, when brave King Grim III reigned in consort with the wise and beautiful Queen Bliss, the sagas, which tend to disagree with each other, agree on one thing: for several years, the greatest warrior in the land was not a man but a woman, Freya, called Freya Aelfrethe for her nobility of bearing and her unwillingness to give quarter in battle. Freya was the daughter of Baron Hargest, and from her earliest childhood she showed no interest in traditional womanly pursuits such as weaving or cooking, but was out in the fields battling with the boys. Her height meant that she was as tall as, and more crucially had as long a reach with her sword-arm as, most boys; and she learned early on that she had to fight harder and better than them, if she wanted their respect. Freya grew into a tall, imperious young woman who wore her long, dark, greenish hair in two thick, rope-like plaits. Her wide mouth was grim and unsmiling, like her father's, and her dark grey eyes were sharp and clear. For a northern woman her skin was relatively dark, because unlike her brothers and sisters, her mother was not Baroness Fritha but a serving woman named Nayyam, from the south-lands, that Baron Hargest had impregnated. Despite Freya's illegitimacy, Baron Hargest treated her with no less love and respect than he did any of his other children. Baroness Fritha, too, was very fond of Freya, perhaps because Freya's mother had not survived the birth, but also because Fritha, who was admired throughout the land for her kindness, sympathy and intelligence, genuinely liked the tall, proud, headstrong girl, who could be touchy and oversensitive but who was also capable of fierce loyalty. Freya, meanwhile, adored her stepmother, and harboured a complex mixture of emotions for her father; fierce love and a desire to win his respect, mingled with a deep anger for the way he had used her mother. Baron Hargest, for his part, complained in private to Baroness Fritha that the only wrong step he had made had been to impregnate Nayyam in the first place. Once it had become clear that Nayyam was with his child, he'd been completely honest with his wife about his indiscretion, and hadn't needed her urging to give Nayyam a comfortable dwelling and a promotion to mistress of the cellar, a job in which she'd excelled. Indeed, for seven months, Nayyam had dwelt in the court of Hargest with great comfort and respect, and on the most cordial terms with both Hargest and Fritha. When she'd fallen ill, Hargest had obtained the services of the best apothecaries that his money could get, and when it had become clear that she could not survive the pregnancy, they had done all they could to ease her pain, and to reassure her that the child would be well looked after. Nayyam had gone to her death with great dignity and courage, and all were agreed that there was no way that the tragedy could have been prevented. Only Freya insisted on behaving as though Nayyam had been seduced and callously abandoned. Fritha, for her part, agreed entirely with her husband, but had the good sense to advise him not to point all this out to Freya, who was a walking cauldron of rage, and who wouldn't be able to listen to such things for years to come. So it was fair to say that, in spite of the reasonable and mature attitudes of her father, late mother and stepmother, Freya felt her own bastardy most keenly, and nothing could spur her into a berserk fury like the least allusion to it. She spent more hours training and sparring than any other warrior in the kingdom because, unlike her brothers, she felt her position in the world to be more precarious, and was the more determined to establish herself. And so it was that Baron Hargest gladly sponsored his middle daughter's efforts to be a warrior, giving her money to buy equipment and not insisting, like some of the other noblemen, that she spend a lot of time finding a suitable mate. In fact, as Freya grew to young adulthood, she spent no time at all in finding a suitable mate, with the result that she didn't find one. By the time she reached her majority at 21, she was an extreme rarity among young woman her age, in the north-lands, or anywhere else, for that matter; namely, a virgin. One of the peculiar things about Freya's rise to glory was that the other warriors, who had neither her skill as a fighter, her determination to win, her reckless personal bravery nor her principled insistence on only fighting on the side of any battle that was in the right, put it about that the secret of Freya's strength as a warrior was, in fact, her virginity. She was great, it was said, because she was so chaste. Sooner or later, some handsome man would win her hand and from the moment Freya lost her virginity, she would lose her supremacy as a fighter and revert to being a meek and compliant wife. Freya herself flew into a violent fury at the idea that her virginity was the sole reason why she was such a great fighter. She would point out that her ceaseless physical training, her ferocious mental discipline, her tireless study of war, strategy and combat, and her natural gift for fighting had a lot to do with it too. However, because in large part she shared the same basic belief system as all the men that she fought alongside, she did believe that her virginity was an essential component of her prowess. Being focused on fighting meant that she was never distracted by the handsomeness of her opponent. Being chaste, she never wasted idle time in fooling about with men (or anyone else) but spent her spare hours in training, study and self-discipline. The result was that, although she didn't think that she was a great fighter simply because she was a virgin, she had no wish to do anything that might jeapordise her glory. For glory Freya had, in great amounts. Aged only twelve, she killed the Black Hound of Eyfstir. At fifteen she was beating the boys of her age in every contest. At eighteen she was fighting in the front line and commanding troops in the field. At the age of only 24, she led an army against the barbarians that threatened the Moors of Arn, and after the same army lost the Battle of Syngin Wood, and half the troops announced that they would not follow a woman but would return home, she delivered the legendary Koningsholm Address, sometimes called the 'This is the True Battle' speech, in which she rallied the troops and sealed her own reputation as a general. Delivered at dawn on a wet and windy day while the army was eating what looked at the time like its last meal together, the mere transcript can't convey the effect it had on its hearers. All accounts agree that Freya refused all food, took only a mug of milk, drank it, and then stood on a rock and addressed the army in her clear, powerful voice: "Men of Hargest! As your leader, as your fellow warrior, as your sister, I would not lie to you. You would not let me. You would be the first to tell me that my words do not ring true, as you have not ceased to tell me during this campaign, because of my youth, because of my lack of my experience, and because of my sex. And for all the words you have thrown in my direction, I cannot blame you. I am young, I have but little experience of being a general, and I am a maiden. But as I love and respect you - as your commander, I cannot lie to you. This is our darkest hour. We have been defeated in the field. Yes, we of Hargest, we who were victorious on the fields of Skyrmallen, of Kannenberg, of Wudwotha. And it is bitter. I who lead you feel the shame of it most. To be defeated by barbarians, when we have seen such victories against our own kind. I know many of you carry glory from those fields. I myself fought at Wudwotha, though I was but eighteen, and I slew seven men. But now we stare defeat in the face. Let us not hide the shameful truth with fine words. I say again, men of Hargest, we have been beaten, and we have lost good men, whose like we will not see again. But, men of Hargest, I will also tell you this: the battle that we fought in the wood of Syngin was not the true battle. You say that I lie? Do you call it a true battle, when we have marched twenty miles and had to fight without camp or food, against a force five times our size, and the best we could do was to hold them off for three hours before retreating? That is not a true battle. That might have been a massacre. Instead it was a rout, and if you want to blame anyone that you were not killed but were pulled out of the field to fight again, then blame me. Yes, we have lost men, but most of our force stands here today. We left the field in shame, I will not deny it; and the shame lands most of all upon me. But we stand here, ready to fight again, and in that, I say there is no shame. But, men of Hargest, I am told that there are those of you who talk of going home. Who say that, under such-and-such a leader, of course we cannot win. Who refuse to fight under the command of a maiden. Because a maiden, I hear, has not the stomach for a fight, and that is why we left the field at Syngin Wood, where we should have stood, and if need be, fallen with our comrades. Men of Hargest, if these be your true thoughts, I stand here like one struck by thunder. And I think not that those who advise me are lying, for they are good men; but that they are being told lies, and being honest men, they take those lies as truth. Because, in the name of god, who would believe that the men of Skrymallen, and Kannenberg, and Wudwotha, should be so lily-livered as to think that they cannot win under the command of a maiden! Those men would win a fair fight, were they under the command of a milk-fed babe! I will not accept that ye have so little faith in yourselves that you cannot believe you can win a battle without a man in command! When the general sends you to war, is it he that does all the fighting, he that strikes every blow, he that takes every wound? No! It is you, men of Hargest! You who fight! And you who win! If the general knows his task, he will send you to fight where you will do most harm, and if you cannot win, it is the general's task to draw you out, that you may fight another day and win another day, and not die a senseless death! And that is why this is the true battle, men of Hargest! The battle you must have with yourselves, whether you will fight again or no. I say we can win this war, and do so with glory. I say we remain together and fight again, on ground of our choosing, and we defeat these barbarians and send them back to their own lands. I say it can be done, because I have seen what you can do. But if you do not think so, if you do not think that this task is within your power, then I, for one, forgive you. And I say this to you: Go, then. Go back to your hearths and your families, and your ploughs, and tell yourselves that you did your best, and that you fought the good fight. And tell yourselves that you used to be soldiers, but it was not for you. I will remain here. I will fight on. I will choose the ground, and I will choose the time, and having chosen them I will fight the barbarians by myself, if I must, yea, and die alone, if I must. But I would sooner die with you. Because mine has been the honour to fight with you. And even if I am wrong, even if we must all die, I would prefer to die with you, knowing that I was not wrong to think you great men. But one thing I will not do. I will never accept that the glory of Skyrmallen, of Kannenberg, and of Wudwotha, was as nothing, was a child's delusion, and that those men fought with such honour, such bravery, and such mastery, not because it became them to do so, but merely because their general had a cock. Men of Hargest, this is the true battle. Will you fight, or no?" It wasn't quite at this moment that Freya, the bastard daughter of Baron Hargest, became Freya Aelfrethe, the beloved commander and secret fantasy object of thousands of fighting men across the north-lands. That came six hours later, when Freya's expert deployment of scouts and her patience in waiting for the barbarian army to get where she wanted it led her and her army to a stunning success at the Battle of Bloody Ford, in which her force of 800 men trapped the bulk of the barbarian army in a narrow ravine and slaughtered over 3000 fighters and nearly as many camp followers. It was also a significant moment in the history of warfare in the North. Freya appealed both to the old code of honour, in which you fought for what you fought for because it was right, but she also reserved the right to not fight, or to withdraw from fighting, if she thought she had a better chance of winning further along the line. This was considered by many to be dangerously new-fangled, but it can't be denied that it brought her and her army several successes. In the end, though, the old world won; she became the victim of her own success. Discontent among the nobility forced Hargest to stop deploying Freya as a general. Her wrath was considerable, and for some times the Hargest castle was a place that received few visitors, because Freya in a sulk was a fearsome thing to behold. Aged only 25, she had a glittering military career behind her, and she was now having to loon around a castle wearing a dress and a wimple and pretending to be interested in suitors. Luckily, Queen Bliss responded to Baroness Fritha's increasingly anxious entreaties and persuaded her husband the King to accept Freya into his elite Council of the Star, a band of knights who were at a permanent state of combat-readiness, as well as being always up for a quest. As a member of the Council of the Star, Freya if anything antagonised the nobility still further, with her reckless eagerness to take the most difficult quests going. She slew the giant Morrigan. She defeated the wizard Pol Morgthu at the Battle of the Seven Hills. She outwitted the Sages of the Western Lands at the Conference of Methemtory, and she led a successful raid on the Monastery of St Unguent to recover the sacred Stone of Yrfrynd, which the monks had claimed was some sort of holy item in their benighted and god-deprived religion. And so, Freya became pre-eminent among the knights of the Council of the Star, in spite of the fact that she had never been formally knighted. This latter fact was chiefly due to two men, Sir Ulf Jansson and Sir Snorri Midlafsson. Ulf and Snorri did not like Freya. In particular, they did not like having to factor an ambitious, talented, highly energetic swordswoman and gifted strategist into the doings of the Council of the Star. There was also the matter that each of them had, on one or more occasion, tried it on with Freya, and each time they had both been more or less politely rebuffed. Usually less. And so it was the relative mediocrity of two otherwise competent knights, coupled with their mutual dislike of Freya, enhanced in each case by their joint humiliation at being rejected by her, together with a certain element of chance, for chance is always a silent but deep-pocketed player at the gaming table of human affairs - all these things combined to bring about the peculiarly terrible doom which befell Freya Aelfrethe, and which is the subject of the first part of our tale. It was, without doubt, a doom far in excess of anything that she deserved. It was also grossly and mortifyingly public. And it all began with a letter. *** The letter came to the king. It was from his agents in the south-east, and it informed him that disturbing reports had been arriving from the land of Casman, a rocky and little-visited place on the south-east border of the kingdom. It seemed that a cult had grown up in Casman which was increasingly aggressive; a religious cult, centred on a single village in the remote mountains, which had taken to sending parties of men to neighbouring areas and sacking villages. Having sacked the village, they would line up the inhabitants, execute a few men at random and announce that they were taking the tribute due to them of the most nubile young women in the village. The young women would be rounded up and taken away, and were never heard from again. The rest of the men in the village would then be instructed in the cult's bizarre religion, which seemed to centre on the worship of a mysterious being they called 'the Pantocrator'. The men and boys would be made to learn long passages of the cult's holy books, which were many, and no other books were allowed in the village schools. There were regular tests of their learning, and the penalty for not passing was, all too often, death. The women and girls at first considered themselves lucky for not having to learn the holy books, but they soon realised that this was because the cult believed that women were unable to read, and were only fit for cooking, cleaning and childbearing. This annoyed many of the women, but the one or two of them who protested their ill treatment would invariably suffer the same fate as the men who didn't do enough learning: a rapid and public death by beheading. The real trouble was that the cult was bizarrely popular in Casman, at least among the men, and was spreading. King Grim was most concerned about this, and believed that this was not a policy calculated to lead to good relations between Casman and his own land. He decided to send a party to Casman to talk to this cult, find out what was the real story behind the Pantocrator, and take whatever steps were necessary to ensure that the cult didn't threaten any more people. The King didn't take long to decide who should lead the party. He settled on three of his best members of the Council of the Star. Freya was one, because in addition to being very handy should there be a fight, she was a skilled rhetorician and could be trusted to make the King's case clearly and vividly. Then he chose Ulf, because he was the most talented diplomat in the Council, somebody who could always see the other party's point of view; and finally Snorri, because although Snorri lacked finesse he was six foot six of solid muscle and would be usefully intimidating. Ulf and Snorri selected several members of their own households to be their retinues; Freya, who being an unmarried virgin didn't have a household of her own, took nobody with her. The authors of the sagas generally agree that King Grim made what was for him a rare blunder in selecting Freya and the two knights who most disliked her. It wasn't Grim's fault. Ulf and Snorri were the only people who knew how much they each hated Freya, and they kept their own counsel on the matter, pretending to be honoured to be travelling with the King's star shieldmaiden and general. Freya, for her part, slightly distrusted Ulf and Snorri, but mainly because she slightly distrusted more or less everyone who wasn't in her own family. The party of one hundred men left the palace early one morning and set out on the long journey to Casman. Among the party was a junior squire named Five, who was in the service of Snorri. Five was eighteen and had been a squire for seven years, and moreover, had been absolutely fascinated by Freya Aelfrethe since he'd first glimpsed her fighting at the Battle of Wudwotha, while he himself hid under an upturned cart, terrified and his trousers soaked in his own urine, five years earlier. There was just something so . . . majestic about her, he thought. Sure, she was a great lady with a notoriously quick temper and was not the type to drop kind words to squires as if they were threepences. But she was beautiful, and in combat she moved with the rhythm and ease of a terrifying dancer. He'd seen Freya work herself up into a murderous rage and charge the enemy screaming bloody murder, but as soon as she got into actual fighting, her rage seemed to melt away and she became calm and alert; her body flowing with the rhythm of the strokes and swipes that she dealt out and dodged. He saw her kill a man by driving a sword into his neck and pulling it out, and then he saw another man come up behind her, axe raised, yelling over the din of the battle. Freya did not move, but Five saw her dark eyes slide to the right as she judged his distance, and just as he got close and brought the axe down, she dropped to a crouch, ducking to one side and twirling her sword in her hands until it faced behind her. The soldier, bringing his axe down on what was suddenly thin air where Freya had once been, was unable to stop it in time and it went all the way down and split his foot in two. His yell of agony was stifled when Freya turned her head just slightly and, half-smiling, drove the point of her sword upwards and backwards so that it pierced the man's jaw from beneath and pushed right up through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. The life left him and he collapsed, and she turned and stood in one motion, putting her foot on him and drawing the sword out of his head. Freyas Saga Ch. 01 I love her, Five thought. Five was called Five because his lord and master Sir Snorri could never bother to remember the names of his squires and so gave them numbers instead. If the squire eventually passed the apprenticeship and became knighted, Snorri would name him. Most of Snorri's squires managed to hold onto the names they'd had before they became squires, but Five's parents had died when he was small, and he had grown up not knowing his own name. Therefore, Five being the first name he was given, Five was the name he went by. Freya herself, riding her grey horse Manhir, was oblivious to the moonings of the young squire fifty yards behind her. She was thinking about the cult. Among other things. What were they doing with the young women? She had a reasonably good idea that whatever they were doing with them was something foul and dishonourable, but although she wanted to figure out what it was, she was afraid to think too hard about it. All the men who had served under Freya - at any rate, all apart from the few who resented her - regarded her as beautiful but untouchable. They knew how much she prized her own chastity and they respected her attitude towards their lack of it: Freya was not a prude and didn't mind what her soldiers got up to on their days off, as long as they were fit for fighting when the time came. Nor did she stand on her own rank, or reserve special privileges for herself because she was a woman. When they were on a march and got a chance to bathe, she would undress with the rest of them and wash her own naked body, standing only a little way away from the men and watching their antics with sardonic amusement. She was not made the subject of ribald comments the way the other men were, even though there were plenty who couldn't help stealing furtive glances at her, each wishing that he'd be the one to make her melt. No, nobody would ever have made a dirty remark to Freya; the consequences didn't bear thinking about, but would doubtless start with her death glare and end in a serious beating. So it was widely believed that Freya was cold, cold as ice, and that only some kind of superman could thaw her. The reality was very different. Freya rode along, very aware of Ulf and Snorri riding to her right; Ulf, smallish and handsome, sleek like a stoat; the huge, muscular bulk of Snorri to his right, with his blonde hair and beard and beefy, smiling face. Freya was very aware of everyone she came into close physical contact with. That was the problem. Since childhood, Freya had been praised for her bravery and skill, and her chastity had been bound up with that. Now she was twenty-six years old, and in all those twenty-six years, she had never so much as kissed anyone, let alone gone to bed with them. If, after a victory, a comrade would go to hug her, she would stiffen, not out of disgust but out of the reflexive need to conceal the fact that she wanted it so much, and he would generally interpret it as a sign that he'd gone too far, and apologetically withdraw. And it wasn't just men that made her heart pound. If a serving girl's hand brushed hers at the table she would have to fight back the need to grab it and put it to her lips. She didn't have any female friends, simply because she found prolonged exposure to the company of women just too arousing to bear. The only things that could calm her down and still the raging heat of her sensuality were planning a battle, and fighting a battle. In the planning stages, the intellectual excitement of trying to think of everything that could happen and figuring out the best strategy for dealing with it was so intense that it obsessed her completely, and she couldn't sleep until she had a good plan. But when she was fighting - ah, then, and only then, was Freya Aelfrethe completely at peace. Killing people was the best way she knew of dealing with her demons; all her frustrations were emptied out by the visceral pleasure of hacking your enemy into pieces. One of Freya's guilty secrets, besides the thoughts she'd suppressed about men and women she'd known, was that quite often during battle she'd experience the kind of intense pleasure that she imagined people routinely felt when they went to bed together. One time she'd beheaded a barbarian who'd put up a particularly tough fight and landed some nasty blows on her; her final swing of the sword, which severed his snarling head from his body, had been so pleasurable that she'd felt it as a deep warmth in her loins, and had wanted to lie down and sleep after. The other time, oddly enough, had been when she'd been seriously wounded in a skirmish near Arneby. An enraged Goth had landed a really good hatchet blow on her thigh, ripping open the skin and tearing the muscle, and Freya had sunk, startled to the ground; the Goth, perhaps dumbstruck by his good fortune, watched her, astonished, as she stared at the wound in wonder. Then she'd dipped her own finger into it, looked up at him and sucked the blood off, smiling contentedly as she did so. The Goth had been even more startled when she'd then swung her sword at his calves and cut his legs off at the knee before grabbing the stirrup of her horse, hauling herself up onto her good leg and bisecting his head. That wound had left a long shiny scar on her leg, and her body had other scars, too, like the ragged one on her side that she'd had from the age of fourteen when she'd moved to slow too completely dodge a Southerner's axe, and her hands were criss-crossed with scars from so many years of hand-to-hand combat, and there was even a thin but long one across the tops of her buttocks, where a shaggy Briton had got round behind her. That one had annoyed her because she hadn't been able to sit properly for a week but had had to lie on her stomach all the time. No, Freya had once dreamed that she might find a suitable mate and hang up her sword and become a strong, noble, wise, kind queen to someone, and become a mother, and teach her sons and daughters alike the virtues of soldiering. But she knew, now, that it would never happen. She would die in the field, probably in just a few years, when she was a bit older and a bit slower, and the effort of self-control was just too much, and she could no longer take all her unwanted energy and put it into killing. She would die a shieldmaiden, and her name would be honoured, but she would never know the happiness of a bed after lovemaking, or the touch of a lover's hand, or the pleasure of a kiss. Too much was at stake. If she broke her chastity now, the effect on morale would be devastating. So Freya rode on, feeling the horse move beneath her, feeling her own body sweating in her jerkin and skirt and armour, trying not to think about herself. *** Two miles from the village they called a halt, and the three leaders went ahead to scout out the village and discuss what to do. They crept forward up the gradually steepening slope, through underbrush and over small crags, until finally they crested the ridge and looked down on the village. It was large, more of a town, with huts and a square and people ambling about doing their daily business. Smoke rose from the holes in the hut ceilings. They could see a butcher, taking apart a cow. Small children scampered about. Off under the shadow of the overhanging cliff, there was a large, circular depression in the ground, a kind of arena. It was empty. Freya looked on the place with a perplexed eye, and then a touch from Ulf on her elbow alerted her and they drew back from the ridge to a sheltered spot and sat down. "Well," said Ulf, "what are we going to do?" "Indeed, brother," said Freya. "Our plans are as dust. The hill is too steep for the troops to advance down without risk of falling. We need a new plan of attack." "Or just a new plan," said Ulf. "Why must we attack?" "Jansson," said Freya, smiling but wrinkling her brow, "we came here to retrieve the women taken from their homes by these marauders. We are not here to greet them, exchange trinkets and talk of the weather. Somewhere in that village are the men who took our women." "Where, though?" said Ulf. "It looks completely harmless." "I grant that it looks like that," said Freya, "but surfaces deceive. We do not know what is down there." "Indeed we do not," said Ulf, "and that is why I suggest one of us go down there." "To do what?" "To make enquiries, sister Freya. Not every problem is best solved by drawing the sword. This needs brainpower." Freya considered this. "There is some sense in your words, Jansson," she said, "but have you considered that this might be a trap?" "I have," said Ulf. "But I doubt not that any one of us can elude whatever these peasants could contrive." "Brother," said Freya, "you are a man of wit, but if this be a trap, I do not think you could cut your way out of it. I still think that we should take the road and advance into the village as one party. There is safety in numbers." "There is also threat in masses," said Ulf. "I see no need to commit our whole force until we know which way the land lies. Besides, the men have walked far, and are tired." "They have walked farther, and fought," said Freya. "I say one of us goes," said Ulf. Freya stared hard at him. "Very well," she said. "Snorri, yours is the vote. Do we go in as a group, or does one of us three scout?" "Why do not us three go?" said Snorri, and Ulf flashed him a brief glance, which Freya noted and thought odd. "Because if we are all trapped," she said patiently, "there will be nobody left to lead the army, Midlafsson." "Oh," said Snorri. "Oh yes. Well, then, one of us should go. It's a waste sending all, like Ulf said." Freya sighed. "It seems I am outvoted," she said. "Very well. One of us will scout." "So how do we decide who should go?" said Ulf. "Snorri has many gifts," said Freya, "but I do not think that this job is suited to them." "I don't either," said Ulf. "Sorry, brother." Snorri nodded, as though it was no more than his due. "I will go," said Ulf. "Brother," said Freya, "you are wise, but if it gets rough, you are not the man to deal with this." "You doubt my bravery, sister?" said Ulf, smiling. "Not your bravery," she said. "Say instead your deftness. You are not as fast as once you were." "She speaks true, brother," said Snorri. "Well," said Ulf, "it seems that this time, I am the one who is outvoted." "I will go," said Freya. "I will pretend to be a lone traveller, and if they guess my errand I will reveal myself, but not otherwise. We need to know more, and I can find out." "I think that, in the end, you are the best suited to this task, Freya," said Ulf. "You have the keenest eyes, the finest words and the sharpest sword. We will be here, keeping cover on you." "You will not," Freya retorted. "You will be in that thicket." She pointed to a large bush and tangle of weeds, a third of the way down the slope to their right. "You will also get the rest of the men to muster behind the ridge, and not right behind it, but some yards back, that they will not be seen, or disturb anyone. The sharpest men, ten or eleven such, will take points behind the ridge and await your signal, on which they will signal the others to advance down the hill as fast as possible, keeping good order as they come." Ulf looked at Freya for a moment, and then smiled. "As ever, sister," he said, "we bow to your superior sense in these matters." "Thank you, Jansson," she said. "It is a wise leader who knows when to follow. You had also better get your bow and arrow," she added to Snorri. "Something tells me they will be needed." Half an hour later, Snorri had retrieved his bow and arrows from the camp - or rather, he'd got Five to carry them for him. The young squire was perspiring freely as he reached the crest of the hill. The rest of the soldiers were huddled lower down behind them. The three knights glanced at Five, barely registering him. Five was used to being not noticed. He had also, at Snorri's orders, brought food and water for them. Freya had a drink of water, righted her helmet on her head, checked her sword and stood up. "Very well," she said. "I go. Though I do not like this, brothers. There is something wrong here." "God defend you, sister," said Ulf seriously. "If anyone can find it out and mend it, it is you." Snorri gave her a salute. Freya nodded to them both, but Five thought she looked troubled. She didn't pay any attention to him, but turned and walked up to the crest of the ridge. They followed, careful to keep covered, moving to the thicket. Once they were installed in the thicket, the two men and the boy watched her move swiftly and silently down the slope. *** Freya reached the bottom of the slope and walked forward, wary, keeping an eye out in every direction. Nobody paid any attention to her. That in itself was not to her liking. The appearance of an armoured shieldmaiden in their village ought to have been news. But the little children played, and the people went peacefully about their business, as she walked slowly towards the huts, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She advanced carefully, keeping an eye on everyone. She reached the first hut, and walked around it. She peered inside; it seemed empty. She walked further on, into the village. A man walked past and saw her; he looked back at her blandly, as if she was nothing surprising. This is wrong, she thought. She eyed everyone who walked around the village: men, younger and older; children; middle-aged and old women. No young women. Where were they all? She saw a young child, about three, playing with sticks outside a hut and she approached. The child ignored her. "Hello," said Freya cautiously. "Hello," said the child, without looking up. "Where is your mother?" Freya said. The child pointed inside the hut. Freya approached the entrance to the hut and the child shifted aside to let her in. Freya stooped and entered. The hut was simply furnished. There was a large bed. On it lay a young woman, hugely pregnant. Freya approached her. The young woman stared vacantly into space, a smile on her lips. "Hello," said Freya. The young woman ignored her, but gently stroked her own swollen belly and made contented cooing noises. "Can I meet your leader?" said Freya. The young woman paid her no mind, but went on cooing to herself and stroking her belly. Then Freya noticed a tattoo on the girl's arm; the sigil of the house of Gardby. This was a girl from her own lands. This was one of the abductees. Yet here she was, lying with apparent contentment in a hut hundreds of miles away, pregnant. This was not what one did when one had been kidnapped and taken away and raped. This girl looked healthy and content. Her door was open. She was unguarded. Her clothes were clean and her skin glowed with well-being. What sorcery is this, Freya thought, liking it less and less. There was something about the peace and calm and content of the scene that chilled her. She left the hut. Outside, she found that a crowd had gathered. At the head of it stood a man in his sixties, bearded, smiling, wearing the same plain robe that everyone in the village wore. He carried a staff. "Greetings," he said. Freya eyed him. "I come on a mission from King Grim," she said. "Many of our people have been kidnapped by a cult, and we have traced the cult to this village. I come to retrieve our kin. We do not wish to fight, but we are prepared to." "The cult," said the man, sighing. "Yes. Too long have they ravaged us. We welcome you as our deliverer, Freya Aelfrethe." "You know my name," she said. "You could hardly be mistaken for anyone else," he said. "The greatest shieldmaiden in the land. Many say the greatest warrior. You honour us by coming to defend us from the evil ones." "To whom am I speaking?" "My name is Nocens," he said. "I am the Elder of the village." "Then, Nocens," she said, "I greet you in the name of King Grim. May we meet in friendship, and may what bonds we form endure and strengthen, and honour both us and our peoples." "May it be so," Nocens said, inclining his head graciously at the formal greeting, and giving, as Freya noted, the correct response. Whoever these people are, peasants they are not, she thought. "Forgive me," she said. "I was looking for someone to take me to a leader of this village. I found the girl inside, but she would not talk to me." "Ah," said Nocens. "She has a sickness. We all pray for her recovery." "She seemed healthy enough to me," said Freya. "Except that she behaved as though I were not there." "Our young women," said Nocens, "when they are with child, it is a deeply spiritual experience for them. She was most likely in contemplation of the godhead." "What godhead would that be?" said Freya, smiling tolerantly. "There is but one god, is there not?" "Indeed," said Nocens. "Will you walk with me, Freya Aelfrethe? Our land has long been sundered from yours, and now that you have found us, we have much to discuss." Freya paused, eyeing the old man, then smiled her politest smile. "Certainly," she said. *** Ulf watched through a glass, seeing Freya and the old man set off on a walk. "They're just talking," he said. "These aren't the cult. Tell the men to stand down." Snorri crept back up the hill. Five squinted into the middle distance, and looked at Ulf. "Should we not wait a little longer?" he said timidly. "If this is a trap, it could take some time to close." "What?" said Ulf irritably. "No. If it were a trap, it would be clear by now. Who are you?" "My name is Five," said Five. "I'm a squire to Sir Snorri." "Shut up," said Ulf. "You don't know anything." He stuck the glass back over his eye and watched Freya walking and talking, clicking his tongue with boredom. *** "What I cannot but wonder, Master Nocens," said Freya, "is where our young women have gone." "I'm afraid," said Nocens, smiling beatifically and spreading his hands, "there you have me at a loss. We see the cult pass through our village, it is true; but where they take their prey, we dare not ask." "So there are none of my people in your village now," said Freya. "No, not one," said Nocens. "Might I visit one of your huts?" said Freya. "I am a student of the ways of all the peoples of the earth, and I like to see how other folk live." "Of course," said Nocens. "Let me take you to mine." "Why, this is good enough," said Freya, smiling, and she ducked into the nearest hut, from which came the sound of a gurgling baby. She saw an ample, radiant young woman sitting on a chair, nursing a small baby, which suckled with evident enjoyment. The young woman's gaze crossed hers dreamily, and slid off into nowhere. Nocens entered behind her. "Charming," said Freya. "Yes," said Nocens somewhat curtly. "However, there is little to see here." "I must differ," said Freya. "The health of your young women is extraordinary. I have seen but two, yet both have been pictures of good health." "We look after our own," said Nocens. "She does not seem to see us," said Freya, walking up to the girl and bending down to look in her face. The girl's placid smile and vague stare did not flicker. "She is undoubtedly in contemplation of the godhead," said Nocens. "Please, if we may go to my hut . . ." "Here is something odd," said Freya. "You mark this tattoo?" She pointed out an intricate curling design on the woman's upper arm. "These are our own tribal markings," said Nocens. "How odd," said Freya, "for they are identical in design with the shield of the house of Wynnfor, in my own country." Freyas Saga Ch. 01 "A coincidence," said Nocens. "I think not," said Freya, smiling pleasantly. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. "There are many strange things in the world, Freya Aelfrethe, of which you know nothing," said Nocens. "This woman is one of my own," said Freya. "I do not know what you have done to her, but I will take her back." "You will not," said Nocens. "I will," said Freya, resting her hand on her sword. "You will not," said the young woman, and Freya felt a sharp touch in her side, and looked down to see that the young woman was holding a knife and prodding Freya's kidney with it. The woman looked no longer vague but certain, and was smiling up implacably at Freya even as her child continued to suckle on her breast. "So tell me," said Freya to Nocens, "this is some sorcery. Yes?" "In a manner of speaking," said Nocens. "Drop your sword and out, please." "Drop my sword?" said Freya, drawing it and disarming the young woman in one motion. "Have you been struck on the head lately?" The young woman looked vaguely worried but then went back to concentrating on her baby. "Then, out," said Nocens, still with the same warm, pleasant smile, "and you will have time to consider where you stand." Freya edged her way to the tent wall and then stepped out into the humid air. The moment she left the hut, she knew that it was all up. The crowd was now in hundreds, and every one of them had some sort of half-concealed weapon: daggers, batons, hatchets. They were all looking at her. They were all calm, serene, smiling. I could take the front row, she thought. A good twenty. But then they would fall on me. Better to go with it and escape later. *** "What's going on?" asked Five, as he watched Ulf watching things through the glass. "Odd," said Ulf thoughtfully. "Odd?" said Five. "How?" Snorri rejoined them. "What's going on," he rumbled. "Things have got a little interesting," murmured Ulf. "Not exactly sure." *** "You have the advantage," said Freya, re-sheathing her sword, dropping the knife and holding up her hands to show that she meant no harm. "We have the godhead," said Nocens placidly. The crowd moved on Freya, making her circle around and back away from them. Slowly, the entire assembly, with her at the apex, moved towards the edge of the village, through the huts. "Then the cult is not so unknown to you," said Freya, annoyed with herself at not having seen it sooner. "They do not prey on you. You are the cult." "Blasphemy!" shouted someone in the crowd. "Now, peace," said Nocens. "We cannot blame our guest for being a heathen. She will know our ways soon enough." "You are the cult," said Freya again, "and whatever you do to the women you take, they are under your spell." "We are not magicians," said Nocens. "We bring peace to the souls of these women, through the intercession of the Pantocrator." "The Pantocrator," repeated Freya. "I would like to meet the Pantocrator." "Then you are fortunate," said Nocens, "for you are about to." *** Ulf watched silently through the glass. But even Five could tell that the village had turned on Freya; that she was standing alone against them, and was being herded somewhere that they wanted her to go. Never mind, he thought. They are picking their moment, Lord Ulf and Lord Snorri. When the moment comes, they will swoop down and act and we will take back our own. *** "Show me this Pantocrator," said Freya. "I am keen to meet such a persuasive proselyte for your cause, that he can turn good young women from my own lands and make them into brood mares." "He makes them realise their nature," said Nocens. "It is the destiny of women to be naught but home for the male member." "'Home for the male member'?" said Freya. "And nursery to his seed," said Nocens, calmly, smiling at Freya the whole time. "So it is written." "I do not know what you have done," said Freya, "but I and mine have come to put a stop to it." "You and who?" said Nocens, as they moved towards the shallow, arena-like area in the shadow of the overhanging cliff. Freya looked around her and jumped lightly into the oval-shaped stage. "I and mine," she said aloud and clearly. *** They heard it, up in the thicket. Snorri looked at Ulf. So did Five. "Wait," said Ulf, his glass trained on Freya. "She would not thank us if we stepped in so soon. She is preparing her attack." "You reckon?" said Five, and regretted it, when Ulf shot him a deathly look. *** "We have come," said Freya, loudly, "to reclaim justice for our sisters. You have taken them, and you may not keep them. They are not yours to take. My brothers and I have come to show you that you may not treat our sisters thus." "What brothers are these?" said Nocens. "I see no-one." Freya looked around, careful not to let her gaze rest for too long on the thicket. She had made it clear. Why were they waiting? "Rather," said Nocens, "we think that you yourself have been sent to us as an offering to the Pantocrator, that we might partake of your martial spirit, and become more excellent in the conquering of other lands." "I am an offering to no-one," said Freya, disgusted. There was a metallic grinding noise, and a clank, and something touched her feet. She looked down and moved in the same instant, but found she couldn't move, and almost but not quite toppled sideways. Metal cuffs had sprung from the stone beneath her feet, and had locked themselves around her ankles. She looked up at Nocens, who was smiling blissfully. "What sorcery is this," she said in an icy voice. "Release me now, or you will pay." "You are an offering to the Pantocrator," said Nocens, his gaze upturned. The crowd behind him were likewise looking up. Freya stared at them, and slowly looked up above her head. The cliff that overhung them was not solid. It had a giant hole in it, some nine feet across. From this hole came a scuffling, slithering sound. Small pebbles dropped. Something was coming. *** "Why isn't she moving?" said Five. "She must move! We need to attack!" "Wait," said Ulf in a thick voice, staring through the glass. "Not yet." Five looked at Snorri. Snorri was peering at where Freya stood, immobilised, before the villagers. *** "What are you doing," said Freya in her lowest, most dangerous voice. "This may go very ill with you. My men are ready to attack." "And yet they do not," said Nocens lightly. "What is this Pantocrator?" said Freya, hefting her sword in one hand and testing the cuffs on her feet with the other. She was firmly shackled. She couldn't risk a blow with the sword; the chances were too good of cutting off her own feet at the ankles. "The Pantocrator delivers us," said Nocens, and the crowd started up an eerie chant behind him, swaying from side to side. Freya glanced up. Nothing to see yet. She glared at the thicket, but there was no motion; the men did not crest the hill. She heard, far above, a thick, heavy slithering sound, and for some reason, deep in her gut, she felt the rare sensation of true fear. Freya dropped into a crouch and examined the cuffs around her ankles. They were steel, and too thick for her sword to break. She grabbed one and strained as hard as she could to open it, but it was held shut by a latch. She looked up again. The slithering sound from the hole in the cliff was getting louder, and a few pebbles fell out of it. "What devilry is this?" she hissed at Nocens. "Why do you trap me?" "You will soon know all," said Nocens blandly. The other villagers were staring raptly at the hole in the cliff. Freya's chest felt tight and she forced herself to breathe normally. Whatever it was, she could fight it off. She had her sword. She picked it up and rose, and looked up at the hole. Then it emerged, slowly, from the shadow. It was a worm: huge, a glistening pinkish-grey colour, some eight feet in diameter. Its eyeless head had a circular maw ringed with grey, blockish teeth. It glistened, foully, in the light, as it protruded itself from the hole, dangling downwards, directly above Freya's head. Five watched, horrified, and looked at Ulf. Ulf was watching intently through the glass. Snorri, too. Neither of them made any move. "What abomination is that?" said Freya, dry-mouthed ."You plan to feed me to your worm? It will taste my sword first." "Not feed you," said Nocens, mildly. "The Pantocrator has no taste for human flesh. But it has a use for you." "What do you mean?" Freya cried. She looked around desperately for Ulf and Snorri to emerge, weapons in hand, the soldiers coming down the slope - to save her, for once in her life. Never before had she needed saving. But now she was trapped, if not exactly helpless. But nobody came. There was just the worm, slowly descending towards her, its maw opening . . . The maw seemed to peel itself back from the worm's mouth, and its interior was lined with hundreds of pink, glistening tentacles. Then, from further down the worm's gullet, another, secondary maw protruded, a translucent tube, just narrow enough to . . . To admit a human. "What does it want?" Freya cried, feeling the unfamiliar stirring of panic within her. Master yourself, she told herself, but the fear was making her ill. "What do you want with me?" "The Pantocrator needs women," said Nocens. "You are a woman. You have been chosen." "If that thing comes near me," said Freya, hefting her sword, "it will regret the day it was ever spawned!" "I think not," replied Nocens. The tube came lower and then stopped, about fifteen feet above Freya's head - and then some of the tentacles extended themselves, whipping about in the air like live ropes, with nimble ends that could grasp things. They lowered themselves until they were level with Freya's shoulders, and she lashed at them, but they were just out of reach. "So help me," Freya vowed, feeling her voice shake, "if they touch me, you will pay for it." "The cycle of life is bigger than your little existence, Freya Aelfrethe," said Nocens. "I advise you to yield without a fight." "Yield to what?!" Freya barked, scared, furious, desperate. Where in the name of god were they? Where were the men? Abruptly, one of the tentacles whipped at her head and knocked off her helmet. She cursed and swung. The sword caught the end of the tentacle and made a deep gash. The tentacle instantly withdrew up into the creature's maw, and another came down. "Call off your worm, old man," said Freya, gritting her teeth. "Call it off, and you may live. It will not. But I will spare you." "You do not need my help, woman," said Nocens, making gestures with his hands and closing his eyes. "The Pantocrator will have its way." Abruptly, with lightning speed, one of the tentacles wrapped itself around Freya's sword-wrist and squeezed. It was shocking, the force of it. She could feel her hand going numb and went to grab the tentacle with her other hand, but another tentacle grabbed her other wrist and she fought to keep her arms together, but slowly, gradually, her arms were pulled apart until they were sticking out either side of her, immobilising her. "You cult scum!" she cried. "You will pay for this!" *** Five was in an agony of uncertainty. Why weren't they moving? Ulf was watching through the glass, breathing heavily. Then Five saw it. The tentacle lowered itself past Freya's face and inside her armoured breastplate. *** Freya writhed as the tough, slippery tentacle slid inside her armour, and then she saw it wrap itself around one of the leather straps and tighten. With mounting horror, she had her first dim intimation of what the worm had in mind for her. The leather strap broke, and the tentacle quickly tightened itself around the other one and snapped it. Her breastplate came away on one side. Another tentacle slid inside the front of her leather skirt and squeezed the fabric at the stitching. Stitch by stitch, it gave, and the tentacle grabbed the falling skirt and flung it aside. It meant to strip her. No, no, this . . . this was unbearable. To be held captive in front of a crowd and stripped like a criminal, in preparation for . . . "No," she gasped, feeling panic take her over. "No. No!" Her armour was flung aside. She felt more vines encircling her legs, and taking her weight, then the cuffs on her ankles opened and she was entirely in the grip of the tentacles, which for all that they were slim and rubbery, seemed to have steel cable inside. Her boots were torn off her feet. "No!" she cried, desperate, staring at Nocens, imploringly. She was ashamed of herself, but she could no longer control it. Fear had mastered her. "Please! No! Make it stop!" "You must yield," said Nocens, calmly. "No!" Freya cried, as a tentacle slid inside her jerkin, and another went up the leg of her linen trousers, and she felt them on her skin, the fabric tightening against her body, and starting to rip. "NO! GOD! PLEASE! NO!" *** Five turned to Ulf and Snorri. "Why do we not attack?" he hissed. "We must save her! Look! She cannot help herself!" "Wait," Ulf muttered thickly. "Just . . ." Freya hung in the grip of the tentacles, wearing only her tough jerkin and her linen trousers, and the fabric of them slowly bulged and tore, and as she squirmed and wept helplessly, the last of her clothing was ripped asunder and pulled off her, until she was finally naked and immobilised, the victim of the worm. She hung her head in shame. Five couldn't help staring at her exposed body, even as he felt sick at what was being done to her. He was itching to grab a weapon and run forward and sink it into Nocens' neck. But then he saw the creature's inner maw, the translucent tube, descend slowly, until suddenly it dropped downwards and landed on the crown of Freya's head. It seemed to be some kind of sucker, for it lifted her head, raising her desperate, tear-streaked face, and its translucent lips slid slowly downwards, as she moaned in horror, engulfing her brow, her forehead, and then more of her head until it had slid down to the point that, even as she tried to whip her head from side to side, it gradually covered her eyes, blinding her. And then Five saw the tentacles slithering down the length of the maw, darker than the other tentacles, and as Freya squirmed uselessly, they slithered over her face, around her neck, one down between her bared breasts, over her belly and towards her groin, the other snaking down her back. *** Freya, blind and helpless, felt the warm, slippery tentacles on her bare flesh, and the temptation to give in completely was tearing at her - and then she felt them touch her, one snaking down into her groin, the other parting the cheeks of her rear end, each of them teasing and pressing at her. This was it. This was what it wanted. This was the doom of Freya Aelfrethe. The one before teased her until she clenched her teeth and made an anguished moan, and then it abruptly pushed between the folds of her sex and penetrated her. Freya felt it slither inside her, filling her, taking her virginity. She screamed. *** Five saw Nocens open his eyes and flinch. Snorri grabbed Ulf's wrist and Ulf nodded and muttered "I know, I know - shit, it's too late, it's too late . . ." *** Freya screamed again, a hopeless, despairing wail, something almost inhuman, and after it she hung there, impaled on the creature's tentacle. And then, with horrified disbelief, she felt her hips pressed forward by the one behind her, in the final, unspeakable violation, and her mouth opened wide in a soundless O - and then she moaned deeply, from her gut, as it too penetrated her. One or two of the watching villagers looked ill. Freya clenched her teeth and fought it, feeling the tentacles trying to arouse her, trying to drug her, trying to rob her of who she was. She was not the sex toy of some worm. She was Freya Aelfrethe. Her rage blazed inside her and, blind as she was, humiliated and violated as she was, she raised her unseeing face and cried out. "All you who do this to me!" she shouted. "All you who suffered this to happen to me! You shall pay! I will make you pay a thousandfold! And I will have NO MERCY!" It was a cry of defiance, but a hopeless one. The tentacles swarmed over her body, pushing at her, finding places to put themselves, seeking out every cleft, every orifice. She felt warm liquid boiling over her eyes. "I WILL HAVE VENGEANCE!" Freya screamed, writhing desperately, her naked body disappearing under the swarming tentacles, straining at every muscle to resist what was happening to her. Only her mouth was visible. Then she felt her mouth being filled, and she bit down, but her teeth could make no mark. And then the grip on her head was sliding down over her nose and she gave one more choked, muffled, wordless scream before the maw had engulfed her entire head, and was spreading over her shoulders, taking in the rest of her. Freya squirmed and made another muffled scream as her entire body was sucked up inside the maw. Fluid surrounded her and she choked, her lungs bursting, her body shaking as the tentacles pumped her, forcing her to feel it, forcing her to experience it. Then the fluid cleared and the tentacle in her mouth contracted slightly, and she was able to gasp for breath, and then the fluid boiled around her head once more and she went under again. Outside, they saw the maw of the creature, with the squirming bulge of Freya's naked, tentacle-enwrapped body, rising upwards as the worm very slowly drew it up into its gullet. White liquid poured out of the open mouth of it. Freya's body was barely visible inside. "That's it," Five sobbed, and he reached out to grab Ulf's sword. Ulf grabbed Five by the back of the neck and hit his head off the rock. Five collapsed, senseless. Snorri looked around. "Uh, Ulf," he said. "What," Ulf muttered. "The men," said Snorri. Ulf looked around. The men had appeared on the ridge, alerted by Freya's screams, and they were slowly coming down the hill, weapons in hand. "Shit," Ulf muttered, and he drew his sword, stood up and advanced down the hill. "You," he called to Nocens, who turned around slowly and looked at him. "Let her go." "It is not for me to bid the Pantocrator to do my will," said Nocens. "She is ours now." "She is not yours," said Ulf, trembling with anger and guilt. "She is ours. Give her back." "You misunderstand," said Nocens. "Now that she belongs to the Pantocrator, she will not want to come back to you. She will belong to us. She will join us, and she will service us, and she will bring us many fine children." "That's what this is?" said Ulf. "That thing turns women into your fucking breeders?" "It brings women back to their true nature," said Nocens gently. "You will die for this," said Ulf, drawing his sword. Every one of the villagers quietly readied their weapons. Ulf stopped. He looked at the villagers. He knew that his men were coming up behind him, and they were looking at him, and wondering what had happened, and why he had not given them any orders. He had a hundred good men. There were fourteen or fifteen hundred village men, all armed. Even the kids were armed. A small boy with a bow and arrow was pointing the drawn bow at his head, and not shaking, and not blinking. The best one of his force had been taken by some kind of monster, and was being raped to death, or to madness. Because he had done nothing. "Fuck this," he muttered. "Fuck you." Freyas Saga Ch. 01 "I suggest you return to your king," said Nocens, "and come back when you wish to discuss with us how the land may be more fairly divided between our peoples." Ulf stood there, rubbing his head, inwardly cursing, over and over again. You fool. You stupid, stupid, fucking fool. *** The worm was almost inside the hole. Freya was rapidly becoming exhausted from the heat and tightness and the almost unbearable assault of sensation in her body. Her cunny and her ass were impacted and full and she was limp and half-drowned, the periodic floods of sticky white liquid submerging her and then draining away. And so it happened, she half-thought, stupefied and weak. A filthy, humiliating death in the innards of a monster. My pride and glory destroyed. Freya Aelfrethe, a stupid girl who let herself get blindsided and raped by a worm. Another wave of sensation made her squirm and moan, thickly. She could sense, dimly, that the thing wanted something from her. It kept doing it to her, kept pressing at her, kept pumping fluid into her. It seemed to do so faster, harder. As if it had any effect beyond making her dizzy, and utter choked moans. My god, she whimpered, this will not end, it will kill me. I will drown here. I will let down my line. I will die in infamy. A pathetic girl. Freya hung in the grip of the tentacles, her body bathed in the white liquid, her flesh aching and sore from being pummelled and wrenched. She let it go. It did not matter any more. The only thing that mattered was that this ended, somehow. There it was; the thing that the beast wanted. It was trying faintly to tell her something. That this was in some way good. That she wanted this. That she deserved this. That this was some sort of honour. No, Freya thought, her head pounding, her strength ebbing. It is not. I am Freya Aelfrethe. She reached, weakly, with her hands, pushing her way through the sticky fluid. It drained from her head and she tried to open her eyes but they were clogged shut. The tentacle in her mouth pumped more of the warm, insipid, salty liquid down her throat and she gagged. I will not go like this, she thought, and she grabbed the tentacle in her fists, and she brought her teeth together as hard as she could, and hauled on it. Her teeth scythed through the thick, rubbery skin and into live flesh, cutting through it, meeting. She pulled the tentacle and managed to spit out the severed part, tasting foul blood. The monster quivered and rippled and she was rewarded with a deluge of liquid, which bubbled up around her head, and she made a bubbling scream as it rose over her mouth, drowned her face and closed over her scalp. The tentacles in her cunny and arse pounded her viciously and the ones around her ribcage squeezed her, and she felt her air running out, and she lost consciousness. *** Outside, Ulf looked about him, and looked at Nocens' bland smile, and Snorri's dark, guilty scowl, and he made up his mind. "We will be back," he said. He turned, and began to walk back to the slope. Then there was a noise from the worm. It stopped retracting into its cave, and its closed outer maw peeled back. Everyone looked, and Ulf looked at Nocens, who looked astonished. The inner maw protruded and hung down to about ten feet above the ground, and the lump in it was forced down the length of the tube, white liquid sluicing out the end, and then with a splatter the lump fell out the end of the tube and crashed to the dirt. Freya. The creature made a vile chittering squawk and retracted its maw and slithered back up into its cave. "What now?" said Ulf, looking at Nocens. "You take her back to your huts and impregnate her? Is that it?" "No," said Nocens. "She should be in much longer. This is not usual." They walked over to the naked body on the ground. Freya was covered in a thick, sticky coating of white slime. Nocens leaned over and looked at her, then straightened up. "She has been rejected," he said. "Your woman is barren. She may bear no children. The Pantocrator has no use for her." Ulf knelt and looked at the face. He could barely make it out under the thick coating of slime, but Freya's eyes were half-shut. Her mouth was open slightly. He put his hand before her mouth. Only the faintest breath. He nudged her, with the toe of his boot; she did not respond. He disgustedly wiped his boot on the earth. "It's alive," he said "but that is not Freya. Her mind is destroyed." "We have to take her," Snorri said. "No," said Ulf, "she is defiled." He turned away from her and strode angrily towards the slope. "But, Ulf," said Snorri. "I'm in command!" Ulf shouted angrily, and he trudged up the slope, feeling the soldiers' eyes on him, knowing he'd failed, worse than anyone could ever fail. There was no going back. There was no saving Freya. They had to return and come back and get revenge. "What about this one?" said Snorri, nudging the unconscious body of Five. "Leave him," said Ulf. "He's a waste of space." Snorri paused. Snorri was not a bad man, not really, but sometimes, men who are not really bad are just not good enough. "You're in command," he said, and he followed Ulf. The villagers melted back into their tasks, and the unconscious boy and the comatose young woman lay where they had been left, until night fell. *** And thus it should have ended. Ulf and Snorri returned to Hargest to give Baron Hargest the fell tidings of how his daughter had been killed in battle by a worm - eaten, they said. Baron Hargest and Baroness Fritha grieved for twenty days. Freya's standard flew at half-mast. King Grim and Queen Bliss visited Hargest to pay his respects, and the two couples, all of whom were old friends, grieved for the loss of the kingdom's bravest and boldest daughter. The soldiers who knew differently knew better than to speak up. None who had gone on the expedition returned untouched by disgrace. All were angry with Ulf. All knew better than to challenge him. None knew why the order to rescue Freya was not given. Five was missed by no-one. But, the sagas that were told were not the only sagas that survived. Others did too, and we know now that that is not, in fact, how the saga of Freya Aelfrethe ended. That is merely the ending of the first part. The longer, and considerably more remarkable part, has gone untold. Until now. Freyas Saga Ch. 02 Of all the knights who rode back from the debacle at in Ulf and Snorri's party, none were so troubled in his mind as Siegfa. Siegfa did not come from a noble house. He had earned his knighthood by his nobility of bearing and his consistent gallantry, on the field and off it. His father had been an apothecary, but both Siegfa and his twin sister Carfryn had been orphaned as children when bandits had overrun their village and slain everyone they could find. Siegfa and Carfryn only survived because of their bravery and presence of mind; he had made them hide in their cesspit, but when he'd been overcome by the stench, she'd managed to revive him without attracting the attention of the marauders. They were discovered days later, filthy, ill and grieving beside the slain bodies of their parents. Baron Hargest had taken them into his house as foundlings, and they had been raised as orphans. With nobody to turn to, the sad, silent children turned to each other. Siegfa and Carfryn were very close. Although they were brother and sister, and therefore not identical twins, they looked very alike. Each grew up slender, dark-haired, pale-skinned and beautiful, with Siegfa bearing an almost eerie resemblance to his sister. They kept each other's counsel, read each other books, slept in the same bed and, when Siegfa got old enough to start learning knightly skills, he chose his sister as a sparring partner. She had as much aptitude with a sword as he - some observers actually considered her the better swordsman, but it was also considered an amusing diversion for a girl who would one day be a wife and mother to exercise herself in fighting, riding and shooting. In this, as in so much else, Freya Aelfrethe was the exception; nobody had ever dared to tell her what she couldn't do. Carfryn, whose people had been nobody in particular, was made of less stern stuff and for all that she could give as good as she got in a sparring match, she showed no inclination to try and follow Freya and become Baron Hargest's second female soldier. Of the two, it was Siegfa who took that route, diligently becoming a squire and then earning his knighthood for fighting bravely at Wudwotha, among other places. Despite his bravery and nobility, he wasn't especially well-liked by the other knights. There was something about him that made them uneasy. Siegfa was a solemn young man, lacking in the kind of easy humour that made a man popular in the mess, and he had a tendency to obsess about honour and duty in a way that other knights found irritating. It was like he wanted to be better than everyone else. He was indeed kind, helpful, diligent, chivalrous, all the things a knight was expected to be. But he wasn't good company, except on the very infrequent occasions when he succumbed to group pressure and drank more ale than was strictly wise. Then he became friendly. Most of the knights found his sister better company. Carfryn was warmer and friendlier than her brother, as well as being as beautiful as he was. Although Siegfa was, at nineteen, one of the youngest knights in Hargest's service, he had status. Many of the knights considered that Carfryn would make a fine wife, but she rebuffed every offer with quiet grace and apologies; she always claimed to be unworthy of every man who wanted her. The truth was a little different. Carfryn was devoted to only one man: her brother. She loved him, she admired him, she lived only for him. Furthermore, although she seldom let herself confront the fact, she was deeply in love with Siegfa. As well as being his devoted sister and helpmeet, she also wished to be his bride. It did not help matters that, Siegfa and Carfryn being as close as they were, they spent a great deal of time in each other's company. Every morning, they bathed in the same tub and washed each other. They ate together. They went for walks together, at which they would talk of matters of the day. They went riding together. They still sparred together, even though the ladies of Hargest's court had let Carfryn know that while it was very admirable that she should want her brother to be an outstanding knight, there were things that just weren't ladylike. And every night, they undressed in the same room and slept in the same bed. And that was as far as it went. For, although Carfryn would lie with her brother in her arms, feeling her heart pound in her chest as his naked body touched hers, and although Siegfa returned all of her loyalty and affection and brotherly love, he seemed to feel nothing like the same kind of desire for her, as she had for him. This, Carfryn thought, was because he was a better man than her, and had his mind on higher things, and was not a sinner like she was. And while it is true that Siegfa was indeed oblivious of his sister's more than sisterly love for him, and that he was obsessed with duty and chivalry and the knightly code, it was not simply true that he felt no physical desire at all. His desire lay in a quite other direction. *** This is, in part, the story of Siegfa's doom. It will not be long, for it came to him early in life, but it is bitter, for the things he wished for in his life were not ultimately granted to him, and he went down in the old sagas as a rather different figure from what he was. Now, however, we can tell the truth, and we can also continue his story, because we now see that the story of Siegfa and Carfryn did not end as it was once thought to, with the doom that befell him. It continued, for his sister did not suffer the same fate as him, and his story can now be seen to be a small part of hers, whereas previously she was considered to be a relatively minor figure in his. It began the night that Ulf reported Freya's death to the assembly. Most of the knights had not known precisely what Ulf was going to say to Baron Hargest, for Ulf was a man who liked to play his cards very close to the table; it was rightly said of him that Ulf kept his secrets tighter than a bride kept in a fart. So when Ulf limned the story of how Freya had been eaten by the giant worm, and omitted the part where she had been spat out again, those few of the knights who had seen with their own eyes that she'd been ejected and, indeed, that Ulf had inspected her body and had announced that she was 'defiled', were troubled indeed. Why had he done this? However, Snorri backed up Ulf's story in every respect, and most of the knights either told themselves that they must have misremembered what had happened, or else agreed among themselves that Ulf must have had a very good reason for not telling Hargest about Freya being spat out - perhaps she had been horribly disfigured and he wished not to trouble them with such details. In any case, most of those few remaining who had seen what they had seen and who felt that Ulf was being deliberately deceptive, decided not to say anything at that time. Ulf was a rich and powerful man, one who did not take insubordination lightly, and most of them feared him enough to value their skins more than the truth. We said 'most'. One did not. When the mourning feast was over, Siegfa returned to his chamber to find Carfryn mending his jerkin. "Sir Ulf is a liar," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "How so?" she said. "He reported to His Grace the Baron that Lady Freya was eaten by the worm at Casman. But the worm did not eat her. It spat her out, and he inspected her body, and he did not pronounce her dead. He said she had been 'defiled'. I remember it. It was the worst thing I had ever seen, Carfryn; how could I forget? That a lady so valorous as Lady Freya could be so vilely abused - it was awful." He sat down, pale-faced, trembling. Carfryn poured him a goblet of wine. He drank; Siegfa never normally drank much, but when agitated he often needed a drink to calm down. "And then to lie to my lord's face," he said, "to lie, flat-out, that she had been killed? Purely to cover his retreat? There is no honour in the man, sister. He is nothing better than a bully." "Strong words, brother," said Carfryn, looking at her brother with concern. "You are sure of this?" "As sure as I see you," he said, taking her hand. "We should not have left her there. At the very least, Sir Ulf should have told His Grace that her body was left there, that we might organise a party to retrieve it. But he did no such thing." "If what you say is true," she said, "then he is indeed at fault. But what do you propose to do about it?" "Go to him, of course," said Siegfa. "I must confront him before he digs himself into this lie. He can say ... that the truth were too terrible to tell in public, or some such. But he must own up that he left her there. It is the only way." "Hold," she said. "Before you go straight to Sir Ulf, there is a chain of command, is there not? Are you in fealty to Sir Erik? Had you not best to take your doubts to him?" "Maybe," said Siegfa, glancing at his sister and nodding. "Yes." "If you go straight to Sir Ulf and do not first go to Sir Erik, Sir Erik will think you do not trust him. There is a way of doing these things, brother. If you would challenge Sir Ulf's account, you will need the support of your immediate commander." "Then I will talk to him," said Siegfa, rising to his feet. "Not now," said Carfryn. "They will still be at the feast and will not want to discuss these things. Let them have their party. Then go to Sir Erik on the morrow." "As always, you are the wisest and best of us, sister," said Siegfa, smiling at his sister. "The world is poorer that you cannot be a knight." "A life of slaughter is not for me," she said, smiling back and holding his hand in hers. "I live to serve." "As do we all," he said, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. He did not see her briefly close her eyes. And so, the next morning, Siegfa went to see his liege-lord Sir Erik. Erik was in his fifties, a slow-moving, slow-thinking but loyal servant of Hargest. Erik listened to Siegfa explain what had really happened. "Spat out, you say?" he said. Siegfa stood stiffly in front of him, pale and serious. "Aye. Like ... like an unwanted morsel, from the mouth of a dog. The lady was cloaked all over in some vile white ichor. I own that I know not what condition she was in, but I did see with my own eyes Sir Ulf approach her body and examine her, and he pronounced her not dead, but 'defiled'." "Not dead?" said Sir Erik, raising his eyebrows sharply. "He did not say that she was dead," said Siegfa, "or at any rate, I did not hear everything that he said. I did not clearly hear whether or not he pronounced her alive, but just as certainly, he did not clearly tell us that she was dead. But her body was there, at any rate. We left her on the plain, not in the belly of the monster." "Then it sounds to me very much as though Sir Ulf has some questions to answer," said Sir Erik, rising to his feet. "You did well to come to me with this, Siegfa. We'll get to the bottom of it, have no fear." "Thank you, Sir Erik," said the youth, and saluted. After Siegfa had gone, Erik thought for a while, to no great purpose, and then went to visit Ulf in his house. Ulf poured them both a drink. "What brings Sir Erik to my home," he said cordially. "You know young Siegfa, one of my liegemen?" said Erik. "Handsome boy?" said Ulf. "The one with the sister?" "The same," said Erik. "He's come to me with a remarkable story." "Oh yes?" said Ulf, settling back in his chair and looking back at Erik calmly. "He says that, at Casman, Freya wasn't eaten by this cursed worm thing. He says it spat her out, and that you examined her body and said she was, quote, defiled, and that you left here there." Ulf was silent for a moment. "I wonder why he'd say such a thing." "Me too," said Erik. "Bit of an imagination, this lad, then?" "By no means," said Erik. "Sound as a horseshoe from Tor's own anvil. Never known him to make anything up in his life. Honest to a fault, if anything." "It's not true, though," said Ulf. "Well, why would he make up such a thing?" said Erik, looking back at Ulf. They stared at each other for a moment. "Does it sound like the sort of thing I'd do?" said Ulf. "Knowing you," said Erik, and shrugged. Ulf's face darkened. "Steady on," he said, "are you saying that I'd do that? Purposefully leave a man on the field and lie about it?" "I'm saying that you have a known propensity to look after yourself, and it can't be denied that it's got you where you are," said Erik. "I'm not saying that the lad isn't wrong. Just that he believes he's right. What are we to do about it?" Ulf looked at Erik for a moment. "What are 'we' to do about it?" he said. "He's accusing you," said Erik. "I think you should at least talk to him." "Very well," said Ulf. "Send him to me." *** Siegfa's only meeting with Ulf took place the following day, after supper, in Ulf's house. He invited Siegfa in, offered him wine - Siegfa turned him down and drank milk instead - and sat down. "Sir Erik told me you'd been to see him," said Ulf. "I have spoken with Sir Erik," said Siegfa, pale and tense. "I don't think I really understood from him what it is you said," Ulf said. "Sir Erik is a great knight and a good man, better than you or I. But he is a warrior, not a diplomat. He has not always the power to make his meaning clear. Perhaps you could tell me." "I may speak plainly, then," said Siegfa. "It is your duty to do so," said Ulf. "I was disturbed by what you told the His Grace and Her Grace in the hall, two nights ago," said Siegfa. "About how the Lady Freya died in the belly of that beast." "I see," said Ulf. "Why?" "It was not true," said Siegfa. "The beast spat her body out. You saw her. I was coming over the ridge and I saw her taken up, and then spat out, and as I neared the bottom of the slope, I saw you approach her and exchange words with the village elder. I did not hear all you said, but I saw you approach the Lady Freya on the ground and look at her, and I heard you say she was defiled, and that we must go. That is not what you said two nights ago." "I said that she died in the belly of the beast," said Ulf. "Yes," said Siegfa. "She did die there," said Ulf. "But she was spat out. You said she was alive." "I said no such thing." "My lord, I heard you." "If I remember rightly," said Ulf, "I said 'it' was alive. What was spat out of that beast's mouth was not Freya." "It resembled her to my eye." "As a corpse does a once live woman," said Ulf. "But Freya is no longer alive. Whatever that thing spat out, whatever kind of life it may have had, however briefly, was not that of the Lady Freya." "You think she is dead, then?" "I suspect she would be now, yes. If they left her body on that plain, helpless and undefended, she will have been the prey of bird and beast." Siegfa flushed red to find that tears had come to his eyes. He was silent. "I told no lie to His Grace," said Ulf. "I may not have told him the whole truth, but in the aftermath of any battle, one cannot be expected to give to one's lord an account of every last moment. One is obliged to give a true narrative, and that I gave. Did I not?" Ulf spread his hands and sat back, looking at Siegfa with a sad, wise smile. Siegfa sat and stared miserably at the wall, and then turned his gaze to Ulf's. "Nonetheless," he said, "we should have taken her." "Why," said Ulf. "To bury her. We should have taken her to bury her in holy ground, and if she were not dead, to see her cared for. We should not have abandoned her." "In the heat of battle," said Ulf, "one cannot always obey every religious scruple. We who fight are all sinners. We do what we have to do, and we beg forgiveness after." "But we were not in battle," said Siegfa. "You never raised your sword." "I never raised my sword because to do so would have been suicide," said Ulf. "Freya taught us that. Not to fight, if to fight is to be sure of losing everything. The lady knew how to take risks, but she also knew when not to fight." "We were not in battle, Sir Ulf," said Siegfa, wiping his eye, a new hardness entering his voice. "As soon as you sheathed your weapon, they quit the field. We had time to take her with us. We should have taken her with us. It was your decision to abandon her." "As you see it," said Ulf, and Siegfa stared at him, and saw a bead of sweat trickling down the older man's brow, although it was a cool morning with gusts of rain outside. "You were in command," said Siegfa. "And I did what I had to do. Why do you think I would have left her there if I had had the option?" "I know not," said Siegfa. "Truly, Sir Ulf, I do not know why you did a great many things you did. I only know that you did them." Ulf stared back at him for a long moment, then sat back and smiled again. "What you do is right," he said. "This is good. It is right that the young should so challenge their elders to remember the code by which we live. If we elders fall down, we should be brought up. I am glad you came, Siegfa. This conversation must not end here. I will see that this is brought to the Baron's attention, and if I have failed in my duty, I will accept my punishment." Siegfa stared back at him, looking confused. "Don't look so stunned, lad," said Ulf, smiling. "I'm not a monster. A leader of men may have many duties of which his liegemen know but a few. I know I did not act according to the code, but I had my reasons, and in due course, you will learn of them. But this is a matter of the utmost sensitivity. I must ask you to speak to no-one else of this." Siegfa opened his mouth, hesitated, shut it and nodded. "Sir Erik alone and myself will tend this secret, for now, and soon, mark you, very soon, it will be possible to open this matter up and you will learn why I had to act as I did. But I thank you for bringing it to me, and know that you have shown yourself to be of the highest quality in this. But, as I say, keep it between us three." "Us four," said Siegfa. "My sister, also." "You've spoken of this to your sister?" "I speak of everything to her. She knows my whole heart." "Ah," said Sir Ulf, and paused for a moment. "Then I must ask you to urge her to speak of it to no-one." "I will," said Siegfa. "And now," said Ulf, "let us speak of other matters. We so seldom meet, you and I, and feel I would benefit from your counsel." "Very well," said Siegfa, cautiously. "Your sister and yourself are a credit to His Grace," Ulf said. "I know he thinks of you both very fondly." "We owe him our lives," said Siegfa. "And you have repaid him," said Ulf, smiling warmly. "I think not," said Siegfa. "Well," said Ulf, "in any case, I know he is keen to see you both wed. You are both of marrying age. You must have your eyes on someone." Siegfa blushed. "Not I, my lord. My sister, perhaps." "You don't have so much as a ladyfriend for whom you would commit great deeds?" said Ulf. "I have never found any woman to inspire me so," said Siegfa, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. "Have you not?" said Ulf. "How old are you again?" "Nineteen, sire." "Well, lad," said Ulf, "you've got your whole life ahead of you." *** After Siegfa had gone, Ulf sat in thought for a long while. He did some work on the family accounts, took lunch with his wife, and then went out walking. He walked far into the dusty end of the manor where most of the lower-class men lived with their families. He knocked on a particular door which was answered by a tall, strapping man in his thirties, who ushered Ulf in. Freyas Saga Ch. 02 There was nobody else in the house. The man gave Ulf a beer, and after they had drunk in silence, the man said "What is it?" "I've got a bit of a problem," said Ulf. "What sort of problem?" "A young man," said Ulf, "awfully sure of himself, he is. He's being a thorn in my side. I have a feeling he plays for your side." "Who is he?" "Young bloke. One of Sir Erik's. Good-looking boy. Twin. Has a sister." The man smiled. "Siegfa." "He does, then?" said Ulf. "Play for your side?" "I don't know for sure," said the man, "but I'd bet my father's cock on it." "Why don't you know for sure?" "He's a virgin, far as I know. Chaste as the snow is cold. Never been known to be with anyone. But I have ways of telling." "What are they?" said Ulf, interested. "The way a man stands when he talks to you. The way he looks at you. The way he looks at other men. The way he doesn't look at girls. I'll bet he's one of ours." "Good," said Ulf. "Then I'd like you to make him realise it." The man's smile broadened. "Well," he said, "this makes a pleasant change from what you usually want me to do." "For once, he might be one of yours. If he is, then you're doing him a service. If he isn't, then just rough him up the usual way." "How much?" said the man. "Put it this way," said Ulf. "If he's not one of yours, I want him ashamed enough not to show his face for a long time," said Ulf. "So if it's possible to do it in such a way that he'll be found, then do it that way. On the contrary, if he does want it, feel free to make him into your lapdog. If you can tame him, do so. Then everyone wins." "What's this boy done?" "Just a bloody barrack-room lawyer," said Ulf. "Needs to learn that there's more to life than being right all the time. Reckon you can do that?" "Oh yeah," said the man, grinning. "I reckon I can do that." *** Siegfa returned to his rooms and told his sister what had happened. "What do you think?" said Carfryn, staring at her brother with wide eyes. "I do not know," he said. "Everything he said reassures me. Yet my heart warns me not to trust him." "Your heart is wise, brother," said Carfryn. "You cannot trust him. I think you must now go to His Grace, and speak directly. His Grace will have it out with Sir Ulf." "If I am wrong," said Siegfa, "then I am disgraced, and you with me." "Do you feel you are wrong?" said Carfryn. "Did you not see what you saw?" "I saw what I saw," said Siegfa resignedly. "Then you must hold to that," said Carfryn. "You must, brother, or Sir Ulf will talk you into a web of words that you will not be able to escape from. Go to the Baron in the morning." "You are right," said Siegfa, and Carfryn embraced him. They took a bath together, and talked quietly about old times, and about the uncertain future, and then Carfryn dried her brother and Siegfra dried his sister, and they went to bed, and lay there. As Carfryn lay with her brother lying innocently in her arms, she was filled with a huge and nameless sadness. It had no source, but seemed to fill her up like a river overflowing its banks. She started weeping silently, and when Siegfra felt her body shaking he turned and looked at her with concern. "Sister," he said, "what are these tears?" "I do not know," she said. "I cannot account for them. I just fear for us, brother. I fear for what will come." "Do not fear," he said, "for I am strong and able, and you are wise and prudent and have at least my strength. Together we cannot bring dishonour on our house." There was a knock at the door. Siegfa got up, put on his jerkin and breeches, and opened it. A serving girl was outside. "I have a message for my lord," she said, and handed Siegfa a scroll. He read it, nodded and came over to the bed where his sister lay. "I must go," he said. "I have been called to a meeting with someone who knows of this matter. I will not be long." He buckled on his sword belt and put on his boots. Carfryn watched him, and as he headed for the door she could no longer help it but cried out. "Brother! No! Do not go! Stay with me!" "It is a meeting at the stables, sister, nothing more," said Siegfa, smiling at her, puzzled. "Stay with me," she pleaded, and he saw, at last, what was in her eyes, and in her thoughts. He saw what she felt when she looked on him. His smile vanished, and he advanced on her, his face full of anger. "You forget yourself," he hissed. "Have some shame, sister. Learn some shame. I will return and we will talk of this. Say your prayers." He headed for the door and left, and Carfryn saw the girl give her a worried look before closing the door. Carfryn lay on the bed and buried her face in the bolster and wept, her body shaking with shame and mortification. *** Siegfa went to the stables, where the note had told him to go, and he was surprised to find it empty. "Who's here?" he said. There was no-one. The girl stood in the doorway. He turned and saw her. "You can go," he said, and tossed her a few coin, which she gratefully caught. He heard her footsteps recede across the gravel in the courtyard. The stable smelled of oats and horse piss. The horses themselves were either asleep or absent. "Who's here?" he said again. A man stepped out before him. Siegfa knew him by site, one of Sir Ulf's men. A tall, handsome, knight named Harasteorra. "I know you," said Siegfa. "And I know you," said Harasteorra. "You summoned me," said Siegfa. "Why?" "To get to know you better," said Harasteorra. "What do you mean?" said Siegfa. "To know me better? I have been seeking to find others who also saw Sir Ulf at Casman, who will support me when I go to the Baron." "I wasn't at Casman," said Harasteorra, smiling at Siegfa and approaching him slowly. "I know you were not," said Siegfa. "Do you know one who was?" "I know plenty," said Harasteorra. He was holding a bottle of wine. He took a long pull at it and smacked his lips, smiling at Siegfa, who stood baffled, nervous, unnerved by the masculine presence of this large knight, in the stables, in the dead of night, approaching him, starting to tower over him. "Then can you have them meet me?" said Siegfa. "I might," said Harasteorra. "It depends on what you will give me in return." "I have nothing to give," said Siegfa, "save my gratitude." "Oh, come now," said Harasteorra. "I think you have much to offer one such as me." "I have no money and no land," said Siegfa. "All I have is my honour." "I'm not interested in your honour," said Harasteorra, stopping in front of Siegfa and smiling at him, candidly, looking him in the eye. "Then I have nothing to give you," said Siegfa softly, nervously. "Oh, but you do," said Harasteorra. "You really do." "I don't know what you mean," Siegfa breathed, trembling, as Harasteorra slowly, gently reached out and stroked the youth's smooth face. "You do know what I mean," said Harasteorra. "Come now, lad. I'm right, aren't I?" "Right about what?" said Siegfa. "You're not ... like the other lads, are you? You're a serious sort. I know you. When everyone's getting washed and we're all standing around in the altogether ... you get the same feeling I get, don't you?" Harasteorra stared down into the boy's pale blue eyes. Siegfa was trembling, poised between terror and longing, staring up at him, wanting it to be true. "Do you want me to be honest, Siegfa?" said Harasteorra softly. He was loving this job. It was the best ever. "It is our duty to be honest," Siegfa breathed. "You like men, Siegfa," said Harasteorra. "You've always preferred men. The sight of a man's body excites you. You've never done anything about it because you feel it's wrong. I'm here to tell you that it's not wrong. It can be wonderful. All you have to do is ... yield." "But," Siegfa stammered, "the dishonour ..." "How can it be dishonourable to be what you are?" said Harasteorra. "Oh God," Siegfa whimpered, as Harasteorra put his lips to the youth's neck, and touched his shoulders, holding him gently but firmly in place as he kissed his way up Siegfa's jawline and finally reached Siegfa's mouth. Harasteorra kissed Siegfa, pushing his tongue into the young man's mouth, and Siegfa moaned. Harasteorra chuckled in his throat. "You do love it," he murmured. "I've never done this before," Siegfa whimpered. "Yes, I do." "I knew it," said Harasteorra. "Come. Off with these." He grabbed Siegfas sword belt and opened it; it fell to the grass. Siegfa made to grab it, but Harasteorra quickly lifted Siegfa's jerkin over the young man's head, and then pulled down Siegfa's breeches, stripping the younger man naked. Siegfa shivered and gasped, covering his nudity with his hands, and then he watched in wonder as Harasteorra stripped naked too, uncovering his glorious, muscled body, and Siegfa gained the courage to uncover himself and step out of his boots so that he stood naked and displayed to Harasteorra, staring at the older knight with longing. "Oh my," murmured Harasteorra. "Siegfa, you are beautiful." "Please," Siegfa gasped, and Harasteorra enveloped the youth in his brawny arms and kissed him and took him to the hay piled on the stable floor. Siegfa felt like it was a dream; nothing in his life had ever felt so right, so natural. Harasteorra seemed to know exactly what it was like to be him, and far from making him feel that he was betraying his life as a knight, it felt like a fulfilment; what could be more natural than to embrace a brother knight naked and make him feel beloved? They lay in the hay, kissing and running their hands over each other's bodies, and then Harasteorra put his cock in Siegfa's hands and encouraged the youth to take him in his mouth. Siegfa responded joyfully, and Harasteorra was marvelling at how readily the young man took to this new knowledge of himself, when Siegfa looked up at him, his large blue eyes shining, and said "Can you make love to me?" "You mean ..." said Harasteorra. "I mean, as a man does a woman," said Siegfa. "I wish to be you as a woman is to the man who loves her." "Not quite," said Harasteorra, "as you're not a woman. Women have cunts and arses; men have cocks and arses. You do know the difference?" "Yes," said Siegfa. "I know how women's bodies are made." Siegfa looked crestfallen, but he was so glowing with arousal and so puppyish in his enthusiasm that Harasteorra judged he was ready to go to the next level. "However," said Harasteorra, stroking Siegfa's cropped head, "when a man loves another man, there is one part that does double duty." Siegfa looked up at him again, trembling with desire, and Harasteorra reached behind Siegfa and let his fingers run between Siegfa's buttocks. "This part," Harasteorra said, "will serve as your boy-cunt, if you'll let me." "Ooooh," Siegfa gasped. "Show me what to do." Harasteorra found a wooden jar of goose grease by the stable door, and as he went back down to the other end of the stable, and saw the Siegfa lying on his belly in the hay, the youth propping himself up on his elbows, smiling at Harasteorra as he returned, his pert, round bum shining in the moonlight ... Harasteorra reflected that in all his time as one of Ulf's enforcers, making someone into a pet had never felt so much like falling in lust. Harasteorra knelt behind Siegfa and pushed a half-handful of grease between the young man's buttocks. Siegfa groaned with pleasure, shaking with the extremity of his arousal, and when Harasteorra mounted him and pushed his stiff cock between Siegfa's tight, deep buttocks and into the youth's asshole, Siegfa lowered his face into the hay and moaned from the gut. Harasteorra fucked Siegfa up his young arse for a long, slow, luxurious time, Siegfa squirming and whimpering and tearful and ecstatic beneath him, and Siegfa confessed his love, and Harasteorra accepted it and kissed the boy and urged him to cum, feeling Siegfa's cock pulsing in his hand, and it was wonderful, and Harasteorra was congratulating himself on the most painless ever job of turning someone, when he was suddenly aware that there were other men in the room. He paused. "What is it?" Siegfa whimpered. "This is private," said Harasteorra, discreetly withdrawing from Siegfa and grabbing his own breeches and pulling them on in one motion. Siegfa was not so practiced. He rolled over and gasped and flushed crimson and scrabbled for his clothes, which weren't there. There were five of them, all of them in shadow. "You weren't supposed to fuckin' fall in love with him," said one of them. "You were supposed to shut him up." Harasteorra, glanced at Siegfa, who was gaping at them and at him, in horror, shock, and betrayal. He cursed inwardly. Who the fuck were this lot? Yet he knew who they were, really. "I've got this," he said. "You can go." Siegfa was curled up, naked, on the stable floor, aghast, staring at the shadowy figures and at Harasteorra. "What is this?" he managed to gasp. "I said," Harasteorra repeated, "I've bloody got this. Be on your way." He rose up to his full height. "Don't think so," said the speaker. "You looked a lot like you were having too much fun. We want this one silenced." "I've fucking got this," said Harasteorra, sotto voce, leaning into the speaker's face. The speaker was masked. "Shut up, gay boy," said the speaker. "You've had your fun. The rest is business." Harasteorra was not a good man. He had done cruel things. He had some regrets. Not too many, as he'd learned to live without them. He opened his mouth, and he smelt, rather than saw or felt, the point of the dagger just below his chin. He didn't move, as the other five men descended on Siegfa and quickly tied a bag over the young man's head, and tied his wrists behind his back, and turned him over so that he lay on his belly on the cobbles. Siegfa made a muffled scream, and struggled. The first one mounted him. Siegfa screamed once again, desperately. The first one was fiddling around beneath himself, and then Siegfa screamed again, from the gut, and Harasteorra closed his eyes and thought Ulf, you fucking, fucking, fucking bastard. You bastard. Siegfa's body shook as the first man raped him, and Harasteorra raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, as if to say, I won't interfere, I want nothing to do with this. The speaker dragged him outside and Harasteorra closed his ears to the muffled screams of Siegfa being gang-raped inside the stables. "Now," said the speaker, "we have an understanding, right, gay boy? Your work is done. You'll be paid. Pretty boy in there will live, don't worry. We'll make sure he's found here, so that nobody will ever believe anything he fucking says, ever again. And you will not get ideas that you can start fucking a knight of the realm. Because the boss does not like your sort. All right? He thinks you're disgusting, if you want to know. So stick to the poor. That's more your area." "Thanks," said Harasteorra. There was a noise from the shadows. A stifled sob. The speaker whipped around. Then the serving girl ran out, belting across the courtyard, sobbing, desperate to get away. The speaker cursed and ran off and Harasteorra ran with him. She was young and strong; they were trained and stronger. They caught up with her in the outer courtyard, near the cesspit. The speaker dived at her and tackled her to the ground. He rolled the girl onto her back. She was mousy-haired and sort of pretty, with dark circles under her eyes. She stared up at them in terror. Harasteorra looked down at her with something like compassion. He knew what they had to do. "Please, sirs," she begged, "I saw nothin', I don't know anythin', I just passed a message, I was comin' down and I saw you talkin' and I thought it best to hide, but I don't know anythin' ..." "You took the message to Sir Siegfa," said the speaker curtly. "Yes, sir, it was I," she said. Oh, you poor, poor bitch, thought Harasteorra. The speaker looked up at him, and even through the mask, Harasteorra reckoned he could detect a shred of something like anger, that he had to do what he was about to do. "Fuck. I'm sorry, love," the speaker said, and he indicated to Harasteorra. Harasteorra dropped to the ground and held the girl down, while the speaker undid her clothes. Harasteorra held her cap in her mouth so that her screams would be muffled, but it was important that her clothes not be ripped off, but removed intact. She stared up at them through uncomprehending, tear-filled eyes as they stripped her naked. Then the speaker mounted her and wrapped her blouse around her head, so he wouldn't have to look at her face, and as she made muffled whimpers for mercy, he raped her. Harasteorra forced himself to watch, forced himself to try to communicate with her, through his mind, or something, to make her understand that none of this was her fault, she'd just been caught up in something that was bigger than all of them. When he'd finished, the speaker got off her and dragged her to her feet and tightened the blouse over her head, holding her wrists behind her back. She tottered, sobbing, her pale body gleaming in the faint moonlight. The speaker muttered to Harasteorra "All right, fuck off, I'll take this," and he dragged the whimpering girl over towards the cesspit. Harasteorra stood still and listened to the receding sound of the girl's cries, muffled by the cloth, and then he heard her be unmuffled and she screamed once, in panic and terror, and then there was a splash and a bubbling noise that went on for a long time, and then, nothing. He walked back to the inner courtyard, and approached the stables, and didn't look at the men coming out of them. He went in, and ignored the naked, sobbing, bleeding youth lying prone and on the cobbles, and collected his clothes, and went out to the courtyard to get dressed. One day, he said to himself. One day, either this will come back on me, or I will avenge this. But he knew, deep in his heavy heart, that it would probably be the former. Back at home, there was a bottle of the '45 he'd been saving for a night when he'd need it. This, it seemed, was that fucking night, right enough. Harasteorra walked home, feeling his heart cooling in his chest to a lump of stone. *** Carfryn awoke, suddenly, to find the bed empty. She sat up, naked as she was, and knew that something had gone wrong. She got out of bed, and without even bothering to put on a robe, she grabbed a candle and went out of the room, and down the stairs, and out of the castle, into the night of the courtyard. It was a quarter moon, and dark, but there was still some light. She went across the courtyard and headed for the stables. As she approached, she heard the sound of sobbing. Her heart pounding, she entered. Siegfa was naked on the ground, his body bruised, blood between his legs. He was shaking with sobs. He looked up at her. Before him was his jerkin, his breeches, his sword belt. His sword was out. He was holding it by the hilt. "Brother," she gasped, and knelt by him. Siegfa looked up at his sister, his eyes full of tears. "Sister," he sobbed, "I was not worthy." And before she could stop him, he raised the sword and drew it across his throat. Carfryn froze, as his warm blood fountained over her face and body. She reached out and grabbed the sword, but it was too late. He stared at her, the life leaving his eyes, and he sank back in death. She knelt there, naked and covered in his blood, staring at his lifeless body, for a long time. Freyas Saga Ch. 02 Then, she quietly took his sword and his sword belt, and rose to her feet. She leaned over him, looking at him, looking at what had been done to him. Her face a bloody mask, she walked out of the stable and went back into the castle. She walked up the stairs, naked and blood-streaked, back to the room she had shared with her brother. In the room, she looked around and saw her own jerkin and breeches and boots, and his armour. She dressed in her clothes, and donned his armour. Then she looked at herself in the glass, and took a knife, and cut her hair short to match his. Then, when she resembled her brother as best she could, she put on his sword belt, and put his sword in his scabbard, with his blood still on it, and she went back down to the stables. She ignored the lifeless body of her brother on the ground, and woke her own horse, and mounted him, and rode out into the night. *** The old sagas record that, some days after the return of the party from Casman, one of its number, Siegfa, a young knight, was found murdered in Baron Hargest's stable. His throat had been cut. To add the luridness of the crime, he was naked when he was found. His sister, to whom he was devoted, was nowhere to be found. As Hargest's men searched the castle for the culprit, they found the naked corpse of a serving girl in the cesspit. She had been drowned; marks were found on her neck to show that she'd been held down, and it was also evident that she had been intimate with a man relatively recently. Suspicion immediately feel upon Siegfa's sister. It was rumoured that her feelings for her brother were unhealthy, and that she had found him in the stable with the girl. The court of inquiry found in the sister's absence that she had killed her brother on the spot and then chased the unfortunate girl, found her hiding in the cesspit, had murdered her too, then fled. It was well known that Siegfa's sister could withstand the fumes of the cesspit because it was part of the legend of how she and her brother had been found. The sagas end without further mention of Siegfa's sister, but as far as they were concerned, that's what she was: the jealous, murderous, tormented, incest-obsessed sister of a brave, handsome youth who had been having robust, manly fun with a willing wench. The sagas were wrong. Freyas Saga Ch. 03 Five awoke with a splitting headache and a dry mouth. It was night. He rolled painfully onto his back and opened his eyes and looked at the stars. It was a clear night. There was the Shepherd, and there the Apothecary, and there the Anchor. And there, deep in the lowest quadrant of the Anchor, was the Moon. After midnight, then. Where am I. It took Five a moment for the horror to return. The lady. The worm. It stripped her and it - Yes. Five closed his eyes and tried to forget her screams. He could not. Oh god. There isn't time in the world to do penance for not trying to save her. But what . . . why am I . . . I missed the battle. Again. I missed it. Because some fucker knocked me out. And now I'll have been dragged back and left by the bush where they all go for a piss, again. And I'm the joke. Again. Because they fought those fucking village bastards without me. And I'm the weight, Fat Five. Five Hundred Pounds. Though I'm no more than a hundred and fifty. Five Pies and a Bag of Shit. What lovely nicknames people come up with when they hate you. He shut his eyes tight and fought back the tears of shame. There would be plenty of opportunity to be ashamed later, when they ripped into him for it. Fuck them. If they'd wanted me to fight, somebody could have woken me up and given me a weapon. Not just not bothered with me. But, they never bother with me. Please, please, please, one day, let me have a chance, just a little chance, to show that I'm not fucking rubbish. Yes, that'll happen. Oh well. Time to face them all and get the kicking that's coming to me. He raised his throbbing head and looked around, expecting to see the sleeping bodies of the army about him. But there was nothing. He was alone. He had not been dragged off. He was where he'd been all along. The thicket he'd been behind. The huts of the village - he was still there! Some few had a dim glow but most were dark. Five picked himself up and looked around, dismayed. The army. What? Had it . . . It him with a sudden pain in his chest. The army he'd fought in for seven years. Seven years of lugging his flabby body from campaign to campaign, learning the skills he'd learned, trying to save his own arse in battles, humping Sir Snorri's gear, tending it, fixing it, oiling it, cooking meals, cleaning meals up, doing his best to heal wounds. All of it had meant, it seemed, nothing. Somebody had knocked him out and they had up and left him there. He gasped with the shock of it, feeling winded. But then he calmed himself down by breathing deeply. Fuck that. Fine. If I'm no longer in the army I can do what I want. Bloody great. He looked around. Except that there was nothing for him to do. For seven years I've had too much to do. Now I have nothing. Then, in the corner of his eye, he spotted a vague pale shape on the ground. He squinted at it; in the moonlight it was hard to make out. He walked towards it. Then he trotted. Then broke into a run, because it was the lady Freya. He reached her and looked down in horror. She was lying on one side, curled up, her face and naked body masked in thick white slime but her mouth visible and open. He staggered back, and made himself come forward again and look down at her. My god, thought Five. What has happened to her. Her face was immobile, her body too. She lay quite still. What a terrible, terrible death. He sank to his knees and, God help him, he lost it. He wept, staring at her helplessly, weeping for how still and vulnerable she looked now, compared to how magnificent she had been in life: how swift and certain in battle, how astute in planning, how eloquent in speech. And now this; dead on the outskirts of some shithole village, raped and smothered by some freakish bloody giant caterpillar. He knelt beside her body and gathered himself up. He prayed for her in a quiet, trembling voice, and marked his own forehead with dirt, and wept some more. He knelt in honour, his forehead touching the ground, feeling nothing but the waste of her great, short life. Then he heard something. He opened one eye. He was sure he'd heard something. He opened both and stared at her. He crouched down and examined her lips. They fluttered, slightly. She was alive. She was alive! He leaped up, his heart pounding. What to do. What to do. Right, stop, stupid, you're an idiot, everyone says so. First, gather all her gear. He looked around. Astonishingly, all her gear, her torn clothes, her armour, even her sword, were scattered where they had been left. Nobody had taken anything. Five ran back and forth gathering it all up and putting it in his pack. Then he returned to the terrible slimy thing on the ground. He knelt by it. "Lady," he whispered. No response. He steeled himself, reached out a hand, gagged a little, and wiped the slime off her ear. It looked fucking horrible but it wasn't so bad once you'd touched it. He flicked it off his hand and sniffed it; it smelt like nothing he'd smelt before, but it wouldn't make you puke. He wiped more off her face. Her eyes, when he could see them, were open, staring into nothing. Which was not a good sign. But he reached under her jaw and felt around, and he felt life in her neck. And where there was life, and so on. All right, I can do this. "Lady," he whispered urgently. "Lady! I will get you out of here. Can you hear me?" Freya did not respond. Her sightless eyes stared into nothing. Sir Ulf's words came back to him. It's alive, but that is not Freya. Her mind is destroyed. She is defiled. Five stared at Freya's blank, masklike face, her eyes staring emptily. I don't bloody care if she's a mindless nothing, he told himself, I will take her from here, and I will wash her and dress her and return her to her family where she belongs. She cannot be left here. That's just fucking wrong. He shook her shoulder. She flopped, limp. Fine, he said to himself, and gritted his teeth. He humped onto his back the now double-size pack, with her clothes, armour and sword and all his squire gear, and he bent over, puffing and sweating, and he took the lady's wrists in his hands. "Come on," he muttered, and he began to drag Freya's unresponsive body up the slope. *** Four hours later, they were miles away from the nightmare village and its awful god. Five had got exhausted by dragging her body and he'd noticed that she was starting to chafe and scratch on the rocks, so he'd fashioned a crude sledge out of tent canvas and had dragged her on that down the other side of the ridge, well away from the nightmare world of the village. He'd walked and walked and walked, the lady's body bumping along behind him, and at last he'd come to a brook with clear water. The first thing Five did was let go of the sledge, and the second thing he'd done was throw up, a little bit, from the exertion. He reeled for a moment, then refilled his water bottle and had a good drink, and felt much better. Then, tired as he was, he got out his pans and filled them, and refilled his big leather water flask, and lit a fire, and heated water. He got out his gauzes and his unguents, and a bedroll, and when the water was warm, he took it off the fire and knelt next to Freya and carefully, tenderly, washed her body, until the last traces of slime were gone, including her hair, as best he could; and he dressed her cuts and grazes with everything he could find that would help. If god willed it, he'd deliver her back to her family without a scrape. Then he dried her, and rooted around in his pack once more until he found a plain linen shirt, such that his old lord used to use for sleeping when visiting another man's house. He managed to dress her in it, and a spare pair of his lord's breeches, then he wrapped her in blankets, for it was not a warm night, and he took a single blanket for himself, and put away his gear and extinguished the fire, just as the sky was going pale in the southeast. Then he rolled himself in his blanket and, hungry and aching as he was, he closed his eyes and fell instantly asleep. *** Five woke up the next morning and could see that it wasn't early. The sun was high in the sky. He drank some flat, metal-tasting water from his flask and nibbled some pemmican from his pack, and felt more human. Then he unrolled himself from his blanket and shuffled on his knees over to his patient. Her eyes were shut, but she was otherwise as he'd left her. Still - eyes shut was better than eyes open. "I will get you home, lady, I promise," he murmured. His heart swelled with the conviction of his mission. He had a purpose. All he had to do was get her back to her people, and they would look after her, and she could live out her days, whatever they were like, in dignity. He sat back on his heels, and stared down at the lady's handsome face. Handsome she was, rather than beautiful; the mouth maybe too wide, the eyes too piercing, when they were open; the features too strong. But Five thought her beautiful. He'd always had a terrible crush on her. She was just so ... bloody amazing. She could fight better than any man, and the way she talked, you just wanted to be the best you could be, because she made you feel that you could do it. I'll never have a leader like her again, Five thought. Nobody will, I suppose. He felt a rush of pity and affection for her. To do her homage, as a soldier to his general, he leaned over and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. She opened her eyes, a terrible expression on her face, and she grabbed him by the throat, rose up from her bed, holding him off the ground, choking, his eyes bulging, and she punched him in the stomach and flung him to the ground. Five gasped and gagged. The lady leaned over him and picked him up again by the throat, and he fought for air and shook his head desperately no. She drew back and punched him in the face. Then she punched him again, in the stomach. Then again in the face, then again, as he turned blue and whimpered, tasting blood, feeling his nose horribly sort of loose and bits of teeth on his tongue. Then she threw him to the ground again, and walked off a few paces. Five sprawled on his back, choking, terrified, bewildered, and stared at her in a daze. She walked up the slope, then broke into a run, and sprinted up the side of the hill, before slowing to a stop, and turning and looking around, and looking in every direction. Looking for the army that she had led. The army that had abandoned her. She walked back down the slope, towards Five's little camp site, her gaze turning in every direction, her eyes wide and desperate, her chest heaving, her mouth open. She stopped, a few feet from where Five lay on the ground, and looked one last time in every direction, turning on the spot, until she had her back to him. Then she sank to her knees and raised her arms hopelessly to the empty sky, and screamed a terrible hoarse scream that tore open his heart. "Lady . . ." he gasped. She knelt there, her back to him, and she put her hands to her face and screamed again, into her hands this time, muffled but no less awful. He sat, gasping with pain, still stunned, watching her, tears pricking at his eyes. She knelt for a long moment, and then she raised her face slowly. "I'm sorry, lady," he mumbled, "I was trying to look after you . . ." She turned and looked at him, and he had the feeling that she'd never seen him before, that she'd forgotten that he was there. Her eyes were wide and staring and some terrible emotion went through her for she grimaced and looked away from him. What must she be feeling, he thought. To have been grabbed and stripped by that thing, and to be subjected to that ... he couldn't begin to imagine it. Luckily she didn't seem to be physically harmed. She gagged and put her hand to her mouth, and then coughed, and puke sprayed between the fingers of her hand, and she closed her eyes, doubled over and vomited white liquid into the dirt. He went over to her to comfort her and she raised a hand without looking up and waved him off. She groaned and coughed as she emptied her stomach, and then she spat the last gobs out. He felt sick just looking at her. She straightened up, wiping her mouth, and then shut her eyes and moaned again and leaned over once more, her stomach obviously heaving but nothing coming out. Five ran to his kit and got the water bottle. He brought it over to her. When she finished gagging, she straightened up and took it from him, her face red and her eyes streaming, and she drank deeply. She drained the whole bottle, stood there for a moment, and then shut her eyes, bent over and puked it all up again in a thin stream of greyish liquid. Oh god, he thought. She's got something wrong with her innards. "Are you in pain?" he said. She coughed and vomited and straightened up again and shook her head no. "Are you sure?" he said. "Do you think that thing hurt your insides? Do you want to see a healer?" She stood there, grey-faced, her skin shining with sweat. She looked sick and she belched. She shook her head no and reached down and gently palpated her waist, touching the flesh. He saw something in her eyes, something he'd never seen before. She wasn't looking at him. Her attention was on what was inside her. She felt around her waist until she got to the middle of her stomach, and then she stopped, and her eyes widened. It was fear. That was what he'd never seen in her eyes before. Whatever it was, she was afraid. She beckoned to him and he went over, and she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. He looked at her. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, scared, as if hoping that whatever she'd found, she only thought she'd found. "What am I . . ." he said, and then he felt it. A small, round globe, slightly squeezy. He felt ill. "Yes," I said, "I feel it." She made a low whimper and pushed past him, grabbing the water bottle and running back to his pack. He followed her. He saw her kneel and rummage through his kit until she found the little box he carried of salt for cooking. She poured about a quarter of it into the water bottle and then filled the bottle from his big leather water flask, and then she shut her eyes and grimaced and poured the contents down her throat. "Oh god," he said, and she'd no sooner emptied the salty water down her gullet than she turned her head and vomited yet again, careful not to get it on their stuff or on the fire. Her constant puking was making him feel seriously ill but he could see that she was desperate, doing the only thing she knew to get whatever it was out of her body. If it was even in her stomach, which he wasn't at all sure about. Her puke was mostly water with stringy white bits in it, and she looked at it with streaming eyes and made another pitiable whimper, and then once again, she fumbled with the bottle and poured salt into it and filled it up with water and drank it. This time she stood up and staggered away, clutching her stomach, and she pounded on her own own belly, a fist clamped over her mouth, and she made a loud, stifled groan of agony before convulsing once, twice, and then throwing up again. After two mouthfuls of puke had hit the grass, she paused, and turned, her eyes bulging, her face purple, and he could see it, see the bloody thing bulging in her throat. She was making stifled screams and waved frantically, choking. He ran up behind her, grabbed her around the waist, and yanked her inwards hard. She choked, gagging, and he did it again and it filled her mouth, and she spluttered, liquid spraying from her mouth until with a loud, gargling cough she puked it out. It was a small ball, leathery-looking, covered in slimy stomach juices. Freya hung over it, puke dripping from her lips, and she stamped on it. It split open. Inside it was crawling with tiny, white, glistening worms. She stamped on them, but they were curiously rubbery. Weeping, she pounded them with her foot but they kept squirming in the grass. Five didn't know how he kept his gorge down, but he went back to his pack and grabbed the salt and came over to her again. He poured a handful of salt over them and he and Freya watched as they writhed, bubbling, and burst open into pools of jelly, and were finally still, dissolving into the grass. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "That's got rid of that," said Five with grim satisfaction, and then felt Freya turning her gaze on him. He looked at her fearfully. She shook her head no, her face bleak. She put her hand on her lower belly, just above her groin. "Oh fuck," he said, horrified. "What are we gonna do?" She took the salt from him and walked back to the fire. She took a pan and poured salt into it, then added water and heated it. She stirred the salt until it dissolved, then when the water was warm she took it off the fire. "You think it'll work?" he said. She shook her head wearily no. "How are you going to get it in there?" he said. She knelt on the ground, thinking, then clicked her fingers and pointed to the leathern water flask. He grabbed it and emptied it and she poured the salty water into it, and then handed it to him. Grim-faced, she took off her breeches and lay on the grass and parted her legs. Oh, fuck, he thought, I have to do this. Somehow it was easier because it was so strange, so outside the normal boring tenor of his days, to be administering this salt-water dose to the womb of the land's greatest warrior. After this, Five though, after this, anyone tries to tell me they've done some strange bloody things, I will say no, no, whatever for you, I have sluiced the womb of Freya Aelfrethe so it would be free of maggots. Except I won't. I'll never tell. She would die of shame. She stared at the blue sky and bit her lip as he fumbled at the unfamiliar configuration of her sex, and he found the entrance with help from her hands, and his fingers trembling, he inserted the neck of the flask into her. Then, he squeezed it and she shut her eyes and gasped as it entered her. He squeezed till the flask was empty. She pulled it out of her and closed her thighs and grabbed her breeches and covered her modesty and lay there a moment, and then she moaned with pain and rolled onto her side. Oh no, he thought, oh no, I've injured her. "Are you hurt, lady?" he asked. "Is it all right?" She made a low, guttural whimper and rocked gently from side to side, her hands thrust between her legs, and Five closed his eyes and tried to unsee what he was seeing, the abject humiliation of the greatest hero of the age. It's as well it's only me is seeing this, he thought. She might as well be alone. Freya lay still on her side for a long time, and he covered her further with a blanket, and went back to tend the fire. She made the occasional low sound, but her back was to him and he sensed that she did not want him witnessing what she was going through any more than was necessary. A long time went by and still she barely moved, until he had built up the fire to cook some lunch and she cried out and convulsed, her legs kicking once. He went over to her and she rolled onto her back, her face twisted with pain, and she reached down between her legs under the blanket and brought her hand back red with blood. Oh god, Five thought, thinking of his own troubles, but she took a deep breath and pulled down the blanket, and she got up and walked over behind a bush and squatted. She made one strangled cry and then looked down, and rose slowly to her feet. Five went over to her. Freyas Saga Ch. 03 There on the grass, amid splashes of blood, was another of the leathery-looking spheres. He stamped on it and poured salt on it and the worms boiled and dissolved. "That's got to be it," he said. She closed her eyes and shook her head no, and then winced and clutched her stomach and went behind the bush again. He turned his back and tried not to listen to her gasps of pain as she passed the last one, but then she made a tight cry of anguish and relief he knew that it had happened, and he turned to see her standing up, her face crimson, the shame written all over her, and he handed her a cloth and sprinkled salt on the mess she'd left behind the bush. She looked around and saw the brook, trickling some way off. She walked towards it, shedding her clothes as she went, and when she was naked she plunged into it and waded until she found a shallow pool. She sat down in it, gasping with the cold, and threw water over herself, rubbing her skin hard until she was red. Five ran and got a bottle of almond oil and brought it to her and she poured it on herself recklessly, furiously trying to cleanse herself, rubbing her flesh until it was raw. He watched her, his heart aching with pity. He wished he could think of something he could do, but there was something so desperate in her silent, obsessive washing of herself that he knew that no mere words could do anything. She wasn't quite silent. He realised that she was making a noise, a repeated sort of hiccup, Huc huc huc huc. After a moment, he realised with shock that that was her weeping. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked miserably. She ignored him and went on rubbing and scraping at her flesh. He turned his back and walked back to the fire, to give her some privacy. *** After a very long time she came walking back up the slope. She was dressed but her hair was wet and her clothes were damp. Her face looked red and raw and she was shivering. Five put another log on the fire and she sat down stiffly at it, staring into the fire. "Do you want anything?" he asked. A stiff, curt shake of the head. "I'm sorry," he said. "I got knocked out. I was there when that thing took you, and I kept asking why we didn't make a move, but Sir Ulf, he was very cautious and said no, but in the end, and I know it's bad, I took a weapon and I was going to go up and try and get you myself but I got knocked out. Then I woke up here, well, over the ridge, down by the village, and everyone was gone but you. You were covered in this white stuff and I got you up the slope and down to here and washed you and dressed you because I thought you were dead and you weren't. I'm sorry." She stared at him, and he realised that she hadn't really heard what he'd said. "I found you, lady," he mumbled. "I found you after that thing spat you out, and I, well, I tried to get you out of there. I did get you out of there. We're miles away now. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. I've saved all your kit, though." He gestured weakly to his bulging pack. She glanced at it, and glanced back at him. She peered at him, and seemed to see him for the first time, and he saw her go pale with dismay. She scrambled over to him and looked at him, her fingers touching his blood-caked mouth. She inspected his wounds minutely. Then she fetched water in the pan and lit a new fire with what to him seemed almost magical efficiency. She heated water and then, to his embarrassment, she tended the wounds that she'd dealt him. She didn't exactly have gentle apothecary's hands, more like the brisk efficiency of a battlefield doctor, but she washed his face and looked in his mouth and cleared out the bits of loose tooth. She found one tooth that was dangling by a thread. "Oh no," said Five. "Please, lady, no, don't ..." Freya looked down at him dispassionately, and with a sharp tug she pulled it out, making him yelp. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he felt embarrassed again. Then she looked at his face critically, and she reached up and touched his nose. "OW!" he yelped. "Oh, please, no, lady, it's all right, it's only broken, please don't do anything ..." She looked at him, and she tilted her head slightly, as if to say - well, look, now's your chance, if not now ... "Well," he snuffled, "if you know what you're doing." She looked around quickly, muttered a silent curse and then reached up and opened his lips. She opened her mouth wide to show what she wanted him to do. He opened his mouth wide, feeling extremely nervous. Freya made her right hand into a fist, stuck it carefully in his mouth, and then in one swift movement with her other hand, she clicked his broken nose back into position. It was fucking agony, and he screamed and bit down on her fist, but it was better than screaming and biting down on his own tongue. He howled with pain and she hissed her breath through her teeth, her eyes narrowing to slits; and then he opened his streaming eyes and she slowly withdrew her bleeding fist from his mouth, opened her hand and flexed her fingers, then nodded once, and wiped her hand with a cloth, and started to wash his face. He still felt embarrassed, and wasn't sure why. It was just so odd. After all, he had seen far worse things happen to her. But here she was, a great warrior and a general, tending to the wounds of a common soldier. Odder than that was her continuing silence. She had made only two sounds since waking up, both screams. Other than that, she answered his every comment with either a look, a shake of the head or a nod, or else she ignored him. When she'd finished washing his face and had applied healing ointment to his bloody lips and bruised, swollen cheek, she sat back and stared into the fire once more Five sat on the other side of the fire and watched her warily. "Lady," he said, "can I get you something? Do you need anything?" She ignored him. She's embarrassed, he thought. She's the great leader, the perfect shieldmaiden. I've seen her naked and raped and driven half mad and sick with the ordeal. Better to not talk about it. Talk about yourself. "My name's Five," he said. She stared into the fire, ignoring him. "It's not really," he admitted. "I don't have a name. I was orphaned young and when I was old enough I was put to be Sir Snorri's squire. He always gives his squires numbers until he knights them. I'm number five, but to be honest, I don't think he's ever going to knight me. I'm not a very good squire." He looked at her. She was silent. She was still trembling a little, but not from the cold. From what had been done to her. She'll get better, he told himself. I've just got to let her know that I'm at her service. She needs someone to look after her. "I can do cooking and cleaning and that, and repairing, but I'm terrible with weapons. I'm a bit scared of fighting because I'm no good at it. Not like you. You're the best fighter I've ever seen. They say there's never been anyone as good as you. I don't know. Do you think that's true?" Her brow creased slightly and she shook her head no, still staring into the fire. "Well, anyway," Five went on, feeling like a fucking idiot, "I don't exactly know how it happened but I got knocked out, and when I came around, the only people left of our lot were you and I." She looked up sharply. "I don't know where they went," he said. "I'm sorry. But I thought you might be dead, or else badly hurt, but then I saw you weren't dead, and I thought the only thing I could do was get you away from there to somewhere where I could clean you up and take you back to Hargest. Because you were all covered in stuff, from that . . ." He tailed off because she flinched and he saw her fight her gorge back. "Sorry," he said. "So, I gathered all your gear and I managed to drag you up the slope and down the other side and get you here. I hope I didn't hurt you. I just wanted to get you safe so I could clean you up. I wasn't sure if you'd still be able to talk or, or do anything, but I mean, I did the best I could. I swear, I don't know why they left without us." She was staring at him intently. He felt terrible. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "We should have saved you. I don't know why we didn't." She was silent. After a long moment, in which he felt her eyes on him but couldn't look back at her, he sensed that she'd gone back to staring into the fire. "Maybe I should have done something," he said. "I mean, maybe I could have done more." She didn't move. "I'm sorry," he said again, and to his bitter shame he lost his composure and wept. He rested his arms on his knees and buried his face on them, his shoulders shaking. Now she only has me. What kind of helper am I going to be? A lumpen quivering fool who's scared of fighting. She ought to have a hero. All I've done is save her so that she can witness the end of her own career. "Ssssshh," she said. He looked up. She was looking at him again, unsmiling, but with a hint of compassion in her narrow grey eyes. She picked up the water bottle and sipped it, and cleared her throat. "Be a man," she whispered in a hoarse, dry voice. "That's what everyone tells me," said Five, snivelling. "I don't know how. I don't have it in me. Can you talk?" She nodded. "Why didn't you say something before?" She looked at him. *** She regarded the smooth-chinned boy sitting there, his short hair flopping over his face, his cheeks pale and blotchy red, his eyes wet. She felt sorry for him. He dragged me it must be six miles. And now he sits there and reckons himself a disgrace because he did not protect me. It was up to me to protect myself. And Ulf, and Snorri, to be sure. But for whatever reason, they betrayed me. No, I know why. Because I have been proud, and I have forgotten to serve, rather than to lead. I cannot blame them. I have lost my chastity; it was true, the prophecies were all true. As soon as I lost it, I lost the power to lead. She drank water again. Her throat was burning; every sound she made was like swallowing a hot coal. Her whole body ached; she felt scorched, inward and out, as if she'd passed through a forge. Her body and soul alike. How could I stand at the head of soldiers again, who'd seen that happen to me? How would anyone ever take commands from a leader who had been taken and used like that? A laughing-stock. Raped by a worm; it was only pathetic and disgusting, naught else. But I can do nothing else. I cannot cook, wean a child, write books, run a household, run a kingdom. I am and will only ever be a soldier. I am not even that. A soldier would have fought, and slain that thing. I merely bit, and escaped it. It lives yet. "Why don't you speak?" said the boy. She'd even forgotten his name. She shook her head. "What's that mean?" he asked. What do I mean. Be a man. What did that mean? It was men who did this to me, set their beast on me. Took my virginity. Defiled my name. You have naught to say but lies, Freya. God, I am tired. She lay down, wrapped her cloak around herself and closed her eyes. *** Five watched as Freya wrapped herself in her cloak, and he felt bitter and excluded. He waited until her breathing became deep and regular, and then he put another blanket over her and wrapped himself in his own cloak and lay down too. *** The days passed. Five would wake up in the morning, light the fire, heat water, cook breakfast and while he was doing so she'd wake up and drink water and go for a walk. Then she would return and sit by the fire, and he'd offer her food, and she would silently shake her head. For the first couple of days he saved her portions of the meals but then they started to go off, so he stopped bothering. He would set her meal in front of her and she'd ignore it, and at the end of the meal he'd throw it away. She slept a lot. She didn't respond when he talked to her. It was like camping with a ghost. He tried to figure out what she was doing but the longer it went on, four days, five days, a week, the harder it became to avoid the conclusion that she no longer wanted to be alive. Soon she stopped even walking and simply lay wrapped in her blanket, only drinking water, sleeping or lying awake staring into nothing. Five grew more and more desperate. He considered trying to beg her to eat something but her silence was so intimidating that he felt unable to challenge it. On top of which they were running out of food, and he had no plan for getting more. Then, after eight days, he was gathering sticks for the fire one morning when he saw a healthy, good-sized rabbit bound out of a thicket. He ran and grabbed his bow and arrow and fired, but he had never been a good shot. All he could think of was rabbit stew for dinner; he knew he could make something that might entice even her, but he was loosing arrows at the bloody thing and it was bounding from clump of grass to bush, mocking him with its freedom, while he was tied by loyalty and pity to her, the woman lying on the ground, the broken champion whom nothing could rouse from her torpor. He was down to two arrows and the rabbit was hiding behind a little shrub. It lifted its head and he fired, missing. "Oh god," he wept with rage, "come on, please, just, one more time, please, come on . . ." *** Freya lay quite still, feeling the wind rushing over her, no longer able to tell if she was cold because it was cold outside, or because she could no longer feel warm. Her head rested on the rolled-up bundle of her pack and if she reached out with her fingers she could feel the tough, wiry grass beneath her. She felt empty. She had been fasting for over a week, in the hope that silence and hunger would lead her to truth. She had endured the gnawing ache in her stomach and throat and bowels and womb. It had slowly ebbed, very slowly, the monster reluctantly letting her go. There had been no more lumps or cramps. Whatever it had tried to do to her, whatever it had left in her, it was gone now. But that wasn't true. It would never quite be gone. Some part of her would always be inside it, drowning in its fluids, stunned by the abandonment, the betrayal. She could walk the wide world and trek back to Hargest and hole herself up in the innermost room with an arsenal of weapons and have her meals handed to her through a hole in the wall, and it would still never be enough to make her feel entirely safe. Had I thought myself entirely safe, before? Perhaps no. But compared to after. My sword: useless. My bravery: as nothing, confronted with something that can defeat any man or woman. I am where I was. Silence and hunger: now I am just hoarse from not speaking and my brain is fogged with hunger. She had never been very religious, sharing the largely unthinking faith of her family, but now she felt as never before the terribleness of there being no god. The world was as empty as she was. None of it meant anything apart from what you put into it. And what if all you could see was the vanity of putting anything into it? Her dull eyes followed the boy running back and forth, uselessly sending arrows where the rabbit had been a long moment before. He was a terrible shot. And for what? To fill his belly so that he could slog along, making meals which she would not eat, pouring her water, shaking out her bedroll when she got up to make her toilet. Something was pricking her, irritating her, something she knew. Some dull intimation. She watched him for a long time, running back and forth, watching him get more and more uselessly aggrieved, huffing and puffing like an idiot. She tried to turn over in her empty mind what it was that was needling her. Then it went by her and she grasped it, and it cut her to the quick and made her flush and grimace with shame. Freya Aelfrethe. You live for yourself? You live for your own glory? That stupid boy is chasing a rabbit so that he can cook it and offer it to you, in the hope that you will eat something and make him feel that there is some sense in this life, that he has not been fussing over you and distracting you this last week for nothing. So that he can tell himself that his honour and his loyalty mean something. And you would lie there thinking fine thoughts about the emptiness of the world? How lovely for you, that you have that luxury. He has not. He is a squire. He is not even your squire, but he has saved you, and brought you here, and tried to look after you, and tried to keep you going, and you have repaid him with what? A beating. And silence. And sullenness. Shame on you. Shame on you. Furious with herself, Freya sat up abruptly, took off the blanket, folded it and neatly stowed it on top of the rolled-up pack. She felt light-headed and dizzy, but she strode quickly towards the boy as he stood there fumbling with the bow. *** He notched the arrow with trembling fingers and aimed, but he was too frustrated and upset and his hands were shaking. He blinked the tears out of his eyes. The rabbit emerged and bounded across the grass, in the direction of a large bush. He tracked it but it was hopeless. It was getting further away. "Come back," he sobbed, "come back, you fucker, just come back . . ." A strong hand grabbed the bow and arrow from him. He whirled around. She was standing there, gaunt and pale, her face grim. She lifted the bow and arrow and in one smooth continuous movement she closed one eye, aimed at the departing rabbit, fired and lowered the bow, watching keenly. The arrow sped across the grass and plunged into the rabbit's fur, and the animal stopped and sank onto the grass, twitching. She nodded to herself and handed the bow to him. Then he watched her walk until she reached the rabbit, and bend over and pick it up. It was still feebly moving its back legs. She took it in both hands and broke its neck sharply. Then he watched her walk slowly back, holding the dead rabbit, until she reached him. She handed it to him, her face expressionless. He took it. He stared at her. The rabbit in his hands was still warm. "Thank you," he said. She inclined her head gravely. "Are you going to lie down again?" he asked. She shook her head no. "Are you hungry?" he said. She nodded. "Will you sit down while I make you something to eat?" he said. She nodded. "Are you not talking?" She shook her head. "Right," he said. "Is that just not to me in particular, or are you not talking to anyone?" She gazed at him levelly, displeased. "Sorry," he said. "So, it's nothing I've done." She shook her head no, emphatically. His heart leaped. "All right, then," he said. "I don't understand, but . . . I would like to be of service, any way I can, lady." She smiled, grimly. Just seeing her do that made him nervous. "Your name," she whispered. "My name?" he said. "Um. Five." She tilted her head quizzically. "I'm one of Sir Snorri's squires," he began, and she nodded as if remembering and touched his lips with one hand to silence him. She held her fingers there for a moment, and then took them away and looked at him. "You took me out," she rasped, and swallowed. He could see how much it hurt her to talk. "You. Alone." "I only did what anyone should have done," he mumbled. She shook her head and stared at him. "No one did," she said. He leaned over and grabbed the water bottle and handed it to her. She nodded thanks, took a drink, swallowed painfully and put her hand on his shoulder and looked him once more in the eye. He felt her hand trembling on her shoulder, and he wondered at it. Freyas Saga Ch. 03 "Your ..." she began, and closed her eyes momentarily. Then opened them again. "Your loyalty," she grated, chewing the long word, and to his alarm she grimaced, hawked and spat blood on the ground, then fixed him with her gaze once more. "It honours us both." "Thank you," he said weakly. Then, she took her hand from his shoulder, took a knife from her belt and, watching him, she held up her other hand and cut her palm. Blood trickled from the wound. She held up her bleeding palm to him and raised her eyebrows. Bloody hell, he thought. Oh god. "Really?" he whimpered. She nodded, her grim smile still giving him the wobblies. "What will this mean, exactly?" he said. She lowered her eyes a moment, considering, then raised them again and stared him in the eye. "You," she said in a hoarse whisper. "And me. Forever." His heart was pounding. This was not your ordinary knight-squire thing. This was a blood oath, making them brothers, or more accurately a brother and a sister; it would tie them irrevocably and if either of them ever broke it, the other would be entitled to ... he didn't even want to think about the penalties for breaking a blood oath. "There's a problem," he said. She cocked an eyebrow. "I'm pledged to Sir Snorri," he pointed out. She looked at him, and then turned her head and looked around. She made a big thing out of it; she turned her face to every point of the compass before she turned back and confronted him with the fact that Sir Snorri had fucked off and left them both there. "So, you as his fellow knight free me of that pledge?" he said. She nodded. "Then," said Five, "all right. Fuck it. Yes." He held up his hand. She took it by the wrist and put the blade against the flesh of his palm, and he forced himself to watch as she quickly, deftly cut him, and then shoved the knife back in her belt and pressed the palm of his hand to hers. Then she grabbed him, and pulled him in, holding him tight, their foreheads pressed together as their blood mingled, and she kissed his hand, fiercely. They were so close that he could feel her heart beating, the breath from her nostrils; she could feel him trembling. She breathed deeply. "I'm sorry for everything, lady," he whispered. "I truly am." She nodded and squeezed his shoulder, hard. He understood. He was forgiven. He felt peculiarly blessed. He didn't think he'd ever been genuinely forgiven for anything before. She held him there, for a long moment. Then she let her breath out in a long exhalation, and he felt her relax. "I'll make that food now, if that's all right," he said softly. "Not the rabbit. That'll have to hang for a bit, so it can get tender. I could make some soup, though." She put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him, and he could feel from her face against his that she was smiling. Then she let go, and he saw her face, and she was. He bowed to her, and she inclined her head. He washed their hands and she took a bandage and bound their still bleeding palms, and then she walked slowly back to the fire and sat down, waiting patiently for the food. Freyas Saga Ch. 04 After this appeared on the site I realised I'd submitted completely the wrong version of it! This is the full version - the earlier one was way shorter and got almost nowhere with the story. Very sorry, and huge thanks to the literotica team for fixing my mistake. Keeping track of my various different versions of this saga is proving tricky but I'm getting on it. I hope you'll be patient. * After they had eaten, the sun had passed the roof of the sky. Freya had been careful to eat sparingly but even so, she felt ill and weak. She lay down again. "You get some rest," said Five. "I'll keep watch. Do you want to get on the road soon, or later?" She did not reply. He went over and saw that her eyes were shut and, alarmed, he knelt down and opened one eyelid. She opened the other one and glared back at him irritably. "Sorry," he said. "I wasn't sure you were asleep." She sighed and rolled herself up in her blankets and went back to sleep. Five waited for night to fall. The moon shone brightly on the plain, sloping gently away from the mountains down to the broad, flat coastal plain that led to the sea. Well, this is an adventure, any road, Five thought. I never reckoned I'd ever be blood brother to the greatest warrior of the age. Better not fuck it up. *** Five was shaken awake and looked up to see Freya looking down at him. It was a quarter moon night. She was lit by the fire. Her face was patient but not exactly smiling. "Oh, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." She clicked her tongue. A pan of water was boiling on the fire. He got up hurriedly. "I'm meant to do all that," he muttered. "Hmmm," she agreed, and coughed slightly. He toasted stale bread and smeared it with bacon fat from the jar he kept, and they ate that and some rather old apples he had, and then he set about making tea. Once the water was boiled she inclined her head and he looked at her; she signalled with her hands that she'd like to do the ceremony. "Of course," he said, handing over the kettle and tin cups and the little cloth bag of tea. She steeped the leaves in the hot water and silently mouthed the prayers over it. He was pleased to see that her form with the tea ceremony was the very best. She had perfect decorum, and knew exactly what gestures to make, and when to make them, and even though she didn't say the prayers out loud, he could read her lips and tell that she knew them, word perfect. You'd expect it, her being a lady and all. She served him his tea, and poured her own, and they clinked tin cups. He sipped it. It was perfect. The best tea he'd ever had. He raised his cup in acknowledgement, to the proper level, and inclined his head to hers, and she bowed her own head slightly in thanks, and they each drank, appreciatively. It's funny, he thought, how much better tea tastes when you do it with all the ceremony, and do it properly. Because it's not like it tastes all that bloody wonderful without it. He'd drunk tea brewed in haste under a canvas by blokes who were more concerned about not getting skewered by arrows, and it had hardly had the power at all. Whereas, when Freya bloody Aelfrethe made you tea, you saw the point of the whole thing. "I think that rabbit will be good to eat in a couple of days," he said. She glanced at him, and nodded. "They take a couple of days to get nice," he said. "Wild rabbits, any road." It was cold in the night, and he tightened his blanket around his shoulders. She was still in her shirt and breeches. "Are you not cold, lady?" he asked. She glanced at him and shook her head. Feeling like he was being tested, he dropped the blanket. He immediately regretted it because the wind cut through his tunic, but he knew he needed toughening up. She sipped her tea and stood up, looking around. "So," he said. It was the middle of the night; they were wide awake; he assumed they weren't just going to sing songs until they fell asleep again. She warmed her hands around her tea -- ha, he thought, I bloody knew you felt the cold -- and looked down at him. "I assume you want to go somewhere," he said. She nodded thoughtfully. He waited for her to tell him where. After a long moment she gave him a look, like: What? Well? What have you to say for yourself? "What, lady?" he said. "I don't know where you want to go." She looked exasperated, drained her tea and tossed the cup accurately on top of his pack. She pointed to the ground where she stood. He nodded. She pointed off in an indeterminate direction, in that she kept moving where her finger pointed. He nodded, doubtfully, not sure he knew what she meant. She pointed to the ground again and held up her hands, helpless. He was baffled. "What?" he said weakly. Freya grimaced, and actually stamped on the ground with her foot in frustration. She fixed him with her gaze. "Where are we?" she croaked. "Don't you know?" he said. She glared at him. She mouthed at him. You. Are. A. Soldier. "Yes," he said, wanting the ground to swallow him up, "but I never really got the hang of that stuff." He saw her swallow her rage and actually count to herself, then she looked up at him. She stared at him for a long moment. Then she stepped away from him and looked up at the stars. Oh fuck, Five thought. She expects me to do astral ranging. At night. She looked down at him expectantly. He looked around. Away off to the west the stars were hidden by cloud, but where they were he could see fine. "Well ..." he said hopefully, and trailed off. She rolled her eyes, came over, grasped his wrist and dragged him to his feet. *** They walked along, Freya ahead, the squire behind. It was a good night for walking; clouds scudding across the wind-torn sky, the grass underfoot, the ground sloping gently away from the mountains they were leaving behind. My doom, she thought. But not so. I should have perished in that thing's innards. Even if my body had not died, who I have been, and who I might be, has perished. I would have become a walking womb for those scum. And now I am delivered. To do what? To live in my disgrace? The humiliation of knowing that my men saw me trussed and blind and naked, being ravaged by that creature. Their great leader, stripped and fucked senseless by a beast. The memory of it made her grimace, and she lowered her head to hide it from the squire. My chastity: gone. Now I am as any woman who has been known by a man. Except that I have never known a man. Or woman. That thing made me feel sensations I had only felt in battle, or alone. Are those the things that men and women feel, when they come to one another in bed? And do they feel so burned, afterwards? I feel blasted inside; dry and scorched. There is so much to learn. I met my match, and unlike most who do so, I survived. But at the price of my pride and dignity. And so, I will accept silence. All my fine words meant nothing. You will pay. I will have vengeance -- what mockery. I will learn humility: not to talk so big unless I can fulfil what I say on the instant. The next words I say will be true. And that, as the boy would say, could take a while. So be it. Until my word is once more my bond, I will remain silent. My silence will stand in bond for the little dignity I have left. In the meantime, I am a parody of a woman; no longer a virgin, but one who has never known another's body. If I am no more a shieldmaiden, I do not wish to be nothing but an ex-shieldmaiden. I must become a woman. I must be healed. So we will go to the House of Healing. They walked onwards, and as they descended into the plain, the sky to their left began to lighten. *** They walked and walked and walked. Five had never known such tiredness. He was lumbered with more gear than her, and he was less fit than her, and she was going where she was going because she was drawn there, wherever it was, whereas he was going where she was going because he was now apparently her blood brother, or something, and had to do what she wanted. It didn't seem to work in the opposite direction; if Five wanted to stop for a break, she would scowl and stand there seething with impatience while he sat, sweating, on a rock, and got his breath back. They did stop, though. For the first couple of days she had to take more than the usual number of breaks to duck behind a rock and void her bowels. She would return from these red in the face, angry and embarrassed, and Five knew better than to behave as if it was in any way out of the ordinary. Then, her system seemed to right itself and they were off again. They were walking out of the mountains and it was a hell of a stride. Five had never been the most soldier-y of the soldiers in his company, but as he looked at his bleeding feet on the fifth day, he had to admit that he was beginning to get used to it. The relative lack of food meant that his ever-present flabbiness was finally beginning to melt off, although he had given up hoping that he'd ever be able to outgrow those embarrassing man-boobs on his chest. But then, Five was eternally ashamed of his own stupid body. It just wasn't right. It wasn't what women looked for. Five didn't know what women looked for, exactly, just knew that it wasn't him. For her part, Freya inspected his bleeding feet and nodded and silently indicated to him to use whatever ointment he needed, and each morning she and he inspected their food stores to see what they were short of, and if it was meat she'd go off and shoot a rabbit or a bird -- he saw her bring down a wild goose in low light, and they feasted that night, and Five saved the grease for cooking -- and if it was herbs or grain they'd quietly sneak into a field and steal what they wanted. She taught him, without ever speaking, how to move silently, and how to be invisible, and how to hide if someone was coming down the road. She did not want to be met on the road, or so it seemed. She wished to make the journey to wherever they were going in silence and in darkness. If they encountered someone, or if they saw someone far off in the distance, she would steal into the undergrowth and wait with him until the stranger passed, and then some, rather than meet anyone. He saw the fear in her eyes as they hid, and he didn't question it. At their rests, or over their meals, he'd talk, and she'd listen. He'd tell her about growing up an orphan, leaving out one or two details he didn't want to burden her with. He'd tell her stories he'd heard. He'd sing a song now and again. She seemed to be listening, anyway. From time to time she'd throw him a look and a half-smile, but mostly her eyes seemed to be on the darkness that surrounded them, or, if it was day, on the hills they were passing through. It took a long time to come out of the hills and reach the plain that stretched to the sea, and Five had lost count of the days they'd been walking. His feet were hard as rocks, he was leaner, he was constantly hungry, he was burned by the sun. All he wanted was a soft, cool bed and a cold beer. *** Slowly, over the next few days, they came down out of the mountains and struck across the plain towards the city of Memike, a place Five had heard all sorts of stories about but had never visited. It was a port; a glamorously shabby, polyglot place with a warm climate and lots of places that a man might find a good time. It was close enough to the North that they were able to keep their beer cool in cellars; it was close enough to the South that the typical citizen was not blonde and pale but dark-haired and olive-skinned. Memike had been the ruin of many a weak man, and the making of many a strong one. When they finally entered the city, Five was relieved. As far as he was concerned, it meant that somebody else could take over the burden of worrying about Freya's ordeal and how she dealt with it. They walked far into the city before finally stopping outside a house with a discreet but beautifully decorated sign. Five read it as 'HOUSE OF HEALING'. Great! he thought. I can finally get someone to fix my feet. But when they went in, it was clear that it wasn't that sort of house at all. It was too nice, for a start. There were curtains everywhere, and nice smells, and lots of good-looking young women wearing very few clothes, and quite a few good-looking young men wearing very few clothes, too. Freya walked into the main hallway, and stood there, looking around with a faint frown on her face, as if she knew the place all too well, and wasn't too pleased to find herself back again. Five saw one of the girls look at Freya briefly, and then peer harder, and then run out of the room. Five was sure, now, that this wasn't some kind of hospital. Then a voice sounded through the length of the hall; a warm, slightly amused, strongly northern-accented voice, a bit husky. "Freya Aelfrethe!" said the voice. "It's been a long while since you graced my house with your presence. May the moon smile on you." Freya turned around and looked into the darkness at the other end of the hall, and from the darkness emerged a figure that was about the opposite of what Five expected from a bawdy-house in a coastal city. He'd expected a man, but it was a woman in her late thirties; and not dark, like most of the girls, but blonde-haired and fair-skinned, with a handsome, ruddy, Nordic face with blue eyes and a broad smile. She was wearing a flowing sky-blue robe marked out in gold which quietly emphasised her figure, which Five had to admit was gorgeous. Somehow, the woman's robe let you see what she looked like without actually revealing her body. She radiated energy and warmth; her presence filled the room as soon as she entered it. The blonde woman walked easily and confidently down the hall and up to Freya and Five. "You don't have a hello for your old friend?" said the woman. Freya smiled faintly, but did not speak. "She's taken a vow of silence," Five explained. "A vow of silence?" repeated the woman, smiling broadly. "If it'll stop her from telling me that my house saps the precious bodily fluids of her men, I'm all for it. What, she's not talking at all?" Freya shook her head no. "Very well," said the woman, and turned to Five, beaming. "Then she will not be able to tell you that I am Sophy Bunafashazir, patroness of this establishment. I'm very pleased to meet you." Five was unused to this level of attention from anyone, blushed deeply and mumbled something. "What's your name, child?" said Sophy. "Five." "You have five names?" "My name's Five," said Five. "It's a long story, ma'am." "Is it a good one?" said Sophy, much amused. "Not particularly, no," said Five. "Then tell it now and get it over with." "I was a squire of Sir Snorri," said Five. "He always numbered his squires 'cos he could never remember their names. I was number five. I didn't have a name before 'cos I'm an orphan, so that's what everyone calls me." "I see," said Sophy. "You were right, it's not a very good story. But you're young. You'll get more." She chucked Five cheerfully under his chin, winked at him and turned to Freya. "So what brings Freya Aelfrethe from the field of battle to my house?" she said. "For eight years you've been prising my custom away, saying it's sapping the morale of your men, or something. And now you come here with one little chick in tow, and you won't talk. Where are all your men? Are you just here to break this one in?" Five looked nervously at Freya, but Freya, who was calm and impassive, simply shook her head. Sophy grinned. "Oh," she said. "Interesting. You're here for you." Freya scowled, but nodded. Sophy looked gleeful. She turned to Five. "Little one," she said, "stay here, please, while I attend to your lady." "She's not my lady," said Five obstinately. "Well, your chief, then," said Sophy, "all right? If you want anything, just ask." "All right," said Five, and sat on a bench. Sophy turned to Freya, who was still standing there in her plain shirt and breeches, stiff-necked, tense but impassive. "Then come, lady," said Sophy, and there was something in her voice that would have moved a stone to follow her. Five watched as Freya followed Sophy down the hall and up the stairs at the end. *** Sophy ushered Freya into her rooms. Freya entered, looking around her, and when Sophy ushered her to sit down on the bed, Freya sat at the table. Sophy smiled. "Will you have a drink?" Freya shook her head no. "You should," said Sophy. "Drink loosens the limbs, Aelfrethe. It makes the intolerable tolerable, and the barely endurable positively pleasant. I know you're holding your tongue, but if you want me to serve you, you will have to be forthcoming, and a glass or two will help. So. Drink?" Freya smiled briefly, to acknowledge Sophy's words, but shook her head no. "Shieldmaiden," said Sophy coolly, "you are paying me for my time, and my time is precious to me. For years you've been coming in here and dragging this or that young man, and some not so young, out my doors, saying that they were needed elsewhere. All those times, I couldn't help thinking that of all them, the only one who really needed my services was you. And now you're here, finally, of your own accord, and I offer you my help, and you won't take it. So, for your sake and mine, I pray you. Take a fucking drink." Freya sat still, stone-faced, and finally nodded. Sophy took a brazen goblet from the side table and poured it almost full of crimson wine. Then she poured one for herself, and handed the first one to Freya. "To your health, shieldmaiden," she said, and her curiosity was aroused by Freya's almost imperceptible wince. They drank. "Well," said Sophy, walking to the window, "so for once you come here not to pull a man from my arms, but to see me. From this, I can only assume that the great shieldmaiden has fallen, or is about to fall, from her tower of purity, and has landed in the gutter of fuck, with the rest of us." Freya stared, stony-faced, ahead of her. "From your silence," Sophy said, "I see I'm not wrong. So? Who was it? Do tell, sister. Some hunky footsoldier? Or that handsome Ulf, who you've been paired with? Or was I right all along about you, and it was a serving wench, or a southern princess? Not, I think, that gosling sitting in my hallway mooning over you. Who enticed you? Tell me all. I want details." She smiled mockingly at Freya, who took a gulp of wine and sat still, and then twitched, slightly, making a small noise in the back of her throat. Sophy's smile faded, and she put her goblet down and sat on the bed and looked closely at Freya, and then straightened up. "No," she said, in a different tone, sober and contrite. "No. Forgive me, Aelfrethe. I was wrong to mock you, wasn't I? You didn't come down from that tower by yourself." Freya, tight-lipped, stared into her wine goblet. "You were thrown out," said Sophy quietly. Freya nodded. "Yes," said Sophy. "See? I grow old and cynical. I was too quick to gloat that you'd give yourself up so easily. I am sorry, truly." Freya went on staring into her wine goblet. Sophy noticed that the young woman was clutching it so tight that her knuckles were white, and the goblet's stem was slowly bending in her grip. "Of all the news you could bring me," Sophy said, "that's the most ill. Has this to do with the fact that you bring no other of your men with you?" Freya nodded very slightly. "This was not the doing of your men?" said Sophy with shock. Freya looked up and shook her head no, fiercely, but the memory made her flinch; the memory of Five telling her that Ulf had done nothing to stop it. It was the doing of many men. And women. And children, and the Pantocrator. And, yes, and Ulf too. Freya felt her emotion passing over her face and making her grimace. She felt ill. Freyas Saga Ch. 04 "Ah," said Sophy. "I see. I think. Or I don't. It was recent, then?" With a great effort, Freya controlled herself, and slowed her breathing. She took another drink, and nodded. "A few days?" Freya nodded. "Was it a man, then?" asked Sophy quietly. Freya shook her head no. "Men?" Freya shook her head. "A woman? Women? It has happened." Freya shook her head, her brow furrowed. "Well, then," said Sophy, "we are getting into the realms of the uncanny. I take it you could defend yourself against a pack of wild dogs, so nothing like that." Freya shook her head. Sophy got off the bed, picked up a chair and sat next to Freya, regarding her sympathetically. "So," she said quietly. "Something bigger. Older. Crueller." Freya grimaced, despite herself, her memories raising a hand against her, and nodded. She realised that she was rocking back and forth slightly, and she stopped herself from doing it. "I am not an expert in these things," said Sophy softly, "but I've heard tales of the things that dwell in the darker corners of the world, and what they do to people, given the chance. Was it something like that?" Freya was silent, then her grey eyes, staring into space, glistened, and her jaw trembled, and she nodded. Sophy reached down and gently took Freya's free hand. "I know you're not speaking," she said, "but I can't guess. Can you give me a word?" Freya drank some wine, cleared her throat, swallowed, and croaked "Worm." As always, the effort to speak made her throat throb with pain. She glanced up at Sophy, who was staring at her, appalled. "In god's name, Aelfrethe," she said, pale with outrage, smiling bitterly. "What a way to lose your virginity. No wonder you will not speak. Will you show me where it hurts?" Freya put down her wine goblet and placed her hands on her mouth. Then she reached down and tentatively touched her lower belly, avoiding Sophy's gaze, and reached behind herself and placed her hands on her rear. Then she folded her hands in her lap once more. "All three?" Sophy said. Freya nodded. "Oh fuck," Sophy breathed. She placed a hand on Freya's shoulder and held it there, squeezing gently. Freya sat like a stone, grim-faced. "And also," said Sophy, "I would imagine," and she laid a hand on Freya's head. "Here," she said. Then she placed the same hand on Freya's heart. "And here." Freya nodded, in dumb misery. "I've only read about it," said Sophy, carefully avoiding Freya's gaze. "I didn't think it could still happen to people. Now I see why you came here." Sophy got up, took her goblet and had a drink, running a hand through her oiled hair. She walked to the window, turned and viewed Freya. "We have never got on, you and I," she said. "You've always thought me, I don't know, a whore. And a whoremonger." Freya shook her head tightly. Sophy waved her down. "Come on," she said quietly. "Let's be straight, Aelfrethe. You have. And I am one. I, for my part . . . hell, I admire you. You fight like the sword of god, or so I'm told. People I respect talk of you as a great leader. You've beaten the men at their game. Even so, I've always thought that you were a hysterical spinster who seriously needed to get laid." Sophy looked down at Freya, who was sitting motionless on the bed, staring at the floor. She walked over and knelt, taking Freya's hands and looking up into her face. "But, my god, Freya," she said quietly. "My god. If giving you my blood would heal you, I would do it." Freya's eyes, clenched and furious, darted at Sophy and then away from her. She stared at the wall, the tears running down her face. Sophy got up and sat by her on the bed and embraced her. Freya clutched her and sobbed, only for a couple of minutes, fighting all the time to control herself, to recover her composure. The fit soon passed, and Freya coughed and cleared her throat, and Sophy tactfully disengaged, passing Freya a cloth with which the younger woman wiped her eyes. Sophy stood up again and picked up her drink, as if Freya's brief outburst had not happened. "You do realise that this is not the kind of thing that can be mended with a quick healing fuck," she said, turning and looking at Freya, who took a drink from her goblet and stared at her. Sophy shrugged. "Don't get me wrong," she said, "I'm good. But nobody's that good. I will help you all I can, but the real doctor will be time, I'm afraid. Time and honesty. Be honest with yourself and with me, and others who love you, and I promise you, it will get better." Freya regarded her. "For fuck's sake, Aelfrethe," said Sophy, smiling, but with an edge in her voice, "you come to me for healing, but you don't want to believe me when I tell you that you can be healed?" Freya lowered her head and nodded in acknowledgment of her error. Sophy put down the goblet. "Oh, Aelfrethe," she said with a sad smile. "You don't know how long I've wanted to have you here in my room!' She gently stroked Freya's cheek. Freya looked up at her, her eyes raw and scared. Sophy caressed the younger woman's face. "I never dreamed I would be counselling you to not let me fuck you. But you are wounded, Aelfrethe, not just in body but in spirit. And healing the spirit is the subtlest and hardest of all my arts. Especially as I hardly know you." She looked at Freya for a long moment. "Lie down with me," she said. "Get some sleep. I'm sure you haven't had enough sleep in your life." Freya drank the last of her wine and lay down next to Sophy, her arms stiffly by her sides. "Roll onto your side," said Sophy patiently. Freya did so, and felt Sophy fitting her strong body behind her own, Sophy's legs against hers, her groin against Freya's rear, her breasts warmly pressed into Freya's back. An arm came over Freya's shoulder and held her. "So," said Sophy. "Silence. Quite a challenge, I would think, for one like you." Freya nodded. "You always have to have a challenge, don't you," said Sophy. Freya thought this absurd; what was life if not an endless series of challenges to be met and bested? And yet the thought of it made her feel very tired. "I don't do this for the men, you know," Sophy murmured. "That's why they burn out, all those crazy berserkers you model yourself on. When a certain kind of man gets to a certain age, either he takes a wife, in which case he stands a chance of turning out all right, or he curdles. All those crazy fighters like you, my idea is that their mommas didn't hug them enough when they were little and they're taking it out on the monsters of the world." Freya was silent. "Is that what happened with you?" said Sophy. "Oh no, wait. I put my foot in it again. Your mother died in childbed, did she not? For god's sake, Aelfrethe, you come to me now when all my faculties are crumbling. Once again, please, my apologies." She raised herself up and looked down at Freya's face, but Freya was calm and looked thoughtful. "Seriously," said Sophy, settling herself behind Freya. "The other men, they've got friends they can look out for, and who look out for them. They can go for a beer with their kind at the end of the day. I don't think you have too many friends, do you, daughter of the baron?" Freya slowly shook her head. "Well," said Sophy, "you're not so bad. Maybe I'll be your friend." With Sophy's arms around her, Freya felt drowsy and soon she was asleep. *** Freya awoke alone to find the early morning sun coming in the window, and a stream of young woman coming in and out of the room carrying jugs. Sophy entered, bearing a pot and a plate. "Morning, gorgeous," she said. "I bring breakfast." Freya sat up and inclined her head in thanks. Sophy poured her some spiced tea and gave her a piece of bread with cheese. "I'm going to give you a bath," said Sophy. "Apart from anything else, you smell, so there's that. Also, I think you could use one." Half an hour later, Freya stood on the edge of the bath and undid her belt, then dropped her robe. Sophy watched as Freya stepped into the steaming, scented water and lay down. Freya couldn't help letting slip a great sigh. She lay back and let Sophy wash her limbs, and knelt up for when Sophy applied soothing oil to her private parts, which were still bruised and sore. Then she lay down again and briefly slipped below the surface before emerging, clean and glistening. Sophy washed Freya's hair, getting a week's worth of road dirt and grease out of it, until finally Freya was clean. Sophy poured fresh water over Freya, and then Freya got out and allowed the older woman to wrap her in a towel. Sophy ushered her through to the bedchamber again and Freya went to the table and picked up a sharp cheese-knife that hadn't been used. She glanced at Sophy, walked over to a mirror, grasped her mane of thick, greenish-black hair in one hand and commenced cutting. "Really?" said Sophy. "I suppose it's not a bad idea. It can be good to make a new start. But let me." Sophy took the knife from Freya and Freya watched as Sophy picked up some scissors and finished cutting off the hair that went halfway down Freya's back. Then Sophy went to work in earnest, and after a few minutes, Freya's hair had been reduced to the kind of brutal pageboy cut sported by Western kings. "There," said Sophy, looking at Freya in the mirror. "That's very you. You look like a royal. Go lie on the bed." Freya glanced at Sophy, startled, and Sophy nodded, indicating the bed. Freya went over and, clutching her towel to herself, lay down on her back. Sophy came over and got on the bed, kneeling next to her. She took the towel in one hand. Freya clutched it, uncertain. "Nothing too hot," said Sophy. "I told you. You're not ready." Freya relaxed a little, but as Sophy opened the towel, exposing Freya's naked body to the sunlit room, she felt her heart pounding with anxiety. She looked up at Sophy, scared. "Now," said Sophy. "There you are. All in one piece. You are beautiful, Aelfrethe. In case anyone says you're not." She held Freya's gaze. "We're going to meet, you and me, regular, yes? And we're going to talk. Or I'm going to talk and you're going to respond, the way you respond. I don't know how else to do this. When any of my girls have been really badly fucked over by some man, or some bunch of men, the only thing that ever made anything even that little bit better was to say: look, talk, yes? Tell us about it, don't be alone. Share it with us. The ones who did, they got on with things. The ones who didn't ..." She watched Freya for a moment, and shrugged. "Do you want to ask me anything?" she said. Freya nodded. "Ask away," Sophy said. Freya thought, grimaced, opened her mouth, closed it again. She hesitated. Finally, she whispered, "Have you had it?" Sophy looked thoughtful. "You mean," she said slowly, "have I ever been raped?" Freya nodded. Sophy looked down at her for a long moment. "It's at times like this," she said softly, "that I realise that I forget who you are, Freya." Freya looked quizzical. "You're the baron's daughter," said Sophy. "The golden girl. The champion of many lands. You're a scary-ass fighter but you're also a rich girl who has had a mostly charmed life. Now, what has happened to you is terrible, unthinkable. But think about me for a moment. I come from nowhere. I fell into this work. I've been doing it for twenty years. Look at me, Aelfrethe. What do you think?" Freya's eyes widened, as she stared back at Sophy's sad, pitying smile, and she flushed and looked down, ashamed. "It's all right," said Sophy. "It goes with the job. Here, don't feel bad. Honesty, like I said. I don't get to be honest very often, so it will be a nice change for me. Now, calm yourself. I have to do this." She bowed her head over Freya, muttered some words to herself and opened her eyes. "I honour this body," she said, and leaned over and kissed Freya's navel. "I respect this body. I cherish this body." She leaned over again, and as Freya watched tensely, she very tenderly laid a kiss on Freya's pubic mound. "This body will heal," said Sophy. "This body will know love." She leaned over again and kissed Freya's nipples. Freya made a little gasp. "This body will remember how to trust," said Sophy. "This body will be abused by no-one." She leaned over again, staring with her bright blue eyes into Freya's narrow grey ones. "This body," said Sophy, "will shine." Sophy closed her eyes and kissed Freya on the lips. Freya shut her eyes and let herself ease into the kiss, unwinding herself a tiny bit, feeling herself grow calmer. "There," said Sophy. "That concludes your first session." Freya felt herself blushing. "No more than that for now," said Sophy. "It takes a while to learn to trust your body to someone else. You did good." She handed Freya her plain linen shirt and canvas trousers, freshly washed and dried, and Freya got off the bed and put them on. She put on her belt and sandals. Her shorn head felt light. She was cleansed. She felt better than she had felt in a long time. "You were wise to come to me, Aelfrethe," said Sophy cheerfully. "I hope we can be friends. Let us go downstairs and relieve your gosling of his watch." *** Five sat in the hallway, waiting. It had been a blessed relief to be off his feet, and it was very pleasant to watch the employees of the House of Healing come and go. A beautiful girl had given him a bowl of nuts, a mug of beer and a smile he'd take to his grave. As night had fallen, he'd lain down on a couch and closed his eyes, and he'd woken in the dead of night to find the house as quietly buzzing with life as ever, but some kind soul had draped a blanket over him so that he was lovely and warm. He'd dropped off to sleep again. On waking, he'd been greeted by the smiling girls and brought tea and bread and eggs and sausage, which he'd eaten with pleasure. If this was what waiting on Freya Aelfrethe entailed, Five reckoned he didn't mind it so much. He heard steps and looked up. Freya came in, closely followed by the woman, Sophy. Freya looked sombre and Sophy had a comforting hand on her shoulder. They approached him and when Freya looked up and saw him, he rose. "All right, then, Aelfrethe," said Sophy. "Fare you well, and be back within a few days. We'll talk again. There is a long way to go." Freya looked at Sophy, and Five couldn't figure out the peculiar look on his chief's face; was it yearning? Resentment? Sophy didn't seem concerned, but put her arms around Freya and hugged her. Freya looked startled and, after a pause, she patted Sophy awkwardly on the back. Sophy disengaged, smiling, and turned to Five. "You," she said. "Come with me." "Me?" "Yes. I need to talk to you." Five looked at Freya, who nodded in assent. Worried and uncomfortable with such a level of attention, Five got up, hefting his pack. "You needn't bring your pack," said Sophy. "Begging your pardon, ma'am," said Five, "I never leave it anywhere." "Are you saying my house is unsafe?" said Sophy, smiling. "Not that," Five said, mortified at having implied exactly that. "Um, just, I ...I find it a comfort." "All right then," said Sophy. "Aelfrethe, I won't be long with your boy, but if you want to practise with your sword or anything like that, might you do it outside? We have a no-blades rule, and I don't break it for anyone." Freya nodded and walked off, trailing the dark cloud of her mood behind her. "Come with me, little one," said Sophy, and led Five out. "I'm eighteen," said Five. "I'm not little." "Really? You look younger. Here we are." Sophy led them into a small room and poured Five a small glass of wine. Then she sat on a couch and relaxed. Five perched nervously on the edge of his seat. "So," said Sophy, "your chief and I have agreed that she will be coming to me for a while." "What," said Five, "to shag?" "No," said Sophy. "To talk." "To talk?" said Five. "She's made a vow of silence." "I know," said Sophy. "I talk, she reacts, I figure out what she's thinking. It takes a while but it's better than nothing." "Alright," said Five. "But, I mean, I thought this was a whorehouse." "We're more than just a whorehouse," said Sophy. "We weren't always, it's true. House of Healing was just a name, for a while. But I want this place to be more than just somewhere men go to get their jolly. For one thing, I don't care who people want to go to bed with, as long as they're not preying on folk who don't know what can happen. Also, women like us used to be in the temple. This work was about serving god." "I'm not very religious," said Five. "I'm not either," said Sophy, "but I know we have more to offer than just sex. If you ever earn enough gold to be a customer here, you'll find that out some day, I hope." Well, thought Five, not going to get a freebie, then. "Now," said Sophy, "since your chief isn't talking, I need to know better what happened to her. Did you see it?" "Yes," said Five, feeling nervous. He'd never been proud of what he'd done while all that was happening to Freya. Or rather, what he'd not done. Getting her out of there had made him feel a bit better, but the shame was still there. "Tell me what happened," she said. "I was behind the ridge," said Five. "With the rest of the army. The lady and Sir Ulf and Sir Snorri went forward to scout. Then Sir Snorri summoned me to bring up his bow and arrows and food and water. I came over the ridge with him and when I joined them, Lady Freya went into the village to scout. She said she didn't like it but I gathered they'd agreed that that's what she'd do. So she went in and Sir Ulf was watching through a glass." Five sipped his wine. Thinking about it again made his throat dry. "We saw her moving about, and she went into a hut, and then they all just appeared and gathered outside the hut she was in. She spoke to the elder and then they went to the edge of the village and there they stopped. Then she looked down and I think something had grabbed her feet 'cos she tried to free herself. Then ..." He drank more, feeling her level gaze on him. "That thing appeared," he said. "What did it look like?" she said quietly. "Big fucking worm," he said. "It had another mouth inside its mouth and all tentacles. The tentacles got her sword, you see, so although she got a couple of good cuts in, she couldn't defend herself." "Right," said Sophy, nodding. "So," said Five, "the tentacles came down and, um, they ... they ripped her armour off, first her helmet then the rest, then they were ripping her clothes." He drank again. "What were you doing while this was happening," said Sophy quietly. Five forced himself to look at her. "I was telling Sir Ulf that we had to fucking attack and get her out," he said shakily. "I told him that! I fucking told him. You 'ave to believe me. I couldn't just go in by myself. There was an army of them, a whole fucking army, but we had an army too and I couldn't see why we were doing nothing while that was happening to the lady. It's the worst thing I ever saw, ma'am, the worst. He was just watching through his fucking glass, and he kept saying Oh no, it's not the right time. I don't know what he was doing." "I think I do," said Sophy, unsmiling. "Go on. What was happening to your lady." Five bit his thumbnail miserably. "That thing had her," he said, "and it got her all ... naked, and whatever, and then it started to ... with its tentacles, it started to ... you know. It started to fuck her. It was horrible. And then this other bit came down, like a sort of tube, and it went over the lady's head and covered her eyes and she was shouting that she was gonna be revenged but it weren't no good, because it was clear as day that ... that it had her, and it was gonna keep her." Freyas Saga Ch. 04 "What do you mean," said Sophy sharply. "Why was it clear as day." "I mean," said Five, "it was in her. In all of her. Every hole it could find, it was in her. It sort of swarmed all over her. It was fucking horrible." Sophy put a hand to her mouth, rose and walked away for a moment. Five was startled, but then Sophy reached up to her own face, her back to him, and he saw that she was wiping her eyes. After a moment, Sophy turned around again, came back and sat down. "Go on," she said, her face bleak. "And then it was in her mouth," he said, numb with the awfulness of it, "and the tube went over her head and that's when I lost it completely. I just went forward, because nobody else was doing fuck all. And that's when all hell broke loose and I got knocked out." To his shame, Five lost control and started weeping. He snivelled, rubbing his eyes and nose on his sleeve. Sophy made no move but sat and watched him. "Why didn't we do anything?" he sobbed. "Why didn't we? It was just shit. Just the worst, shittest thing I've ever done." "Yeah," said Sophy quietly. There was a long moment, filled with the sound of Five's hiccuping sobs. Presently he managed to pull himself together. "I'm not a real soldier," he said. "Anyone can see that. I can cook. I can clean. I can walk, I've found that out. I'm not totally soft. I can't fight worth a shit. But even I know that we should have saved her. We could have saved her. And we didn't." Sophy looked at him for a long time in silence. Five sweated under her gaze. She was so lovely, so warm and beautiful and sexy, so that when she looked at you like that, so fucking disappointed, you felt like the lowest, bloody, well ... worm, in existence. "I don't expect you to understand this," she said, "but what happened to her is about the worst thing I've ever heard happen to anyone." He nodded dumbly. "It's a fucking miracle she's still walking," said Sophy, and the obscenity in her mouth shocked him. "Let alone thinking clearly. She's stopped talking, though." "I know," said Five. "That should worry you," she said. "Were you put in charge of her?" "No," he said, puzzled. "I cleaned her up, though. I got her stuff together." "It's the least you could have done," Sophy snapped. Maybe I should tell her I got the lady out of there. No, don't be soft. It'll look like whining. "So how did you end up with her?" Sophy demanded. Don't go into all that shit. She doesn't want to know that. "It just sort of happened," Five said, with a helpless shrug. Sophy stared at him, and then she seemed to relax a little. "All right, little one," she said in a softer tone. "I'm not putting all of this on you. From what you say, your other chiefs are the ones to blame for this." "And the fucking villagers," said Five, feeling loyal to the army. "That fucking elder bloke. He's the one got that fucking worm out to attack her. We just didn't do enough to stop it." "Have you ever been raped?" she said. Five stared at her. No. Doesn't count. What? It doesn't count. Only if it happens to someone who could be someone's wife. "No," he said. "So you have no idea what she's been through," Sophy said. "No," Five said, curling ever further into himself. "Can I trust you to look after her?" "Of course," he muttered. "Good," she said, "because if you don't, I'll have your fucking balls for a paperweight." "All right," he said. She paused, and stared at him, but differently this time, curious. "There's something about you," she said. "I don't know what it is. But you're not telling me the truth." "I am," he said. "No, I don't mean about what happened to your lady. I believe you there. It's something else." She stared at him for a moment longer and then shook her head. "Oh well. I don't know. Maybe it's not important. All right, boy. Heed me now." She clapped her hands. He made himself sit upright. She leaned forward and fixed him with her gaze. "I know you and her have come to some arrangement. But I charge you now, too, to look after her, as best you can. She is your chief but she has been hurt, and hurt grievously, in ways that men cannot know. I know she can fight better than you and I know she is probably smarter and wiser and braver than you, but she will forget to come here, or pretend to forget, because I will make her be honest, and people don't like being honest about themselves. So I charge you with making sure she comes here. All right? Do you think you can do that?" "No," Five said. "I don't think anyone can make her do anything." "You're absolutely goddamn right," she said, smiling warmly for the first time, "and that's why you're the only man for the job. So be that man. Yes?" "Yes, ma'am," said Five. "Good for you," she said, and went over to him and kissed his forehead, and then she got up and went to the door. Five followed her back to the hall. *** It was a quarter moon night. The roads were empty. The land was peaceful. Carfryn rode. She urged the horse on, not really seeing any more than she had to, not hearing anything through the helmet that muffled all sound, her mouth dry, her heart empty. The wind in her face and the horse beneath her helped to take her mind off the horror. But that wouldn't do, wouldn't do at all, she knew. She had to face it. Siegfa, his beautiful white body naked on the dark, filthy straw-covered stones of the stable. He had been violated. He had not made any move to cover himself. It was as if he had been waiting for me to come down and find him. How I longed for you, my brother. How I wished that you would look at me as I looked at you, the most perfect and gentle knight. Your heart, so pure that it was hard for you to grasp how evil does what it does. I sparred with you in the hope that you would think me a worthy bride. I know that brother and sister are not meant to join in union, but ... Oh God. I truly believed that we were blessed. That we had been given a new life. I was always the wise one. The one who was supposed to know how the world worked. I did know. I knew, somehow, that the message for you was a lie. I knew you were going to your doom. Nobody with a good purpose sends for people in the middle of the night. Carfryn rode over a stone bridge across a river. She reined the horse in abruptly. It came to a scrabbling halt, beside a thicket of trees next to the softly gurgling river. Carfryn sat on her horse in the darkness, her heart pounding. I have done you such wrong, my brother, that I can never amend. I showed you my love, so that you went to your death despising me. I let you leave, without giving you my counsel. I let my desire rule me. I let you be killed. You killed yourself. But they could not have known how much you could not have lived with what they did to you. Your death is on me; if I had spoken as I should have spoken, you would be alive now. Looking to her left, she saw the river spread out into a great dark pool, edged on one side by the forest through which the road passed. She walked the horse to the edge of the trees. She got off, and tied him to the nearest tree, then she entered the woods. It was dark, but the weak light of the quarter moon helped. She came out on the other side of the trees and viewed the pool spread out before her. It would serve. She carefully unbuckled her breastplate, and took it off. Then she unbuckled and removed the rest of the armour on her torso and arms. She piled it in a silver mound, on the grassy verge. She took off the thigh guards and, when all the armour was on the ground, she calmly sat down and removed her boots. Then she shrugged off her linen shirt, folded it neatly and placed it on the pile of armour. Then she stood up and unlaced the linen-lined leather breeches, and stepped out of them. She folded them too, and placed them beside the shirt. Let someone else have these. She looked at them and, on an impulse, placed the clothes and boots under the breastplate. Carfryn straightened up, naked, and stared at the dark water. The crescent moon hung in it, waving gently. Take me, she thought. Take this life, which has taken from me all whom I loved. Cleanse me and take me, and let me be food for the worms. She stepped into the water. It was very cold, and she wondered if she'd be able to stand the shock of immersion. So much the better if I seize and drown, she thought. She walked in. The water deepened to her ankles. But then, as she walked in further, it got no deeper. Carfryn kept walking, expecting the floor of the pool to slope away and the water to swallow her up, but it didn't. She stopped walking when she realised that she'd reached the middle of the pool. She turned around and looked back at the shore. It was maybe forty feet away. Maybe it is deeper further downstream, she thought, and walked towards the outflow of the pool. The water remained obstinately ankle-deep. Irritated, she walked out of the pool into the channel, which was narrow and rocky and no deeper than her calves. I won't drown in this, she thought, and walked on down the river. The stones hurt her feet but she welcomed the pain. The night air cooled her body. The further she walked, the harder it got to keep her footing; she found herself clambering over rocks and boulders. She kept walking nonetheless. I will find a place. I will find a place where I can do this. She walked for a long time, her feet getting colder and colder, and the night beginning to chill her. A wind came up, and spots of rain fell. She cursed quietly as a sharp rock dug into her sole. At one point, negotiating a slippery, moss-covered stone, she lost her footing and fell into a shallow pool; the water on her body was so cold that she cursed. She stood up, shivering, and tried to wipe the water off herself. The wind bit into her bare flesh. She cursed again, and wiped from her eye a tear of frustration. Then she turned away from the oncoming stream, and kept walking down, looking for a deeper pool. But the river never spread out, never calmed itself. As she walked, it became more and more clear that there were to be no deep, dark pools in which to make her sacrifice. The river was cutting a ravine through the surrounding country, steep and lined with rocks and grass and bushes. This river was never going to spread out. Not around here, anyway. Perhaps not for miles. She walked on, her mood of sorrow yielding to a kind of sullen determination to find a place to do what she had set out to do. But the rain fell harder. She grew tired of hugging herself to keep warm. No matter what she did, she never grew warmer. The rain took a turn, and began to beat down. Damp, cold, and her icy feet throbbing with pain, Carfryn stepped out of the river and paused under an overhanging rock to shelter from the downpour. She sat on the damp earth to dry, hugging her own knees. The rain fell on the river, puckering and ruffling its surface. She craned her head out, and glanced at the sky; over in the east, it was turning grey. It must be getting towards dawn. Siegfa's body lies in that stable, miles away, she thought. I sit here by this river, naked and cold, having failed to find a suitable spot in which to drown myself. Carfryn shivered violently, squeezing her bare breasts against her damp thighs, rubbing her limbs in an attempt to keep warm. She curled herself up tight, pressing her bare heels to her crotch. God. I am so cold. She shivered violently, and knocked her wet, cropped head against the rock. She muttered a curse, and rubbed the spot. Who do I do this for? Who will take from this what I meant by it? Would Siegfa have killed himself if as much had happened to me? If I had been raped, and had committed self-murder from the shame of it, would he have wandered off to some lonely spot and tried to drown himself for love of me? Carfryn stared up at the night sky, the invisible rain falling from it and hissing on the river and the trees and the grass and the rocks. I think not. He would have mourned me, yes. He would have lamented me. But he would have avenged me. She lowered her chin and rested it on her knees. Absently she turned her head and pressed her lips against the flesh of her knee. Who am I doing this for, in truth? For Siegfa, who never saw my love until the end, and then hated me for it? Siegfa never had any time for tales of folk pining away for love. I am not yet twenty. Abruptly, Carfryn came out from under the shadow of the rock, and stepped into the middle of the river, and stood with her arms out and turned her face upwards to the rain falling in the night. She closed her eyes. The rain poured down on her naked body. She was shaking with cold, she was footsore, her heart ached with sorrow and anger. She could feel the blood in her body, feel her own warmth inside, or a memory of it, or the hope of it. "Siegfa," she said, her mouth so numb that her voice sounded thick to her ears, "I am sorry. I cannot join you. I must live." The only sound was the river flowing, and the rain falling on the earth. "Forgive me, my love," Carfryn said, and she wept, not bothering to cover her face. She cried openly, letting the rain wash her tears from her face. Then it passed, and she gulped for air and blinked, and shivered, and looked around. I have never been so cold. I need sleep. She looked down at herself. She was wet but she was clean. The rain had washed off his blood. All right, enough; back up the river. Help me, my love. You were the soldier. Give me your strength. She made it to the river's edge and clambered up the side of the ravine, then, finding that it was impossible to make any headway through the thick undergrowth on either side of the river, she resigned herself and scrambled down the slope again. She half-ran, as best she could, up the river's course, until at last, her teeth chattering and almost tearful with relief, she found herself back in the shallow wide pool by the forest. The rain had stopped. The sky in the east was grey. There'd be more rain before morning. She ran through the pool, splashing, and reached the shore, and ran across the mud to the trees, and found the pile of her gear that she'd left there some three hours earlier. She blessed the impulse that made her put her clothes under her armour; the rain had fallen, but her gear had been sheltered by the trees, and her shirt and breeches and boots were almost completely dry. She dried herself off with her shirt and put it on, then her breeches, then her boots. Foolish, very foolish. If I don't get a chill I shall be very lucky. With trembling, numb fingers she buckled her armour back on and it helped to warm her a little. Then she walked back through the forest and found the horse, which was sleeping lightly. She patted him and stroked him and he awoke with a soft neigh. "Good boy," she muttered through blue lips, "thank you for waiting." She untied him, and mounted him. "Now," she said, "take me somewhere warm." The horse walked off. Freyas Saga Ch. 05 They found Freya in the courtyard doing practice swings. She and Five went out into the street and Freya headed off, striding through the crowds which parted before her. Five was secretly quite pleased at the way heads turned to watch Freya pass; her height and long-legged stride were stirring, and there was a strength and purpose about her that he hadn't seen since the time before the worm. But her face was grim, and she was as silent as ever. "You were a long time," he said. Freya said nothing. "Not that I got bored," he said. "It were interesting, watching the place work. The girls were very nice, brought me food and that." Freya ignored him. He looked up at her and saw that her lips were moving silently, as if she were talking to herself. "Well, I'll talk to meself, then," he said, "seeing as you're going to." Freya kept on walking. It was a warm morning and soon Five was sweating to keep up with her. The city smelled exciting; food cooking, weird smells from shops you didn't want to know about, different kinds of shit, and behind it all, the romantic smell of the sea. Five had never seen the sea. He wished they could go and look at it. But Freya clearly knew where she wanted to go. "Don't you want to know what she wanted to ask me?" Five said. Freya glanced at him, and shook her head no. "How d'you know it wasn't important?" he said. Freya stared at him for a moment and then held out a hand, as if to say, well, what was it? "She wanted to know what happened to you," said Five. "To the best of my recall. So I told her." Freya nodded, absorbing this information. She had not slowed down in the slighest. "Don't mind, do you?" he said. "Me telling her?" She shook her head no, still looking forward. "Because I didn't like to tell her," he said. "Seemed wrong. But you seem like you trust her. So I did." Freya kept on walking, her lips moving silently. "So what were you doing?" he said. She shrugged and went on peering ahead as she walked. "Seriously," he said, "what?" Freya held up a hand and made a flapping gesture. "Talking?" he said. She nodded. "But you've made a vow of silence." Freya pointed to herself, shook her head and jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the Houses of Healing. "Oh. Just her? But how do you manage to have a conversation?" Freya glanced at Five and rolled her eyes. "Oh," Five said. "Yes. S'pose you can. But that's what you were doing? All night? Just talking? Seriously? You and her?' Freya ignored him. "Right," said Five, stung. "Don't tell me. Not that you tell me owt anyway. Of course I believe you." He trudged along beside her, feeling hot and thirsty. After a while he felt Freya's eyes on him and he looked up at her. She was smirking at him. "I'm not bloody jealous!" he said hotly. Freya chuckled silently. "I'm not!" he insisted. "'Ow you spend your time is up to you. You want to go off into a room with a beautiful mistress of a famous house of sex and spend the night there and come out and tell me you were just talking, feel fucking free. I'll fucking believe you because I'm the fucking idiot who stayed behind and looked after you." Freya laughed, silently. She reached down and grabbed his hand and held it up in front of his face, still walking, still dragging him along. He looked down at the matching scars on his and her hands, the scars from their mutual blood oath, the bond she'd made with him that she'd never made with anyone else. She held them in front of his face to make her point, and then let go. "That's all very well," Five said, "but what's it mean?" Freya stopped walking abruptly and stared at the ground. She coughed, tentatively, and swallowed, grimacing. "You don't have to say anything," he said quickly, feeling like a shithead for complaining about it. "It's all right. I were just angry, it don't matter. Don't talk if it's painful, please, lady, not for me." She bent over and put her mouth to his ear; he could only barely make it out, five words wafted out in two painful breaths. "To you," she said in the faintest whisper, "I never lie." She withdrew and looked in his eyes, her hand clasping the back of his neck. He felt the challenge in hers, her keen gaze boring into him, measuring him to see if he was really worth all the loyalty she was demanding of him. I am, Five thought. I must be. I will be. "All right," he said quietly. "Thank you, lady." She nodded, smiled, and bumped her forehead gently against his and rested it there for a moment. Then she let go of him and straightened up and beckoned with her head. "Where are we going?" he said. She mimed opening up a book. "The library?" he said. She nodded. "What for?" he said. Books, she mouthed. "On what? I suppose I'll find out when we get there, will I?" She nodded. "What are you planning to do?" Five said. Freya looked at him and grinned, ferociously. Oh, he thought. Bloody vow of silence. *** The library was big, vaulted, dusty and old. Various crusty old buffers were sitting about in it, consulting ancient texts. There was a table near the door with a couple of old men looking at brittle parchments. Freya strode up to them. They ignored her for a long moment. She stood there, fingers drumming on one hip, until she finally whistled. One of them looked up, saw her, saw Five and said to Five "Yes?" "We're here," said Five, "to ..." "What do you want?" said the old man. "We're here to look something up," said Five. "The library is not open to those who are not members of the college," said the old man. "How do you know we're not?" said Five. "I've never seen you before." "We could have just joined." "The college does not admit people in the middle of term," said the man, "except in exceptional circumstances." "In what'd you say?" said Five. "Also," said the old man, looking Five up and down, "I doubt that you yourself are a member of the college." "Based on what?" said Five. "Your speech," said the old man. "All right," said Five, "but what about her speech?" The old man ignored Freya. "The library does not admit women," he said, with a slight emphasis on the last word. "Why not?" said Five. "Women are lesser creatures," said the old man, "incapable of the higher forms of thought, and therefore unable to benefit from using the library." Five felt, rather than saw, Freya boiling with impatient rage beside him. "Who says?" said Five, stalling. "All the authorities," said the old man. "You may come in. She may await your return." "There's a problem with that," said Five. "Describe it," said the old man. "I'm here with her, and she's the one as wants stuff from the library. I don't know what she wants." "Why don't you go away," said the old man with immensely badly-concealed impatience, "and ask her?" "I can't." "Why not?" "She's taken a vow of silence." The other old man, who all this time had been inspecting the parchment before him, looked up, startled. "A vow of silence, you say?" said the first man, and for the first time he looked at Freya, who stared back at him. The man blinked. "That is a very serious undertaking," said the second man. "What are her reasons for embarking on it?" "Her reasons are her own, gents," said Five. "She won't tell 'em to me, because she's taken a vow of fucking silence." "A silent woman," said the first man, staring at Freya with deep interest, "is rarer than a black pearl. It is written that when a woman falls silent, it is a sign that her spirit is assuming the form and definition of that of a higher being." "What, now?" said Five, boggling. "A woman falls silent to let herself grow in stature and assume the capabilities of a man. Are those not your reasons for doing so, woman? Nod your head if we be right." Freya was staring at the two men with open loathing. Five finally worked out what the old buffers were talking about, and reached out and gently touched her on the arm. She looked down at him and he gave her an encouraging smile. She looked back at them - he could see just how hard she was fighting back the rage - and nodded, stiffly, once. "Then welcome, strange woman," said the first man. "These are extraordinary circumstances indeed. I hope we may go some way to speeding your journey towards human-ness." "Do you not know who she is?" said Five, and this time he felt her lay a hand on his elbow and he looked up at her. She glanced down at him and by now, he could read her look. He thought, Shit. "Why should we know who she is?" said the first man. "She is a woman. A woman has never been silent in these halls since long before my time here." "I was just wondering," said Five. "It is remarkable and wonderful," said the second man, "that she should be drawn to this place, the very place where her growth might be fostered and fed. With the dumb yet sure instinct of an animal, she brought herself here." "I wouldn't talk like that in front of her," said Five. "She can hear perfectly well, you know." "Yes, but the level of our discourse is pitched far above her limited understanding," said the first man. "You've not met many women, then," said Five. "I think one or two," said the second man. He came around the table and took Freya's arm gently. "Come with us," he said, speaking very clearly. "These books and parchments contain knowledge, which you can, in time, read and learn from. You know this word 'knowledge'?" Freya stared at him, her face expressionless. Five had to give her credit, she'd really done well not to hit them. "I think if you just take us to where she wants to go, we'll be all right," said Five. "Oh, but she must be schooled," said the first man. "I can do that," said Five, thinking that there was very little time left before Freya blew up. "I doubt that," said the old man, "but perhaps it's better to introduce her gently to the world of learning." They lifted the rope, and Freya walked into the main reading area. She quickly walked off down the aisles and the old man watched her, fond smiles on their faces. "Let her play," said the second man. "It will be good for her." "Thank you, gents," said Five, bowing. "I'll take care of her." Freya was already disappearing down another aisle. He ran after her. After some minutes he found her, staring at shelves full of scrolls and sheaves of paper. He looked up at her. "Can you read these?" he said. She nodded. "Good," he said, "'cos I can't." It wasn't quite true. He could read all right, not everything, but he'd had to learn in order to be able to memorise recipes and oaths and some basic lore. He could understand the words. He just didn't know what a lot of them meant. He sank to the floor and looked up at her as she started riffling through them. Well, Five thought, at least she's doing something. She rummaged through the mountains of paper, pulling things out, staring at them, shoving them back in again. "What are you looking for?" said a clipped voice to Five's right. He looked over and saw a slightly-built middle-aged woman in shabby clothes, her head covered by a cowl, standing near them with an armful of scrolls. "A book," said Five. "Or books. What's it to you?" "That shelf contains nothing but children's lore on beasts of the field," she said. "I thought women weren't allowed in the library," said Five. "Oh, that," said the woman. "Yes. I've been coming here so long, I think they've forgotten I am one." She flicked back her cowl. She had cropped iron-grey hair and a narrow, intelligent, slightly weary face, with large blue eyes. "Can I help you?" she said. "Do you work here?" said Five. "No," said the woman. "I'm just a scholar. But I know this place very well." She came over to them. Her gaze was sharp but not hostile. "What are a female knight and her squire from the northern lands doing in the Library of Memike?" Five glanced at Freya, who was staring hard at the woman. "How did you know we're from the northern lands?" said Five. "I didn't," said the woman. "I guessed, from the style of your attire, and now you've confirmed it for me." "What else do you know about us?" said Five, squaring up to the woman. He felt like a bit of a dick for giving it away like that, but he didn't like her obvious nosiness. "Well," she said, "beyond the obvious fact that you've recently arrived in the city after walking for many miles but have rested in the meantime, that your mistress there does the fighting but you are an experienced cook, that you've had your nose broken in the past four weeks but it's been reset by someone who was a talented if not trained bone-setter, that you haven't yet found lodgings in the city, that your mistress is clearly from a wealthy family and that she's suffered some terrible ordeal more than two months ago, apart from that, I know nothing about you." Five gaped at her. He looked at Freya, expecting her to be outraged that the woman had clearly been spying on them, but Freya was looking at the woman with extreme interest and the ghost of a smile. "Who the fuck are you?" said Five. "My name is Moyra," she said. "How the fuck did you know all that?" said Five. Moyra looked at Five, opened her mouth, looked at him more closely, and closed her mouth. "What!" said Five. "Well," she said, "your clothes are dirty and travel-stained, but hers are relatively clean. However, her boots are as worn as yours are, so you've been travelling together. If her clothes have been cleaned recently but yours haven't, you must have rested somewhere where they would do that for a knight but not for a squire. I'm guessing somewhere like the House of Healing. The House of Healing is expensive, so your mistress has money, and the little equipment she is carrying is of very fine quality, so I assume she comes from a noble family that can afford to equip her. Your face has old bruises and your nose is very, very slightly out of joint, suggesting it's been broken and reset by someone who was good at that but not an expert. Your mistress has the build and also the scars of a fighter, plus she's armed, which you're not, and you smell of cooking smoke and have what appear to be small burns on your hands. Therefore, she does the fighting, and you do the cooking. Finally, your mistress has short hair, which has clearly been cut recently. Northern noblewomen pride themselves on the length and thickness of their plaits. The only reason a fighting noblewoman from the north would have to cut her hair would be if she were recovering from an ordeal and wanted to display her status as, perhaps, a penitent, or one who does not at the moment consider herself returned to full fighting fitness. However, since your mistress is active and energetic and not cowering on a bed weeping with pain and humiliation, the ordeal itself must be some time in the past. Once you make the observations, it's not very difficult to work out what they must likely signify." "You are a sorcerer," said Five after a moment. "No," said Moyra patiently. "There's no such thing as sorcery. It's just a matter of understanding how things work." "What about the lodgings?" said Five. "How did you know that?" Moyra smiled slightly, and glanced at Freya. Freya smiled and looked at Five and pointed to the enormous pack that was still strapped to his back. "Oh," said Five, feeling more than ever like an idiot. Freya summoned him with her head. He went over, and she leaned down, swallowed and breathed in his ear. "Ask her where," she said, and paused to swallow again, "are books on worms." Five at last began to get an idea of what the whole library visit was about. "Where might we find anything on worms?" he said. "You want to know about worms?" said Moyra. "Come with me." She walked off. Freya followed. Five sighed, and went after them. *** They roomed in a cheap boarding house, not in the dirtiest part of town, but hardly the poshest, either. Freya made Five bargain for a deal on a double room with two beds. Five found it quite easy and pleasant to be her spokesman, easier than it would have been had she spoken all the time; her silence and remoteness intimidated people into paying attention to what he told them. Freya spent her time in the library and in a tavern, reading scrolls and books and listening to Moyra discourse about worms. There didn't seem to be much that Moyra didn't know about. Freya gave Five a small allowance so he could enjoy himself, which he largely failed to do, being an obviously junior squire alone in an exotic and cosmopolitan city. He knew that he came across as a rube, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Then one evening, something happened which would end up making an enormous difference to Five's life. Not entirely for the good, to be sure, but neither was it entirely for the bad. He saved up some small change and, after they'd eaten dinner in silence, Freya still reading, he rose from the table in the boarding house dining room and said "Lady, if you have everything you need, is it all right if I go out for a drink?" She looked up at him, slightly startled, as if she'd forgotten he was there, and after a moment she nodded yes and went back to her book. "All right then," he said. "I might be back a bit late, so goodnight." She ignored him. Five went out and walked for a while until he found a quiet pub, and went in. He didn't have much in mind beyond a few drinks and maybe a chat with the landlord. Five was always timid when it came to looking for girls and he disliked coming across as pushy. The first pint went down very nicely and so did the next two, but after that it was starting to get a bit boring, so when the girl slipped into the bar seat next to him and smiled, he was pleasantly surprised. "You a soldier?" she said. "Yes," he said, blushing. "Well, I was. I'm in the service of a noblewoman now." "But you've seen fighting?" she said. "Oh yes," said Five. It was technically true; he'd seen plenty of fighting. He just hadn't participated in any of it. "Tell me about it," she said. He guessed that he was being played, a bit, but the attention was flattering and he bought her a couple of drinks. When the time came that he had to have a piss, he got up and excused himself with a debonair smile and a quip. Wow, he thought. I'm flying tonight. Maybe this time it'll happen. He went out to the yard. For reasons to do with his unusually small cock, Five found it awkward to pee standing up and preferred to squat where possible. He found the drain hole, lowered his breeches and was just about to let go when his head exploded in a burst of pain and he toppled over. "Northern scum," said a voice. "Give me the money." "What?" Five cried, lying on the ground, dazed. A boot crashed into his stomach and he was winded, throwing up a little into his mouth. He choked it down and the boot hit his face. "Stop pissing about," said the girl, "and take his fucking money, Marco." "He doesn't even fight back," said Marco. "Look at this fucking girlboy. He's no more a soldier than you are." Five was hauled upright by his shirt and slapped in the face, twice, three times, then punched in the stomach again. He whimpered with pain. Then he felt his shirt being pulled up over his head. "What are you doing?" the girl complained. "Stripping the bastard," said Marco. "That's a good shirt and those boots'll fetch a couple of quid." Freyas Saga Ch. 05 "No," whimpered Five. "Please." "Oh for god's sake," said the girl, and she joined them, helping the guy strip Five's clothes off him. As they pulled his breeches off him, the guy said "Oh wait. There's piss on these. I'll leave 'em." "He's not half funny-looking," said the girl, looking curiously and with disdain at Five, who huddled naked on the dirty ground, trying to cover himself, weeping with pain and humiliation. "You're right," said the boy, throwing the trousers into the filthy gutter. "With tackle like that, no wonder he's a rubbish fighter." "Looks like a little thumb," said the girl. "Horrible." Five stared up at them, feeling his left eye swelling up, his body singing with pain. "Freak," said the boy, and leaned over and hit Five's head sharply off the ground. Then there was nothing. *** Five was woken up by someone shaking him on the bare arm. It was the bartender. "Oy," said the bartender, not entirely without sympathy, "looks like you've been rolled." "Fuck," Five moaned, raising his throbbing head. He was freezing and ashamed. The barman tossed him his trousers. "Least they left you these," he said. "Go home, son, and clean yourself up." "The lady's gonna kill me," Five whimpered as he pulled on his damp, dirty, piss-smelling trousers. The bartender had the kindness to let him out the side exit, so he wouldn't have to do a walk of shame through the bar. All the way home, all Five could think of was how disgusted Freya would be with him and how she'd probably let him go. He had been a bloody idiot and he had nobody to blame but himself. People stopped and smirked at the flabby, embarrassed youth hurrying through the streets wearing nothing but dirty trousers. On reaching the boarding house, Five found to his dismay that it was shut and the lights were off. However, the window to their bedroom was open. One skill that Five had learned as a child was climbing trees, and it wasn't all that hard to go up the drainpipe and swing in through the open window and land with a painful thud on the floor. He groaned again, and any lingering hope he had of making it into bed before the lady saw him was extinguished when a candle flickered into life. Freya was sitting up and staring at him. "Sorry," he gasped, "I got beaten up and robbed." She sprang out of bed and was kneeling by him in an instant, examining him and inspecting his wounds. "It's not that bad, really," Five muttered. "They took my money and clothes though. I'm really sorry." Freya sat back on her heels, looking at him, and then she swallowed once and nodded to herself. "Are you hurt?" she whispered. He was amazed. He'd thought she'd be more annoyed. But she broke her silence to ask after him. "No, not too bad," he said. She nodded. She gestured to him to sit up. He pulled himself upright and looked back at her shamefacedly. Freya stared at him. Then she slapped him hard in the face. "Ow!" he yelped, staring at her, astonished, but she did it again. And again. She went to do it again and he grabbed her wrist, so she did it with the other hand. "Stop that!" he shouted, aggrieved that she wasn't being more nice. She slapped him again and he yelped. His face was starting to swell up. "Why do you keep doing that?" he shouted. She easily pulled her hand free and shoved him hard in the chest. He fell back. She slapped his face again. He wasn't so much hurt any more as infuriated. He tried to defend himself but she clouted him on the head and, when he raised his arms to defend himself, shoved him in his aching stomach. He struggled to his feet and shouted at her to stop. She punched him in the face and his ear rang, and she got him on the other side of the face with a cross. He shook his head, and, enraged, he flung out his fist. It connected with her left eye with a smack, and she made a sharp "Ah!" of surprise. His hand really hurt, but he'd hit her hard enough for it to have hurt her too. They stared at each other, he in shock, she boring her gaze into his, and then she clouted him viciously on the head again. He lost his temper and flew at her, screaming in impotent rage, and she grabbed him easily and held him in a firm grip, her arms wrapped around him. "Why? Why? Why?" he bawled. "Why are you doing that to me? What the fuck did I do? I got beaten up and you beat me up some more? Why did you do that? Fucking tell me! Why?" "Shhhh," she hissed. "Shhhhhhh." He paused and stared at her. Her left eye looked slightly inflamed and was bloodshot. She was looking at him with a kind of terrifying calmness. He stared back at her, trying to understand why she was doing it to him. And then, as he felt his breathing relax, he suddenly got it. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Right." She smiled slightly and nodded, and then loosened her grip on him. Fuck, she's strong, he thought, looking at her shoulders. Freya let go of him and stood back, facing him. "Yes," he said, shamefacedly. "You're right. I'm rubbish at fighting." She jiggled her head in a non-committal way, and smiled. "Will you teach me?" he said. She nodded. He was tired, he ached all over and the pleasant buzz of his four or so beers had completely gone, but he stood in the room with her and for two hours, she showed him some moves he'd never even thought of. She taught him not just to use his fists but anything handy. Not to be scared of getting hit; he was going to get hit one way or the other, the point was not to mind too much. She showed him the parts of the body where you hit to kill, and where you hit for the pain, and where you hit to knock out. After those two hours, when she was satisfied that he had been paying attention and had learned enough, she gave him a pat on the back. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Could I get some sleep now?" She looked incredulous. She went over to his pack, pulled out a shirt and some boots and a pair of clean-ish breeches, and tossed them to him. "What?" he said. "I'm going out again?" She nodded. "Where to? The bar?" She nodded, sitting down and pulling her own leggings on and sliding her feet into her sandals. "But I'm really tired," he whined. She flashed him a disgusted look and he was so ashamed that he swallowed, straightened up and started to get dressed. When they were dressed, they quietly left the inn by the window, and Five led her through the streets back to the bar. *** Marten Beka of Windhorn was a man of his word, and to a certain degree a man of honour. He believed in the old codes and respected them, even if he didn't always find it convenient to follow them. He had fought bravely a good many times in the service of his liege lord, and at fifty-eight, he found it agreeable to pay other people to fight for him, and where possible to go the extra mile for him. He was having a late drink with a couple of friends and his squire, and his squire's girl, in the Lame Duck, that night. The squire himself was a handful but the girl was easy on the eye and could be persuaded, behind her beau's back, to give her lips to the service of the lord, if there was cash in it. She was a frisky little thing and ambitious, and smarter than her boyfriend. She and Marten had an understanding. It had been a no more than usually profitable night, and it wasn't but halfway through when Marten noticed a quiet ripple of commotion in the bar. Looking up, he saw a handsome young woman threading her way through the crowd. She had an ugly princeling's haircut and she was wearing a plain linen shirt with a couple of bits of old jewellery, but there was something about the way she walked that Marten found oddly interesting. She had a boy trailing behind her, a beardless, lumpen youth with a swollen face and a half-closed eye and a fat split lip. Come to think of it, as they drew closer, Marten could see that the young woman herself had the makings of a lovely shiner. But she looked calm, and not as if she was looking for a fight. The odd pair stopped in front of their table. The young woman surveyed them, smiling coolly. The youth looked nervous, but also watchful. "Hey," jeered Marten's squire, Marco. "He's come back for more. And he's brought his sister." "That's not my sister," said the youth. "That's my lady." "And I am their lord," said Marten. "What's this about?" "Your lad there beat me up and stole my money and clothes," said the youth. "I want them back, please." Marten stared curiously at the youth, who had clearly had the shit kicked out of him, but who was looking back with commendable nerve, trembling slightly, but not bricking it. He glanced at the young woman, who was cool, calm, smiling, but silent. "I don't know anything about that," said he said, "but why doesn't your lady speak?" "She's taken a vow of silence," said the youth. "Has she?" said Marten. "It wouldn't last long if I got on her." He grinned at her, to show it was a joke. The others laughed. The young woman merely glanced at him, as if to acknowledge that he'd spoken, but without giving a peep to anything he was saying. Marten was annoyed. When he flirted with people, he liked them to throw something back. Who did this dark-skinned bint think she was? And who was this little shit insisting that a fair fight be overturned? "As I was saying," said the youth, "your boy stole my clothes and money, and I want 'em back." "What he does in his spare time is his own concern," said Marten. "If he's in your service, you're answerable for him," said the youth. Marten was more annoyed. This lad clearly knew the code inside out. If there was one thing Marten hated, it was a pedant; someone who loved the rules too much to bend them. It didn't help that the youth's mistress clearly had a strong case of who-are-you and wasn't interested in being polite. "Who the fuck are you, anyway?" he said directly to the young woman, standing up. "I'm Marten Beka of Windhorn and I like to know who I'm talking to." The youth made to speak, but the young woman held up a hand. She smiled thinly, almost apologetically, at Marten, and pulled aside the collar of her shirt to show him the array of tiny tattoos on her collarbone, that spread in neat little rows halfway down the upper surface of her left breast. He saw the linked sigils, which told him that she came from the house of Hargest, placing her in his mental map of the world. He saw the parentage sigils too, one of Hargest himself. The other, next to it, was a plain crescent moon, meaning the southlands. Marten Beka, who knew who was who, started to get a cold feeling in his bowels. He saw the battle sigils, showing the battles she'd fought in; more than he had, because while he'd been running his house for the past years, she'd had nothing to do but fight. There they were, and he knew them well: Arn. Mastryn Leap. The Siege of Vieyle Arbr. Wudwotha. Finally, he saw the crosses that signified every man she'd killed. Marten had some of his own, a very respectable eight, in a neat little line just below his clavicle. The young woman had an entire latticework pattern of them. He counted seven rows of ten, and six more beneath. Seventy-six men. She'd personally killed seventy-six men, and those were just the ones that the heralds could agree on. He knew exactly who she was. "Oh bollocks," he muttered, and sat down. "What?" said Marco, looking from her to him. Marten took a long gulp of ale to soothe his dry throat. "You're on your own, shithead," he said. "That's Freya fucking Aelfrethe." The bar went silent. "What?" said Marco. "That fucking bitch is Freya fucking Aelfrethe?" Marten looked up at Freya. She was a little over half his age. She looked down at him calmly, her face perfectly unreadable. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "These young lads. They don't know they're born." Freya Aelfrethe looked amused, and shook her head and rolled her eyes as if to say: don't worry, I don't blame you. He felt immeasurably grateful. "Can't you read fucking tattoos?" he said to Marco. "Anyone can get a tattoo," said Marco sourly. "Look," said Marten, "you don't just - fine." He looked up at Freya. Oh god. It was going to be horrible, but maybe he could persuade her not to chop the boy into a fine paste. "Will you make it quick at least?" he said. "His mother's my sister. She'd not forgive me." "What?" said Marco. Freya frowned, shook her head and pointed at the youth next to her. "Eh?" said Marten. "I'm going to fight," said the youth, sweating and looking nervous. "This is my fight, not my lady's. I'll fight your squire for my money and clothes back. If I lose I lose. If I win you reimburse me." Marco grinned. "Oh," said Marten, rather relieved. "Well, that's different. All right. No risk of prejudice if you lose, I take it?" Freya shook her head with a don't-worry-about-it look. Amusement was flickering around the corners of her mouth, all the time. "So, whatever the result, this decides it?" said Marten, who liked to know when a deal was a deal. "No more revenge or anything?" "This fight," said the youth deliberately, "will decide it." Marten looked hard at the lad, and he had to hand it to him - the little squirt was clearly shitting a brick, but he was being right and straight about how it was going to happen. "All right, lad," he said, "but just so you know, young Marco here's a hell of a fighter. But you know that already, don't you?" "Yeah," said the youth in his peculiar boyish voice, looking at Marco. "I told you. He already beat me up. It's not gun'appen again." "Side bet on the outcome?" said Marten to Freya. The bar, which had by now entirely turned around to watch, perked up even more. Freya tilted her head questioningly. "Loser buys a round for the room," said Marten. Freya Aelfrethe looked dispassionately around the room. It wasn't completely full, but it was far from empty. She nodded, and there were some cheers. "Right then," said Marten. "Square off, lads." Marco pulled himself out of his seat and rubbed his face and stood out before the youth, who blinked and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Marten noticed the youth adopting a decent defensive posture, side-on, arms slightly lowered, watching Marco. It occurred to him that Marco was quite drunk, whereas the youth, even though he had only one good eye, was apparently sober. Marco grinned and stuck his tongue out. "Go," said Marten. They circled each other, or rather Marten circled and the youth circled away from him, keeping his distance. Marco, who was quick even while drunk, landed a slap to the youth's face. The youth flinched, but didn't stop watching Marco. Marco kept circling, kept landing those lightning slaps and hooks of his. It went on, a little circle of humiliation, Marco constantly slapping the youth, who sometimes dodged but usually didn't, until Marten wanted to bellow at the lad to stop fucking around and just fight, fight back. The lad made no move to fight back, but continued to back away from Marco in a circle. Marco landed more stings and jabs, and the lad took them, but kept moving. Marten was no great strategist, but he was no fool, either. What's he up to, he thought, angrily trying to figure out why the boy wasn't taking the fight to the one who'd beat him before. Why'd he come back here, just to take another beating? Then he saw Marco, who was no longer smiling at how easy it was going to be. Marco was getting annoyed that it was taking so long. He was becoming impatient. He wanted to get back to his beer, and his tart of a girlfriend. Then, Marten looked back at the youth, and saw the kid's eyes flickering, all over Marco; watching, doggedly scrutinising his opponent, submitting to every slap and jibe and sting. Then, Marten saw it, grasping the lad's strategy in one go. Clever little fuck. He was waiting for Marco to drop his guard. Marten opened his mouth to say Marco, watch it but then Marco stopped, and glared at the youth, and said "Fuck sake, why don't you ..." He never got any further. Stopping, Marco was full-face to the youth, and as soon as Marco had opened his mouth to speak, Marten saw the youth take a breath, draw back his own foot and swing it. The boot connected with Marco's groin with a sickening thud. Marco stopped in mid-sentence and bent double with pain, emitting a high keening noise. The youth took a breath, and then grabbed Marco by the scruff of his neck and slammed his face down onto the nearest tabletop. A nauseating wet crunch. Marco made a damp, snuffling whimper. The youth let Marco go, and he slithered to the flagstones and groaned, and then the youth picked up a chair, lifted it above his head, and brought it down hard on Marco's head. The chair didn't even crack, but made a nasty, solid thwack and bounced off. Marco sprawled on his back, unconscious. There was a stunned silence in the bar. Marten hadn't seen a reversal like that since the Massacre at Four Elm Hill. Freya was watching Marco, and she laid a calming hand on the youth's arm, as if to say, fine, that'll do. Marten glanced at the lad, who was still glowing with sweat and nervous, blinking and breathing fast, but also clearly exhilarated. Marten realised that the whole bar was wondering what he was going to do. "Well, lad," he said to the youth, "you bloody told him," and he laughed, for real, his anxiety dissipating at how neatly the lad had dispatched his opponent. There was laughter, and some cheers. He looked imperiously around the bar. "You all saw that," he said "I keep my word. One drink, for all of you bastards. On me." There were louder cheers, and Marten watched with interest as Freya put an arm around her boy's shoulders and kissed him on the forehead, smiling. "Anyone gets caught sneaking a second will be dealt with firmly," he said loudly, and turned to the youth. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?" he said. "She taught me," said the boy, blushing, indicating Freya, who smiled and shook her head. "Which does rather prompt the question," Marten said, "why the fuck didn't you fight like that earlier, when my lad rolled you?" "She taught me tonight," said the youth. "You what?" said Marten. "You learned to defend yourself in one bloody night?" "I had a good teacher," said the youth. "You're a fucking good pupil, more like," said Marten. "Here's to you, lad." He grabbed a beer off the tray of a passing waitress, dropped a handful of coins on her tray to stop her from moaning, and thrust it into the boy's hand. He raised his own mug, and he and the youth clinked. The youth smiled, for the first time. *** Marten entered his room and shut the door behind him with a click. They were still going strong down there and he knew he had another purse of coin in one of his bags; time to get another couple in before bed. He found the purse and turned around, to find Freya Aelfrethe in her ugly short haircut and her plain linen shirt and dark trousers, standing in his room. "Oh," he said. "Lady." Remembering his manners, he bowed. She was looking at him oddly. He felt a bit awkward. "Your lad did a fine job," he said. "You do teach well." She nodded, unsmiling. "Is there owt I can help you with?" he said. Freya Aelfrethe lowered her eyes and he thought he saw her ... blushing? Surely not. She scowled, but walked slowly towards him until she was right in front of him, and he saw her make herself look up at him, with a curiously anxious, almost beseeching expression. Freyas Saga Ch. 05 "What's the matter, lady?" he asked. Abruptly, and to Marten's considerable alarm, Freya grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. He broke away immediately. "Hey, hey, what's this?" he said. "No! What yer doing?" She looked furious with herself and walked away from him, over to the cupboard, which she punched and dented. "What yer doing?" he said, aroused by her beauty but astonished that the kingdom's greatest shieldmaiden should be making so free with herself. "Yer a shieldmaiden! Your chastity's yer shield! You don't throw it away like that! What happened?" Freya paced up and down and made a short, wordless scream of frustration. She grabbed her head and leaned against the wall and sank to her haunches on the floor. Marten tried to ignore the stiff cock in his breeches. "What the fuck are you at?" he asked more quietly. "Are you mad? You know if I take your virginity and it gets about, I'll be hung, drawn and fucking roasted. You're the greatest warrior in the fucking kingdom. You can't do that." Freya raised her head and he saw with fear that she was laughing, silently and bitterly. "Wait," he said. "What? What are you laughing at? You might not be bothered, but I am, Freya Aelfrethe. I don't give a bollocks if you're the king's daughter hisself. I'm not doing it." Her silent laughter died down and she looked at him, bleakly, and then shook her head and looked away. "Oh fuck," he said, feeling his stomach churn. "Oh fuck. You 'aven't. You've gone and done it already." She stared at him. He could only think of the consequences. If the word got about that the legendary Freya Aelfrethe was no longer a virgin, how many enemies would assume that she'd been defanged, rendered impotent? They'd be ripe for attack. He found that he was angry with her, that she'd thrown away one of their best weapons, in the kind of moment of weakness that she wasn't supposed to have. These upper-class bitches, he thought. Think they can do anything. "You fuckin' chucked away your chastity on some handsome berk with a sword," Marten said, "and now you'll shag anything that moves? That it?" He stared at her, in mingled fear and disgust. She looked up at him, stone-faced. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got it. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, "you stupid, fucking . . . why would you do that?" She didn't move. He was so angry. "You couldn't keep it to yourself, could you?" he said, turning and pacing up and down, agitated. "I knew it. Bloody women. They should never have put you in charge of an army. How could you do that?" Suddenly she had him in a choke-hold. He never even saw her move. He felt his air cut off and he thrashed, but her fist was like iron and she had a knife at his groin to stop him from struggling. He stared into the rage in her grey eyes, and his bowels felt like they were going to void right through the seat of his breeches. Seventy-six men have been here, he thought. He saw her flinch and grimace and, without slackening her grip in the slightest, she shut her eyes and prayed for a moment, then opened her eyes again. "I. Didn't," she whispered hoarsely. She threw him to the ground, walked to the other end of the room and sat on the floor, staring at him in misery. He looked at her in wonder, trying to figure out what she'd said. When at last he'd got it, he felt an unfamiliar and unwelcome spasm of guilt. "Oh," he said softly. Freya stared at him, rubbing the hand that had punched a dent in the cupboard. "Who was it?" he said. "I'll fucking kill them." She shook her head no. She looked tired. They had long nights in the city, and this was one of the longest he could remember. "I'm sorry, lady," he said, recovering himself a bit. "I'm an old soldier and I don't think myself into the place of women too often. I've had three wives, see, and I'm on me fourth." Freya stared past at him, at the wall. "It was bad, then," he said. She nodded, without looking at him. "And," he said, "that was your ... first time." She nodded. Oh god, he thought, trying not to think too hard about it. Someone, or most likely some bunch of men, would have to have overpowered her to the point of being able to violate her. It would have been brutal. And yet she was neither dead nor broken, but alive and clearly very, very angry. "Well," he said, "that's a bitter fucking fate for one so fair and terrible as yourself." She looked up at him again. "What you want with me, though?" he said. "What you want to kiss me for? You want to do that again? Really?" She shook her head no, looking dismayed, and opened her mouth, and shook her head again, helpless, mute. "I think I get it," he said, and he sat down opposite her, stiffly bending his legs. "You want to have had it some other way. Some way that wasn't ... bad." She nodded. "But I'm old," he said. "I'm not young and 'andsome. Reckon you could have your pick of anyone. What you come after me for?" She just kept staring at him, thoughtful, unreadable, so handsome it made him want to praise god. "You thought maybe I'd be more gentle, or something?" he said. "Lady, I 'aven't fucked anyone gently for a long time. Dunno if I even remember how it's done. But, I mean ... if that's what you want ..." She looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. The most fell woman in the kingdom is standing in my room, begging me to make love to her, Marten thought. What's the worst that can happen? "Well," he said, "I'll see what I can do." She got up and walked over to him. He looked at her in the eye - she was as tall as him. "Well, first," he said, feeling as awkward as a fourteen-year-old stable lad, "we do kissing." She put her arms around him and he pulled her in and they kissed. He felt her lithe, strong body against his. Down boy, he told his member. He put his tongue in her mouth, and she flinched slightly, then accepted it, and pushed her own into his. He found himself enjoying it. He tentatively raised a hand to her breast, inside the shirt. She flinched, slightly, and then relaxed. "That's it," he said, as she pressed her body into his. She was trembling slightly, he noticed. He kissed her again and saw the shiny scar on her collarbone; some old wound. He had them himself. He drew back and looked at her. "All right?" he said. She nodded. He reached further down her back, experimentally putting his arms around her waist. When she didn't flinch, he kissed her harder and placed his hands on her arse. They went on like that for some time, then he said "Do you want to ... do it now?" She nodded quickly and he unbuckled his breeches and dropped them. She undid her own breeches and he reached down between her legs. She flinched, and stared at him, and then, keeping eye contact with him, she reached down and grasped his prick. It was a little unnerving trying to enter her, with the unblinking stare she was giving him, but he shut his eyes and they manoeuvred a bit, him trying to find an angle. He tried to lift her up, but she was so tall and heavy for him that it was tricky. "Look," he said finally, "do you want to just do it on the bed?" Freya was breathing heavily. She glanced over her shoulder at the bed, thought for a second, and then nodded. Then, to Marten's surprise, she stepped back and grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, stripping him naked. She looked at his body for a long moment; the paunchy belly, the sagging flesh, the still mostly erect cock dangling there. He felt self-conscious but not embarrassed. He knew he was the first naked man she'd looked at like this. "I'm fifty-seven," he said. "Not as in shape as I was." She looked up at him, her eyes narrow, then she reached down and pulled off her own shirt, so that she too was naked. They stood in the room, confronting each other; his body saggy and middle-aged, hers tall and lithe and young, both of them scarred, both of them strong. He could taste the desire in the room. "My god, Aelfrethe," he murmured, "I've seen some sights in my time but I never dreamed I'd see you like this." He saw her ribcage, rising and falling. Her mouth was shut and her nostrils flared with each breath. "Here," he said, and he took her by the shoulders and placed her with her back to the wall. She watched him. He knelt before her, and put his mouth on her clit. Freya gasped. He smiled to himself. Marten Beka had never given much thought to the very many different ways of pleasing women, because he knew of only two really good ones; mouth and cock. Well, three if you included money. He grasped Freya's naked hips and put his tongue in her. She made a gasping moan of "Aaa-aahh-hh-hh ..." He could taste how wet she was getting. He loved it. His fingers stroked and kneaded her tight buttocks and he found her pushing her hips into his face and rocking them back again, rhythmically, making him fuck her with his tongue. She whimpered, and he delved deeper, being more subtle, stroking the hood of her clit with his tongue and then plunging into her. She held his head there and cried out, her voice rusty and hoarse. "AAAAAAAaaaahh!" He felt her wetness dripping from his beard. She reached down and pulled him to his feet. "Now," he said, smiling at her, but then he was startled as she shoved him on his back on the bed, and got astride him. She looked down at him and grasped his prick and, her dark eyes glittering in the light from the candle, she directed him into her and sank down onto his cock. It was his turn to groan. He had to shut his eyes to stop himself from coming too fast. If he opened his eyes, there she was in all her green-haired, olive-skinned beauty, riding his cock, naked. "I saw you once," he gasped. "Fighting. The Battle of Hansen Vale. Only a long way off." She rode him, panting, her hands on his shoulders, her head lowered, a string of saliva falling from her mouth. "I saw you with three lads coming at you," he said. "You took down the first. Slashed his belly. Then you got the other two with a single stroke and didn't even pause. You just ran to a different part of the field." Freya's panting grew louder. She hissed. "You were bloody magnificent," he said. "I never saw owt like it. It were the most clean kill I ever saw. No bashing and thumping. Just got them out your way. Sent them to a better place." Her breath was coming in shuddering gasps. He looked up at her. She was staring down at him, her eyes in shadow, but open. Her mouth was open, her teeth bared in a ferocious, mirthless grin. Her hips were flexing on his, as she rode him. "And we all said," he panted, still trying to stop himself from coming before she did, "it's because you were a virgin. It's because you were pure." The light on her face lit up her brow, cheeks, teeth, like a death's head. I'm fucking Death, he thought. "But I dunno," he gasped, feeling her squeeze him, feeling her live warm flesh on her arse, her thighs. "I dunno anymore." She clutched his shoulders and shut her eyes tight and clenched her teeth and cried out again, and he felt her pussy spasming around his cock, and he couldn't help it but came in her, pumping upwards furiously. "AAAAHH!" she gasped, and he could have sworn that for a second she shut her eyes tight as if in great pain. And then she relaxed, and her head sagged, and she didn't look like a death's head anymore but like a strong, naked young woman with a lovely profile and a terrible haircut. She was sweating and trembling. So was he. Freya got off him and lay next to him on her belly. She looked at him. He looked at her, confused. She went red, and scowled, and pointed to her own arse. He realised what she expected him to do. "What?" he said. "No! No, you don't 'ave to do that!" She looked confused. "That's ... just for sometimes," he said. "That's a bit dirty, that is. It's not regular, though. You'd do that to somebody you didn't respect, maybe. Or somebody who was really being frisky, who you knew well. But it's not part of the usual thing." She lay there, on her belly, absorbing this, still breathing heavily. "I couldn't do that, anyway," he said, his chest heaving. "Sorry, lady. Not to you. Anyway ... don't reckon I could do owt for a while. I'm bloody spent." She lay there, breathing through her mouth, and shut her eyes. He glanced down her tall body at her tight round arse. He was tempted, all right, but ... and then he saw the thin silvery scar across the top of her buttocks, below the base of her spine, and that made it a lot easier to hold off from her. No. This once he was going to be a gentleman. "When you lost your ..." he said tactfully. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Did they fuck your arse?" he said. She paused, and nodded. "Well, then they're doubly a bunch of cunts," he said. "You don't fuckin' do that to a girl on her first fledging. It's not right." She stared thoughtfully into nothing. "I 'ope it was all right," he said. "Us, I mean. For your first time ... you know. Wanting it." She turned her head and looked at him, and smiled slightly. She nodded. "I'm glad," he said. "I wouldn't want to piss you off." She gave a brief inward laugh, and closed her eyes. He lay back and shut his eyes too. Then he felt her shift in the bed, and murmur "Hm." He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was on her back, raised up on her elbows, looking down at herself thoughtfully. He looked down at her groin, and his stomach took a lurch. There was blood, a bit too much blood, all over the tops of her thighs. She reached down curiously and touched it, and he saw her wince faintly. "What the fuck's that doing there?" he asked, dry-mouthed. "I mean, they broke your maidenhead, didn't they?" She glanced at him curiously, and then nodded. "So why are you bleeding?" he said nervously. She didn't respond, but stared at herself, her brow furrowed. "While we were ... doing it," he said, "I thought maybe some of the time, you were in pain." She looked at him and nodded. "Right," he said. "You're not supposed to be." She sighed heavily and got off the bed and went over to the water bowl. She picked up a bit of his clothing, an undershirt or something, and began to wipe herself down with it. He watched her. "Sorry if I did that," he said, feeling helpless. She glanced up at him and shook her head no, then went back to thoughtfully cleaning herself. He lay back and closed his eyes. A while later he woke up, and realised she was asleep next to him. He drew the bedclothes over her and himself, and she rolled onto her side. He shifted up behind her and put his arms around her; and she made a small backwards movement into him. He cradled her in his arms. His champion. His general. Marten Beka was not, as he would be the first person to admit, a man of very deep feeling, but he wasn't made of stone either. He lay naked in the bed, holding the naked young woman, and he found to his surprise that he had a lump in his throat. Poor fucking kid, he thought, and then he felt himself getting a bit wobbly, and decided to suppress that particular emotion. He closed his eyes and concentrated on sleep. *** Marten Beka awoke late the next morning to find Freya Aelfrethe standing naked at the window, looking out. He let himself admire her arse for a few moments. "Morning," he said at last. She turned, smiled briefly at him and looked out the window again. "I know you're not talking," he said. "I'm just wondering what you're looking at." She shrugged, her back to him. "Can I ask you a question?" he said. "I dunno how you'll answer, with the vow of silence an' all, but I have to ask." She turned and regarded him, and reached down to a plate of nuts on a side table and ate one. There was no special warmth or lover-like affection in her face, he noticed; she was just not like some of the girls he'd bedded in his youth, who'd wake up next day thinking he was a god. Freya Aelfrethe knew exactly who he was, and she'd used him for that very purpose. He may have been a bit of a small-scale hard man, but to her, he was harmless. It stung, a bit. But Marten didn't mind. He felt he'd at least tried to do something good, for the first time in a while. And she was still here, which looked like she didn't find him loathsome. "It's a bit hard to know how to put this," he said, sitting up in bed and covering his belly with the sheet. "But, erm ... now you've lost your, you know, your virginity - do you really think we were right? Do you think you won't be able to fight like you did?" She stared at him, still eating nuts from the plate, and after a while he realised that she was greatly amused. "Well," he said, "it was wrong of me to ask ..." She shook her head, tossed a nut shell onto the plate and came away from the window. She walked right over to his chair and picked up his sword, unsheathing it from his scabbard. "Now," he said uneasily, "that's an heirloom, so ..." She raised her eyebrows, tossed it up in the air, caught it expertly by the blade and handed it to him hilt-first, her eyes gleaming. "Ah, no," he said, "you can't want me to." She nodded, smiling. He took it, reluctantly. It was his big longsword, his main weapon back in the day, now worn mostly to intimidate people. "You haven't got a weapon," he pointed out. She looked around rapidly, saw a small arming sword that he kept as a backup, and picked it up, testing its balance. Satisfied, she confronted him. "Lady," he said, "if you think I'm gonna fight you, please. My head don't button up the back." She looked enormously amused. She picked up the bedclothes with the tip of the sword in her hand and whisked them off him. He got out of bed, holding the longsword in both hands. "I'm not fighting you," he said, holding the sword in his hand, the point resting on the bare boards. "You're a better fighter than me anyway, but I'm just not." She grinned at him, raising the small sword and taking a classic defensive stance, side-on to him. "Aelfrethe," he said, feeling muzzy from the last night's wine and not much sleep, "have a bit of sense. What would be the point? All right, I believe you, you're as good as you ever were." "Buc, buc," she said, mockingly. "Buc, buc." "Now, stop that," he said, irritated. Marten was a solid sensible man, but he had his dignity, and it didn't take well to being compared to a chicken. "Buc, buc," she said, and did a deft lunge at him, which he dodged, startled. She was grinning cheerfully, a little too cheerfully for his liking. "We haven't even got any fuckin' clothes on," he said. "Look, I believe you. I'll tell everyone. You've still got all your powers. You're no longer a virgin but I've seen with me own eyes, blah blah blah." She shook her head and took a swipe. He lifted the sword just in time and parried. The clang of the weapons made his head ring. It was too early in the morning for this shit. "I'm not gonna fight you!" he snapped. "Put the fuckin' sword down! I'll tell people!" "Words," she rasped. He was so startled that she spoke that he blinked. She took the opportunity to hit him on the head with the butt of the shortsword. He staggered and swore. She'd drawn blood. "Words," she said in a dry, scratchy voice, "are cheap. Deeds will tell." "You fuckin' hurt me!" he said. "Fight," she said, and smiled at him, and added, "cunt." Freyas Saga Ch. 05 "Right," he said, and took his sword and went for her. They battled. He gave it his best, reasoning that she was so much better than him that she could easily defend herself. He knew it was a gamble but he was too pissed off to care. In the end, she wasn't some goddess, she was a bloody soldier like he was and if she's had a tough time lately then boo-bloody-hoo, he wasn't her dad. He owed her nothing except respect, and she'd have none for him if he pulled his punches. As they fought, she kept getting the blows in - each time, hitting him with the flat of the blade, hard enough to hurt like hell but never breaking the flesh. He swung and every time he did so, she seemed to know he'd be doing it and would be feet away by the time his sword got where she'd been. In the meantime his sword kept colliding with the furniture, the bedstead, the wall. Soon the floor was covered in wood splinters and plaster dust and he was sweating and out of breath, while she just glowed with the healthy exercise she'd been taking. He found himself backed into a corner, and he took a really good swing, which she parried. The blow shattered the blade of her small sword and she nodded approvingly at him, her eyes gleaming, and tossed the useless hilt on the ground. He lifted the sword and glared at her. She stood before him in a half-crouch, alert, but unarmed. "Yield!" he shouted. She spat at him and the gob of her phlegm hit him in the cheek, and he reached up reflexively to wipe it off. She reached down, grabbed the chamberpot from under the bed and flung it at him. The shower of piss, followed closely by the enamel pot, hit him in the face and he roared with disgust. And then with pain, as he felt a stunning blow on his sword arm, which went numb. He dropped the sword and was shoved violently backwards against the wall. He opened his eyes to see her grab the sword from the ground and drive it right at his face with a raging, bubbling scream. He turned his head just in time. The sword plunged for two-thirds of its length right into the wall next to his head. Then there was silence. He coughed from the little cloud of plaster dust that the sword had created and then just gaped at her, standing there in front of him, her body shining with perspiration, her eyes glittering, her nostrils flaring, her ribcage lifting and falling as she came down from her explosion of rage. "Fuck," he croaked. "All right." He kept his eye on her as she calmed herself down, blinked once, and then straightened up, cool, collected, every inch the baron's daughter, except that she was naked, sweaty and dusty. She smiled at him, stepped up to him, reached forward, grasped the hilt of the sword in one hand, and her face clenched and her shoulder muscles bunched and she made a gasp as she hauled it out of the stone wall. She held out her hand. His heart was pounding from all the exertion, and his temper still smarting. She inclined her head a little, conceding that he had fought a good fight. He felt himself breathing a little easier. She was half his age and a woman, and she'd beaten him easily. But it helped that she was being proper about it. He took her outstretched hand with his good one, and clasped it. She shook his hand, nodded, let go, placed the sword on its point on the floor, picked it up by the blade and handed it to him hilt-first. He took it with the hand that wasn't starting to throb with pain, hesitated a moment, and then went down on one knee before her and bowed his head. "Freya Aelfrethe," he said, "as god's my witness, I yield to the better fighter, and I pledge you my loyalty as long as I have breath in this life." He felt more than a bit ridiculous, kneeling there naked and with plaster dust caking the piss dripping off his head, but he felt her kiss his forehead. Then he looked up and watched, as she took the sword off him, placed it carefully on the bed and went over to the water jug and brought it to him, and then as he went on kneeling there, he watched her as she carefully and methodically cleaned him up. His sword arm had really started to hurt and was throbbing. "I think you broke my arm," he said. She just nodded matter-of-factly. She lifted the mattress, broke one of the slats off the bed and tore a sheet into strips. Then she splinted his arm, and helped him get dressed. Finally, she put on her own breeches, sandals and shirt, and they stood facing each other in the morning sun streaming in the window. "I meant what I said," he said. "I dunno what it's worth to you. But you 'ave my loyalty." She inclined her head graciously and smiled at him, warmly this time. "There is another matter," he said. "To do with last night." The smiled faded from her face and she became unreadable. "I think, if I understand right," he said, "I was ... sort of, your first time. I mean, wanting to." Her nod was almost imperceptible. He sensed that she didn't like him talking about this. "Lady," he said, "I regret nothing, but I don't suppose you want me telling the world about this." From the way she shook her head no, he understood that it would go very, very badly with him if he told anyone about it. "That's what I thought," he said. "I've got a wife. I've got other wives too. I don't need it cried from the rooftops any more than you do. I can keep a secret." She regarded him quizzically for a long moment, then raised her hand. He took it and pressed it once to his lips. "There," he said softly, "that's us done with." She smiled wryly, and opened the door for him. He went out, and she followed. Almost as soon as he stepped onto the landing, he almost tripped over a recumbent body lying outside her door. "What the fuck," Marten expostulated. The person unfolded and raised itself up, blinking, and then looked at them both, and Marten saw the youth's eyes widen. Five looked at Marten Beka, and at Freya Aelfrethe, and Marten Beka glowered at him, and Freya just returned Five's gaze, coolly and distantly. "Morning, lady," Five said. "Sire." Marten stepped past and clumped down the stairs, muttering. Freya started to pass Five and then stopped and looked at him. What? said her face. What's your problem? Five felt his heart cleaving right down the middle. "At your service, lady," he mumbled. Freya looked at him for a long moment, then beckoned impatiently with her head and headed for the stairs. Five picked up his bag and trudged after her. *** Later that morning, Freya and Five had finished breakfast and Freya had, as usual, buried herself in books. Five was sitting at the breakfast table picking at crumbs. When he was miserable, he always ate. As he nibbled bits of stale bread he couldn't help stealing the odd glance at her. It was so unfair, was what it was. He knew, of course, that it was a bit stupid to think that she'd ever look at a pasty-faced, red-cheeked youth like him and get inflamed with desire but he'd done his best. He'd saved her, when nobody else had. She'd bonded them in blood for that, which was a comfort, but . . . No, he told himself, don't be soft. You didn't save her just because you wanted to bed her. You saved her because it was the right thing to do. Well, that was most of the reason. Would you have saved Sir Ulf, or Sir Snorri, if the same thing had happened to them? Not a real question; it would never have happened to them. And now there's this endless sitting around and reading. What is she bloody reading, anyway? When are we going to have adventures? "Can I ask a question," he said, watching her. She glanced up at him briefly and nodded. "Are you going to do anything besides sit around and read?" She nodded without looking up. "It's hard to have a conversation with someone who's sworn a vow of silence." She ignored him. "I mean, you don't get a lot in the way of replies. I just want to know what we're going to do, that's all." She clicked her tongue exasperatedly, and shoved a book in his direction. He looked down at it and opened it. The title page said: A Taxonomy of the Various Monsters, Beasts and Abominations of the Northern Kingdoms with special digressions on the Worms of the Eastern Mountains. Fully illustrated Student Edition Printed for J. Mathey at the Sign of the White Snake Mnocavius 1104 "This is what you're reading?" She lifted a dismissive hand: read that one. He opened it and looked up the entry on Worms. He couldn't head or tail of it; it was all foreign words and special expressions he didn't know. Still, a few sentences stood out. 'Iron', he read, 'will not pierce the outer hide of a worm, or in some forms, it will pierce it only for the hide to heal on the instant after, as if the blow had no effect. Poison hath no power to harm a worm, nor fire, which it will extinguish with its ichor, nor bronze. What will harm a worm to death, none know, as none who have got close enough to a worm to try ought, have not been taken; and none who have been taken by a worm, have been returned with mind and soul whole and hale, but all broken and empty, that they be said to be "worm-eaten", and are fit for naught but feeding and sleeping. In truth be a worm the abomination of all the world, that it can be said to do no good for ane, but bringeth only harm and void.' Five looked up. "But this isn't true," he said. "You got taken by a worm and you're not broken and empty." Freya glanced up at him with a look; a raised eyebrow, the faintest smirk. "So what's it mean?" said Five. "That thing wasn't a true worm?" She shrugged, pointed to the book and mimed reading. "This is what you want to find out?" he said. She nodded. "But you're not finding it, are you?" he said. She paused, and shook her head no, sighed and closed the book before her. "So what so we do now?" he said. She thought for a moment. He thought she looked weary and sad. "Aren't you meant to go back to the House of Healing?" he said. She slowly turned her gaze to his, and he was rewarded with a smile. Freyas Saga Ch. 06 "It's good to see you again, Aelfrethe," said Sophy, pouring the wine. Freya accepted a goblet and sat at the table by the window. She watched the older woman bring over a bowl of fruit and some bread and salt and oil. "You look well," said Sophy, sitting opposite her. "You look rested. What happened to your eye?" Freya shook her head dismissively. Her black eye had turned greyish and yellowish but was no longer swollen. "Very well," said Sophy. "It is time for us to continue." Freya regarded Sophy across the table. Sophy looked at her sidelong. "There's something different about you," she said, "something ..." Freya stared back at her. Sophy's sideways peer made her ill at ease. She sipped the wine to steady herself. Sophy frowned. "Oh, Aelfrethe," she said in a sorrowful tone. "You didn't." Well, whoremistress? What if I did? "What, did you ... you didn't go to another house?" Freya shook her head. "Well," said Sophy, clearly annoyed, "at least there's that. Who was it? Surely not your gosling?" Freya shook her head no. "I told you," Sophy scolded her, "I told you! I said it would be unwise for you to start kissing every willing person who comes your way, and what do you do?" "One," Freya whispered. "Still," Sophy said. "I am out of humour with you, Freya! You should have come to me first! I was going to lead you to that particular chamber, step by step, until you were ready. Now you have broken in through the window. Was it in any way satisfying?" Freya paused, for a long moment. I am not sorry to have done it. But the doing of it was vicious. I am not yet healed from before. I was lucky in the man, I think. He is not without honour. I might have chosen very badly. The feel in my body, when it peaked ... that, I would seek out again, I think. Is that why folk will risk so much for love? Or for rutting, for it was not love between he and I. No, in the end, it was not satisfying. He was not good to look upon and his talk bored me. And you will not crow over me, Bunafashazir. Freya shrugged, sipping her wine. "I didn't think so," said Sophy. "Did it hurt?" It still hurts. Damn you. Freya nodded. "In god's name, Freya!" Sophy said, throwing up her hands. "You could have done yourself much damage! I will need to have a look at you later, to make sure no permanent harm has been done. I was going to give you another bath anyway, for a bath from me has much power to heal, but now I see I must do more. I can't help you heal if you won't do as I command you!" You command me? I am paying for this. "Don't look at me like that!" Sophy cried, her face dark. "You may be the great warrior, you may be good at hacking and slashing, but it's folk like I who have to heal the hacking and slashing you deal out! And now you have been hacked and slashed, maybe not with a blade but by a monster, and you think you can just shrug it off? Just because it's always worked before? You are arrogant, Aelfrethe, and you insult me and my skill by your negligence!" Freya felt her hand twitching for a weapon and, alarmed, she folded her arms. "You want to strike me," said Sophy in a calmer voice. "I wouldn't blame you. You've never done anything else." Freya bristled and stared out the window. The woman was insolent, she had gone too far, and what she offered was likely powerless to shield anyone from anything. There was a heavy silence in the room. Sophy stood, helpless, looking at Freya, who remained staring coldly out of the window. Freya's dark, greenish-brown hair glinted in the clear sunlight. She looked beautiful, but so, so alone. Sophy kept staring at Freya's bare head for a moment, the hair shorn to the nape of her neck. It made her think about something that she couldn't put her finger on. "Well," she said at last, "if you think you can't use my help, then ..." Freya turned looked at her, and Sophy saw nothing but cold anger in her eyes. "Is that what you think?" Sophy said. After a long pause, Freya nodded. Sophy let out a great sigh. "Then I cannot help you," she said. "I can only help those who understand how they have been wounded. If I have a rough manner sometimes, it's because I know I can help you, but only if you want me to. If you won't accept my help because you find my person obnoxious, so be it." Freya looked back at Sophy's round, lovely face. So healthy. So glowing. I was wrong to think this place had power. She is too proud of her knowledge. She does not understand. No-one does. "Are we then finished?" said Sophy. I will have to find someone else. Freya nodded. Sophy raised her shoulders and dropped them. She smiled sadly. "Then there it is, Aelfrethe. I'm just a whoremaster and you're too strong for me. I wish you luck and healing. But let us not part as enemies. I would like you to think that you could come back here and talk to me, whenever you wanted to. Not for money. Just as friends. Would you think that?" Freya nodded. Sophy knew from Freya's grim, already distant look that it would never happen. "Good," she said. "Then go with god, Freya, and with my blessing." She held out her hand and Freya took it and kissed it formally. Then Freya straightened, turned, picked up her goblet and drained it, her back to Sophy. Sophy reached over to a glass shelf and took a small cloth hat from it. "Before you go," she said, "as a token, people give me gifts all the time and I have too many, but this might suit you." Freya turned around, not really listening, and smiled briefly as she started towards the door. "It might also keep your head from the winter," said Sophy, and placed the hat on Freya's head. Freya spun around, screaming, tore the hat off, hurled it into a corner and flailed wildly, her arm striking the glass shelf and smashing it. Sophy ducked as bits of glass flew everywhere, and Freya sank to the floor, wild-eyed, her hand bleeding, her knees to her chest, her back against the wall, gasping for breath, her chest feeling like the air had been sucked from it, her throat blocked, her face drained of colour. She stared at Sophy in horror, her eyes glazed. Sophy dropped to a crouch and grabbed Freya's hands and held them. "I'm sorry, Freya," she said urgently, "I'm sorry, I truly am, I didn't know if that would work, I took a gamble, but I had to, you see, I had to do it, I had to show you what is wrong. Do you see? Do you see, now, how deep go your wounds?" "What," Freya panted, desperate, "what, what, what is this, why can I ..." "You can't breathe because it is happening again, is it not?" said Sophy. "Am I not right?" Freya nodded and stared at Sophy beseechingly. "Please," she whimpered, "make it stop." "Look at me, Freya," Sophy said. "Look at me. You are with me. You are here in my room. It's over. You are with me. You are safe. I promise you." Freya's lungs filled with a hoarse, rasping heave, and the colour leached back a little into her face, and her breathing slowed. There was shouting out in the corridor, high cries of worry, and then the door was kicked in and Five was there holding a knife in his hand, red-faced, looking tearful and furious, two of the girls trying to drag him out of the room. "What the fuck are you doing!" he bawled at Sophy. "Have you hurt her? If you have hurt her I will fucking cut you, lady, I don't care who you are!" One of the girls grabbed him by the crotch and squeezed viciously, and he made a strangled gasp and yelped, but he didn't drop the knife. "Put him down," said Sophy calmly. "It's all right, little one." "What 'appened?" Five gasped. Freya looked at him, still panting but her breathing returning to normal, and she held up a hand, palm towards him, and lowered it. The girls let Five go and he stood there, his face wet. "All right," said Sophy approvingly. "You did good, little one. Your lady will be all right. Nobody's getting killed here today." She turned back to Freya and stroked her face softly, still holding her hand. "How did you ..." Freya whispered. Sophy regarded her for a moment and glanced at Five. "Come in, little one," she said. "This concerns you too. You will need to know it. Thank you, Perla, thank you, Lona. You were right to restrain him but all will be well." The girls shrugged and left, pulling the door closed behind them. "Your lady," said Sophy, "was going to finish our time here. And then, I gave her a hat, as a goodbye gift. And she did not like it at all." "A hat?" said Five. Sophy nodded and turned back to Freya. "I can use a library too, Freya," she said. "I looked up what worms do to people. Some worms, anyway." Freya stared up at her, shaking, her breath wheezing in her chest. Sweat was beading on her forehead. She was a ghastly grey colour. Sophy clasped Freya's bleeding hand and held her gaze, speaking slowly and softly. "I've learned a couple of things here, Aelfrethe. Things you've never had to learn, because in nearly all of your battles, you've come out on top. When someone suffers greatly, oftentimes the suffering will not leave their heart and their body, but will take up dwelling within them until the sufferer gains the courage to look their pain in the face and say goodbye to it. When my girls have had a very bad time with a customer, and it doesn't happen often because we are choosy who we say yes to, but it happens, they often would be fine to go back to work sooner than you'd think, but then something else would set them off - a scent, a way of holding hands, the taste of a wine - and they would go to pieces. I have sometimes come in to a room to find a perplexed man, and a girl hysterical, because of the way he pronounced his r's, or a tattoo he had. It would bring them back to the bad time, and they would remain there. And for the longest time we didn't know what to do about it, except let it die down. Then by trial and blunder we learned that much the best thing was to find out what had prompted it, and show it to them. Only then were they able to start saying goodbye. In your case ..." Freya was clutching Sophy's hand so tight that Sophy was fearing for the bones in her fingers. She leaned over with her free hand and picked up the hat. "You always used to wear something on your head," Sophy said. "Now, you don't. I just noticed, a few minutes ago. I had this idea that if I put the hat on you, it might ... bring it back to you. I'm sorry I was so right." Freya stared at the hat. It was a small, modest cap of embroidered pink silk, hardly anything she would wear. The instant it had touched her head she had been choking, drowning, naked in the gullet of the worm that was fucking her in every hole. Using her, forcing her. Owning her. When it had been on the crown of my head. I was immobile. It had begun to slide over my forehead. Then my eyes. Squeezing my head. That was when I knew there was no escape. "So," said Sophy, "that is why you no longer wear a hat." I used to wrap up against the cold, and now I go in shirt and breeches in the coldest weather because even the North wind on my flesh is better than feeling in the grip of something. "So what's it mean?" said Five. "She can't wear a hat no more?" Freya relaxed her grip on Sophy's hand and stood up, uncurling her stiff fingers, examining the wound. It was minor. "Your lady knows best what it means," said Sophy, standing up as well. "Or, if she doesn't now, she will figure it out." I cannot fight a war bareheaded, in shirt and breeches. "My armour," Freya whispered. "I've still got it all," Five said. "It's in my big pack in our rooms." Freya looked at Sophy, who nodded. "She can't wear it," Sophy said to Five. "What?" said Five, appalled. "Why not?" "Because it takes her back in her mind to the worm," said Sophy quietly. Five stared at Freya. Freya nodded. "Oh," said Five. "Fuck. That's not good, is it." Freya smiled slightly, and shook her head no. She turned to Sophy, and put her hands together as if in prayer, and lowered her head and touched her lips to her own fingers, closing her eyes in penitence. "You never need to apologise to me, Freya," said Sophy. "But thank you." She grasped Freya by the shoulders and held her, smiling at her encouragingly. Freya raised her head and opened her eyes, her face calm and sad. I am a fool. Thrice a fool, for not trusting my own instinct to come here. For she has been right about me. And friends are rare. "Now, really," said Sophy. "Tell me you will come back. Tell me you will not depart in the night and not finish what we've started. You have done so well." Freya nodded yes, holding her gaze, meaning it, this time. "Good," said Sophy. "Good. We are all blundering in the dark here, Freya, but it's much better when one of us is not under the delusion that she can see perfectly well." Freya smiled despite herself. Sophy turned to Five and held out a hand. "Come here, little one," she said. "I'm eighteen," said Five. "You're right, sorry," said Sophy. "Come here, then, Eighteen." "Five," Freya whispered. Sophy glanced at her, and then turned back to Five. "Five, of course," she said. "I knew it was a number. Come on." Five went over, a little reluctantly. Sophy put an arm around him and pulled him into the circle with Freya. "All right," she said. "First it was nobody. Then it was you two, because you," she said, turning to Five, "rescued you," turning to Freya. "Then you came and you looked me up. And god help me, I can't resist a good cause. So now we are three." Freya shook her head no. "What?" said Sophy, startled. "There's another?" "Not that bloke from last night?" said Five, a little sourly. Freya gave him a brief stare, then nodded. "The guy you ...?" said Sophy. Freya paused, and nodded. "So you're all in love now," said Five. Freya glared at him and shook her head no, very slowly. "Oh," said Five, thoroughly confused. "So what," said Sophy, "you let this guy fuck you, but you know you're not in love with him?" Freya nodded. "Well, that's not bad, for a beginner, Aelfrethe," said Sophy, grinning. "What ... oh wait. I get it." She turned to Five. "Think about it," she said. "Would you want to be known as the first man ever to go to bed with Freya Aelfrethe?" Five thought about it, and he suddenly grasped the immensity of hatred that would be drawn down upon anyone who went around making that claim. "Fuck, no," he said. "So he'll never tell," said Sophy, "and neither will you." Freya shook her head. "I know who it was," said Five, and then when Freya turned her glare on him he realised what he'd said, and hastily added, "and, and I won't either. Ever. No bloody chance." "But if you're not lovers, then, what, did he swear you undying loyalty or something?" Sophy said. Freya thought for a moment, shrugged and nodded. "Why?" said Sophy. "I heard them fight," said Five. "Fucking god, Aelfrethe," said Sophy, rocking with laughter, "you sleep with one guy and already you've had a fight with him. Oh, don't give me that look! Come on. It's funny." Freya smiled very slightly as Sophy laughed and Five tried to stifle a giggle. "Well," said Sophy, recovering, "so we are four, then. One of these days we must all meet." She pulled Freya and Five into a hug. "We are stronger together," she said. "Remember that. You two will always be welcome in my house. Wait downstairs, young Five, and if you want anything you have to but to ask. I need to draw a bath for your mistress. We'll all meet again soon." She kissed them both and let go. She flashed them her most dazzling smile and left the room. Five watched her go and sighed. He glanced at Freya, and noticed that she was still watching the doorway where Sophy had been. "She is bloody great," said Five. "Mistress Sophy." Freya nodded, her gaze a long way away. Five waited a moment, then touched Freya's arm gently. "Are you all right, lady?" he said. Freya looked at him sharply, then looked thoughtful, and finally nodded. "I'm sorry I burst in," he said. "I thought you were being hurt. But I think ... she might be right. About your armour and all." Freya nodded and closed her eyes wearily for a moment, then opened them. "You really can't wear it? You can't fight in a battle?" She shook her head. "Do you think," he said tentatively, "you'll ever get to the point where you can?" Freya stared into space, then turned her eyes to his and whispered, "I could use help." "I will help you," he said, his heart swollen with pride. She gave a small smile, and clapped him on the back. A girl appeared at the door; one of the girls who'd been holding Five back earlier. She smiled, as if nothing had happened. "The lady is ready for you now," she said to Freya. Freya indicated to Five with her head: off you go, then. "I'll see you later, lady," he said. She nodded. He left the room and went downstairs, feeling for the first time like maybe things might not work out too bad. *** It wasn't much of an inn. But, for the middle of nowhere, it would do. There was just one man running it, a fat man in middle life with a hollow-eyed look, barely able to keep on top of things. Carfryn was used to Hargest, a place people took pride in keeping clean, because it was home. She had to admit that the room was good and big, and the bed was less crawling than the state of the place suggested it would be. The other customers were a craggy, cynical swordsman, running to seed; a gloomy youth with a pike who couldn't hold his beer; a red-faced merchant with a loud line in banter, and a pale, heavily-bearded young bookman who kept himself and his books to himself. Carfryn had time to grieve. She had money. She had paid herself up till the full moon, and she spent her days walking the country and quietly weeping for her brother, and her evenings sitting near the fire, but not too near because she was clearly a woman, numbing herself with the landlord's surprisingly respectable ale. She would go to bed and sleep dreamlessly and wake with a dry mouth and a bad head and do it all over again. She had little thought of what she'd do once she'd got herself back in one piece. She had little idea of what it would mean to be in one piece, now that Siegfa was gone. It stung her to realise that somewhere, deep down, she'd always believed that he would turn around some day and look at her, and say "Why, sister, I never knew ...", and they'd have embraced and come together, and forged the strongest of bonds, and the deepest of connections. She knew, now, that he had never once thought of that until the end. And having thought it, he'd been repelled by the thought. God, the shame. The only person who knew was that serving girl who'd seen him speak to her like that, seen him rebuking her like an errant child. No doubt the girl had by now spread the rumour of her shame throughout the castle. Carfryn could never, ever go back. The girl would have been been rewarded for her indiscretion. She took her empty mug to the counter and the landlord roused himself from his seat and took it from her and tapped the barrel and handed it back. Carfryn had never much liked ale, but this stuff wasn't bad; she liked what it did to her when she felt that she wanted to die. It enabled her to wallow, delightfully, in her misery, but dissolved the urge to step up and honourably end it. She knew that this was no life for her, really. She knew that she must straighten up and go out and find a life for herself. She had cut her ties with Hargest, which had consisted in Siegfa's service. Now she had no-one to serve. Freyas Saga Ch. 06 Sometimes she thought of Freya, and wondered what had really become of her. Had she been left as a corpse outside the village? Had Siegfa really seen what he thought he'd seen? As time went by, Freya came to seem more and more of ... a model? Something to aspire to, perhaps. Carfryn could wield a sword. She had strength and stamina and speed. She was a woman, which was a major stumbling-block to being accepted. But why couldn't she be a swordsman? What, other than custom, prevented her? She would brood on this and drink more ale, and then the image of Siegfa would come before her: his beauty, his chivalry, his gentleness, his fierceness. Why did I not tell him sooner. Why did I not. Because I feared he would reject me. As he did. After a few mugs Carfryn would stumble upstairs to bed and lie there and reach between her thighs and work herself with one hand and weep and call Siegfa's name. Then she would sleep, without dream and without rest, until she woke up to another day without him. One day, she would think, staring at the beams across the ceiling, this must end. *** Carfryn was so preoccupied with her own grief that she failed to notice that the others staying at the inn were becoming more and more preoccupied with her. The red-face merchant's name was Hinchin Brood, and he was celebrating a deal he'd brokered to sell a hundredweight of salt pork, sight unseen, to the army of a local warlord who'd been desperate for provisions on account of a long-running feud he'd been conducting with his bigger and richer neighbour. Hinchin had turned the deal in such a way that the warlord wouldn't find out until much later that the salt pork he had paid good money for was green and flyblown. By then, Hinchin would be leagues away. The youth with the pike was named Gavan, and had recently run away from the house of his father, a wealthy local landowner, on account of being the sixth of six sons and not seeing any chance of inheriting anything of value any time soon. He'd stolen the pike from a sleeping man-at-arms he'd encountered. Just to be sure that the man wouldn't wake up and chase him, Gavan had also killed the sleeping man with a rock, and was now at once very nervous of being discovered, and also puffed up with the idea that he was a desperate fellow because he'd killed a man. The fact that the dead man had happened to be asleep at the time made no difference to Gavan's sense of his own bravery. Hinchin Brood noticed the attractive young aristocrat and immediately turned on her the full force of his charm, throwing amusing little observations her way, offering her pieces of food, trying to draw her into the conversation after supper. Carfryn at first smiled politely at the observations, declined politely the food and soon began to ignore him completely. His demeanour stayed cheery. Hinchin had long ago learned to conceal his rage beneath a veneer of manly good cheer. Gavan looked at the woman from afar and lusted after her; she had dark round eyes and high cheekbones and a long, smooth nose, a small, serious mouth and a grave expression, but he could see from her clothes that she was a ripe one. She reminded him of the girls his eldest brothers had married, the ones who mostly regarded him as being an annoying little squirt. He knew that if he tried to say anything to her, she'd look at him like he was an annoying little squirt. She had no idea that he'd killed a man. He was a serious man, a killer. But she had no idea. The mercenary, Owyn Durberry, had once been a man who had managed to combine enterprise and honour. He'd sold his sword to many lords and had fought bravely and conscientiously, but as peace had taken hold in the land it had got harder to find work, and he'd become less choosy about who he fought for. And so, in the course of things, he'd become more aware of the contrast between the nasty little jobs he did now, and the great and noble causes he'd been paid to fight for in the past. He saw the young woman, too, and he was too smart to believe that she was interested in any of them, or would ever be. She was clearly upper-class, clearly on the run from something, but there was more to her than that. He could see from her shiny hands that they were calloused. What was her story? She clearly had one. He'd had women like her. Not with their consent, it was true. In the course of sacking the odd capital, he'd had to subdue the occasional female prisoner from time to time. There was nothing like fucking a rich girl. Smooth, clean, usually disease-free, and generally too well-bred to fight back. He sat and watched her and wondered what she would look like naked. The fourth man, Dovid Berman, the bookman, was an itinerant student. Like the others, he had not failed to notice the slender young woman in what appeared to be man's clothes, although it did not do to pay too much attention to the appearance of women of the word, because they had wiles, and could lure a man from the path of virtue. This young woman was perplexingly dressed as a man, which was further evidence of her dangerousness. And yet she was of surpassing beauty, even in her mannish garb; pale, dark-haired, fine-featured, although small and slight, and hardly with a childbearing body. Dovid felt ashamed of having the woman in his thoughts, for she was a woman of the word, and he was a man of the book. People of the word had no notion of the immensity and complexity of God's creation, and thought that He could be praised and worshipped by keeping in their frail heads a few trite sayings and childrens' stories. Dovid, on the other hand, was a student of the book, and the book was to the word as the world is to a child's drawing of the world. He had been noted early as a studious little boy and his parents, who were of course both people of the book, were delighted when their youngest son was accepted as a student. He had been a student of the book now for fifteen years, and felt confident to pronounce on most of the better-known aspects of about six or seven of its eleven hundred pages. He revered the great scholars of the book: Ben Smuel, Ben Ashman, the great Mavonian. He knew that in about ten more years he would qualify to be examined for the priesthood. In the meantime, study, study, study. He had gone to this inn to get away from the noise of home and his older and younger brothers and sisters. He'd known that at an inn, he could expect to find lone men of the word and no distractions, because they wouldn't want to go bothering a bookman, having no interest in that kind of thing. One day he would be charged with awakening their interest, because the people of the book wanted everyone to be a person of the book, because who wouldn't want to be one? But for now, he had not the skills for that task, and his job was to learn what it would one day be his job to teach others. Carfryn, for her part, ignored the men, although she found herself curious about the bookman. She had been brought up in Hargest, where bookmen were rare and exotic, and on the whole she believed what she'd always heard about them; they were weird, they ate strange food, they were obsessed with money and they thought that they were better than everyone else. The men all had beards and the women all wore scarves over their faces in public. But this bookman was shy, kept himself to himself and if she happened to meet him in a corridor at night he stepped aside politely and bowed his head to let her pass. He seemed to have none of the airs she'd always heard ascribed to people of his kind. He was young, and the lower half of his face was hidden by his enormous beard, but he was slim and although he never took his hat off, his hair was dark. But she wasn't curious about him. She was curious about his book. Carfryn had never been very religious, but after what happened to Siegfa she was afflicted with a painful sense of guilt. She wanted to avenge his death, even though she didn't know on whom to avenge it, other perhaps than Sir Ulf, who was now hundreds of miles away. And so it was that, one evening, after her second beer, she worked up the courage to approach the bookman where he sat in the corner, poring over his enormous copy of the Book. "God be with you, sir," she said. He looked up, and she couldn't help being faintly amused by the look of panic in his face. "... Yes?" he said, somewhat rudely. "I don't wish to disturb your evening study," she said, "but I have heard it said that bookmen carry about spare copies of the Book, and if a bookless one should ask for a copy, your people consider it a duty to give them one." "There are differing opinions on the matter," he said primly. "The school of Haneth believes in such a duty, whereas the school of Xander believes that bookless ones should be directed to the library. There is virtue in both positions, but the school of Manai has asserted that it is the duty of ..." "Forgive my interruption," she said, "but to which school do you belong?" "Haneth," he said after a pause. "So, do you have spare copies?" she said. "I have," he said. "Would you give me one?" "I would," he said, and paused, staring at her patiently. She waited for a long moment, and then, realising that he was a young man of a certain turn of mind, said "Then please be so good as to do so." He reached under the table and pulled a small, fat book from his bag. It was cheaply produced, the paper was wafer thin and the printing was hasty, but it was the same book he was studying; just much smaller, less well-made, and without the vast critical apparatus of his own copy. "Take it," he said, handing it over, "and may the book bring you life." "I hope it will," she said, smiling. "Thank you, sir." Carfryn took the book upstairs to her room. *** Dovid sat in the corner sipping his broth and working his way through the commentary on Hafesh 12:56. Sin, said Ben Fashzi, was a characteristic of people. Sinful people did bad things. No, said Ben Mishpocheh, sin was something that humans did, not something that they were. Sin entered the world when people did evil, but people did evil because they allowed themselves to be distracted from the right. "So," said a voice off to his right. "That posh lassie." "Mmmm," said another. The hired sword, Dovid thought. "How to do it is the question," said the first voice. He closed his ears to their chatter. They were distracting him from the right. He didn't notice anything else they said, until the word "quiet" grabbed his attention and wouldn't let it go. Reluctantly he listened to them. "If she does make noise, and she will," one of them was saying, "I say we stop her mouth, because we don't want to be interrupted." Dovid wondered what they were talking about and wondered why he had been compelled to listen to their nonsense. "We could use her clothes or something," said a third voice. "Exactly," said the first voice. "But to speak truth, I doubt we'll have any trouble. Mine host can hardly be bothered about what happens in his rooms with the door shut, and I seriously doubt that the little bookman is going to be interested." 'His kind look after their own," said the third voice. "You wouldn't see him lift a finger to help a girl who wasn't one of his." "Maybe we should ask him to join in," said the first voice, and laughed. "I doubt he's got the ink in his quill," said the hired sword. "You never know with these bookmen," said the first voice. "They breed like fucking rabbits. But I'm sure if he did make any trouble, we could take him." "I could take him myself," said the third voice, a young and rather callow one. "No doubt, laddie," said the first voice. "But between us we will be able to handle him." Dovid sat there, his finger poised over the Book, trembling with indecision. He forced himself to assess the situation. On the face of it, the three other men of the word were planning to do something to the young woman, presumably without her consent. Dovid was a virgin, but he was not ignorant. He knew how children were conceived. The Book was very clear about how it happened: men and women had sex with each other, which involved the man inserting his organ of reproduction into that of the woman, a process which was specifically designed by G-d to be pleasurable for both parties, and if it wasn't then you were doing it wrong. The Book went on to say that it was the man who was responsible for making sure that the woman enjoyed the procedure, and not the other way around, and that if either of the two parties found the procedure utterly repugnant when performed with the other party, then that was grounds for divorce. He guessed that the men were planning to insert their reproductive organs into that of the woman, who was married to none of them. Since she had shown no interest in any of them, Dovid speculated boldly that this was something that she would not, in the normal run of things, give her consent to. There were three of them, they were men and she was a woman, and she was small and two of the men were quite large. The other one being, Dovid would have said, relatively normal in stature. This was unfair. However, the Book had nothing to say about whether or not a person of the Book should intervene in the private business of people of the word. People of the word were to be urged to convert to being people of the Book, and if they chose not to do so, they were to be shunned. So I should do nothing, he thought, as he heard the men talking about the young woman's charms and about what she probably looked like without clothes on. I should do nothing because I am not commanded to do anything, and I am not physically capable of intervening, being untrained in physical combat and having a weak chest. But it was unfair. G-d, he thought, help me. I am no prophet, but give me a sign as to what I should do. I do not want to do anything because I might get hurt, but that does not seem a sufficient reason to not help prevent a great wrong. He looked at the table opposite him and under it he saw movement. A mouse was nibbling at scraps fallen on the floor. Let the mouse be emblematic of something, Dovid thought. G-d, teach me a lesson with this mouse. Let me know what I should do. The inn cat strolled in, large and well fed, and the mouse froze. The cat sauntered over towards the fire, lazily. The mouse remained motionless. The cat sat down and started licking its nether parts. The mouse picked up a crumb and ate it. The cat looked up sharply, and Dovid found himself grabbing his own trouser legs in excitement. The mouse darted towards the skirting, and the cat launched itself in pursuit. The mouse reached the skirting and tucked itself into a narrow gap and disappeared. The cat slowed, halted, hissed, and then turned, and went back towards the fire. That was frustratingly ambiguous, G-d, Dovid thought. I am not sure if I am take that to mean that the girl, represented by the mouse, will escape without harm, or whether the men, represented by the mouse, will refrain from wrong-doing if sufficiently scared by a perceived stronger threat, or whether the men, represented by the cat, will back down at the last minute and not do their deed because it does not seem worth it. It would have been good to have an incident with a clearer moral, mighty G-d. He sat for a moment, and then without knowing really what he was going to do, he silently gathered up the Book and his bag and slid off his bench and went quietly out of the common room. Dovid went upstairs and remembered that the young woman was in room five. He found it and knocked on the door. After a moment, she answered, her pretty oval face looking at him seriously. She was still wearing her men's clothes. Her hair hung in a ragged mop around her head. He was very aware of her physical presence. "Can I help you?" she said. She was, he noticed, holding the Book in her hand. So she had been reading it all along. He was pleased. "I wanted to give you some, um, warning," he said. "It seems the other men, downstairs, plan to enter your room and have conjugal relations with you by force." "What," she said in a cold flat voice. "I overheard them," he said nervously. "They were discussing how to go about it. I think you would be well-advised to hide or flee before they make their attempt." "They plan to rape me?" she said, and a dangerous smile crossed her face. "I believe so," he said. "I came to warn you." She nodded her head thoughtfully, and looked him in the eye. "Thank you," she said seriously. "I will await their arrival." "I do not think that that is a good idea," he said. "I think you'll find," she said, "that they will have a surprise." "Maybe they will," he said, "but I still think you should either hide or flee." "Can I trust you with a secret?" she said. "I would prefer not to be trusted with one," he admitted. "I am an expert swordswoman," she said. "They will not find me so easy as you imagine." She walked rapidly over to a chair and picked up a sword and drew it. She made a few moves with it; Dovid knew nothing of swordsmanship but it looked very impressive. "Ah," he said. "Well then. It seems that you have the situation in hand." "I thank you for your concern, bookman," she said. "You will not find me ungrateful." "I am glad to think that you will be safe," he said. "If you're sure." "I am sure," she said. "Thank you." She smiled at him, a warm smile with a hint of sadness to it, which touched his heart, even if he was slightly annoyed at being addressed as "bookman", but then they all called his people that when they didn't know your name. She shut the door and he heard noises inside of clanking metal, which he took to be some kind of pre-combat preparatory activity on her part. He went down the corridor to his own room and shut the door and put a chair up against it. He sat down to wait. *** Carfryn moved swiftly, putting on Siegfa's armour, which fit her better than she had thought it would, but still not as well as she would have liked, and warming up with her sword., So they were going to try it with her? Then she would be ready. This was the sign she had been waiting for, this was the kick she needed to resume her real life. It felt good to move about in the room and refresh her memory of the moves and feints and parries and strikes. She'd have to be fast, and nimble, and use everything she'd learned. This was for Siegfa; unlike him she would be ready, and unlike him, she would fight for and keep her virtue. It was good of the bookman to have given the warning but like so many of his kind, he had a flawed idea of the virtue of Northwomen. When she felt warmed up, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited, watching the door. It happened sooner rather than later. She heard the footsteps coming down the corridor, and then she heard the knock. She ignored it, pretending to be asleep. Presently, there was a groaning sound of wood bending, and then the door was forced, by the sword of the mercenary. He entered and stopped, looking at her, and then the merchant followed and the youth. "Ah," said the mercenary. "So you've got armour. Interesting." "The bookman told me you were planning a visit," she said. "I thought I should make myself presentable." "I take it that sword's not just for show, then," said the mercenary. "No," Carfryn said. "Know how to use it, do you?" "I have sparred all my life," she said. "What's your name?" "Carfryn." "I've never heard of you." "I'm from the North," she said, "and in my land, they have heard of me. I think you would be well-advised to go back to your own rooms and think on the fact that the three of you ganged up on a lone woman." Freyas Saga Ch. 06 She was pleased to see that the merchant was sweating and looking anxious. "It seems we've got off on rather the wrong foot," he said. "Perhaps you would prefer to join us downstairs for a drink. Let's pretend this never happened." "No," said the mercenary calmly. "We can do this." "Durberry," said the merchant. "For goodness sake." "If you touch me," she said, equally calmly, "you will regret it." "I've got a lot of regrets," said the mercenary. "I can stand one more." "Then make your move," she said, and lifted her sword, adopting the position. Owyn Durberry stared at her, impressed despite himself: this slip of a girl, no more than nineteen, small and slight but with, he noticed, good technique at holding the sword. She stared at him fiercely, determined to defend herself. You've sparred all your life, he thought. Good for you, girl. But I've fought all my life. And there's more to winning than knowing how to wield a sword. He walked towards her and she took the perfect defensive stance, her sword ready to block his. He raised his, put his back into it, and swung. His sword clanged off hers and he saw her wince and flinch, her eyes widening in shock at the sheer force of his attack. He immediately swung again and she was very quick about parrying, but his sword battered against hers and she staggered backwards, grimacing as the pain from his blow went up her arms. Then she saw her sword. It was already quite bent. He swung again and once again, she bravely parried but this time his sword whanged off hers and broke it, and travelling further, slammed against her armoured left arm. She cried out and dropped the broken sword. He dropped his sword too, grabbed her by the throat and slammed her backwards against the wall. She made a choked gasp and he pulled her away and slammed her against the wall again. She wasn't very heavy and she'd now had two serious blows to the back of her unarmoured head. Her face was turning blue. He was able to lift her up with one arm and throw her across the room; she landed against the fireplace and crashed to the floor, gasping. "Come on," he said to the others, and they picked up the winded girl and dragged her to the bed. He pulled out his knife and quickly severed the straps of her armour. She looked up at them, bruised, breathless and terrified. Her face was still unmarked, apart from a scratch on her nose. He could have subdued her further with a punch in it, but she was so pretty, he didn't want them to be looking at her bloody face while they did her. "Seriously, love," he said, smiling, "you never had a chance. Sorry." "No," she whimpered. "Please." They got the last of her armour off and the young man was pulling at her boots. Carfryn was aching all over, heaving in breaths, her arm throbbing with pain, and she felt sick with fear and humiliation. She felt the boots sliding off her feet, and then they were tearing at her clothing. The cloth strained at her joints, and her aching body smarted at the feel of the seams of her breeches and jerkin and undershirt being tugged and torn. She lay on her back, dazed, staring up at them. Her lungs were sore from hauling air into herself. "You've been quite naughty," said the fat merchant, leering down at her. "Time to teach you a lesson." "N-no," she said, "no, no, please, no, please, I ... I am a virgin ..." "Good," said the mercenary. "Not gonna get the pox off you, then." He reached down and ripped her jerkin open, then her undershirt, exposing her breasts. She whimpered. "Please," she begged them, "please, do not do this! Have pity!" "You thought you'd be all brave," said the mercenary, pulling her jerkin and shirt off her, exposing her upper body. "You thought you'd make a stand. I admire that, love. But, really." He grabbed Carfryn's breeches and yanked them down over her hips, exposing her sex. O god, O god, O god, it is going to happen, I cannot stop it, they are going to do it, I am to be violated this night and I can do nothing, O god have pity on me ... The youth who was holding her legs pulled her breeches off her, so that she lay naked on her back, and he held her feet still. She gasped and trembled at being exposed so brutally to three complete strangers. They pulled her up so that she was fully on the bed. She lay there, shaking, staring up at the mercenary beseechingly, as he pulled his member from his britches. O god, please, no, let him be struck down, let him fall dead from a passion, let this not happen, I do not wish to lose my maidenhead thus, please, please ... "Good god," he said, viewing her, "but you're bonny, my girl." He looked at her small, neat body appreciatively. She had a bruise on her throat and another on her side from where she'd hit the mantelpiece, but apart from that he was very pleased with how easily he'd beaten her. He noted, too, that she was not resisting - protesting, yes, but she'd no fight in her at all, now. "That's good," he said, "it's much better for you not to fight. You'll get out of this in one piece if you don't." "Oh come," said the merchant. "I like a bit of struggle." The mercenary looked up at him sourly. "Don't be a tosser," he said. "Here she is, being nice and obedient. Show a bit of fuckin' respect." "Please," Carfryn whimpered, shaking her head no, appalled at how swiftly she'd been subdued. The mercenary looked down at her again. "I don't know about these two, love," he said, "but me, I'm not doin' this 'cos I want to show off what a big man I am, or anything. I know how big I am, and it's not much." She stared up at him, wide-eyed. He looked down at her, his creased brown face almost apologetic. "I just wanted to fuck you," he said, and reached down and directed himself into her. She opened her mouth in pain and horror as she felt him pushing at her sex. He put his hand over her mouth, muffling her squeal, and he slid into her, gasping "Oh god, yes!" Carfryn felt him entering her and she closed her eyes and gasped as the pain stabbed at her. Then, beneath that, there was the sickening feel of something else; a knowledge that this was, in so many other ways, right, that that part of a man was made to do this to that part of her, and that in any other circumstances, this would be something that she might have enjoyed. Instead, the arousal made her feel ill. She shut her eyes tight and squirmed as he fucked her, his weight pressing her slight body into the bed, and she screamed uselessly into his hand over her mouth. O god, O god, O god ... I am brought down, I have failed you, my brother. I join you in degradation. I am beaten and raped, like you. She sobbed as he fucked her. Knowing that she was now where Siegfa had been didn't make it any better. His cock inside her, the pressure of his groin on her soft nub of flesh, rubbing at her, made her twitch and whimper and gasp, and as he groaned and spurted his seed inside her, Carfryn gave an agonized moan of humiliation as she, too, felt a hideous wave of heat flooding her body and taunting her: you should be enjoying this, you stupid bitch, you should be welcoming them ... He pulled out of her and she lay there, sobbing. The merchant was readying himself. "I don't like the way she looks at us," he grumbled. "So fucking blindfold her, then," the mercenary said. When the merchant dithered, he picked up her undershirt and tore a strip off it, then Carfryn felt him tying it over her eyes, and she whimpered at the further humiliation. The merchant got on her, and he was heavier than the mercenary. She submitted, gulping back her sobs, feeling the merchant's cock entering her by now sore but slippery sex, and he pumped in and out of her for a few minutes before stopping to pant for breath. "Bit out of shape, are we?" said the mercenary. "Just need to make this a little more spicy," the merchant said, and Carfryn felt him pull out of her. She gasped as he did so, but then he reached down and rolled her onto her belly. She flinched, and tried to curl up from what she knew he wanted to do to her. "Oh no," she moaned, "no, please, no, not that, not that ..." "You want to behave like a boy," said the merchant, "then we'll treat you like one. Hand me that candle." She flailed her arms behind her, but she felt strong hands grab them, and they were tied together behind her back with another bit of cloth. She lifted her blindfold face and spoke desperately over her shoulder. "Not there," she begged, "please, I beg you, please, I am a gentlewoman, do not defile me so ..." She felt the hand smearing the tallow between her bare buttocks and she gasped with alarm. "Please!" she exclaimed. "Please, no!" "That should do it," said the merchant, and then Carfryn felt his cock probing between her buttocks, parting them, and thanks to the tallow from the candle, easily going all the way up to her most private part, and pushing at it. She knew that people did this. She had never been curious about what it was like. She knew that she'd never invite anyone to do it to her. But now it was being done to her anyway, and she had no voice in the matter. "Oh NO!" she squealed. "Shut up," the merchant muttered, and pushed her face into the bedspread as he leaned on her and drove his cock between the globes of her bare bum and into her tight anus. Carfryn screamed into the bedspread, but it was no good; the merchant leaned his weight on her until she was beyond out of breath, and then released her only when he was already pumping in and out of her rear end. "AAAAAAUUUHHHH!" she howled, hopelessly. "AAAAAAAAUUUNNHHH! Oh GOD! Oh PLEASE!" "Relax, love," said the mercenary near her ear. "Relax and it's a lot better, I promise." "AAAAAAAAUUUUUUHHH!" she screamed again. "Somebody shut her up," grunted the merchant, his cock filling her arse, pushing in and out of her. She heared a ripping sound, and felt yet another strip of cloth being tied over her mouth to muffle her screams. "Relax your arse, love," said the mercenary. "Trust me. It's not as bad and you'll be less hurt at the end of it." "MMMMMMFFF!" she screamed. She couldn't help heaving and squirming and writhing to try and throw him off, but it only seemed to arouse the merchant more, and it hurt. She felt the mercenary's hand on her shoulder and she forced herself to stop trying to push the merchant out of her, making herself let him inside her, and the pain eased, a little, but to submit like that made her sob with humiliation. She lay face down, naked, blindfold, gagged and with her hands tied behind her, emitting a low continuous muffled wail of distress while the merchant pumped her arse pitilessly, before he finally cast his load inside her, making her gag and cough with revulsion. By the time the merchant had spent himself in her, Carfryn was a wrung-out scrap of flesh on the bed; she did not even resist as she felt the youth mount her from behind. She merely whimpered dully as he entered her, made muffled moans of protest as he buggered her, and sobbed as he came in her and pulled out. She lay there on her belly, sobbing quietly, listening to them negotiating as they divided up her belongings. The mercenary took her armour and sword. The merchant took her clothes. The youth managed to bargain for her boots. "You can have this," said the merchant's plummy voice, and she felt something being tossed onto her bare lower back. She heard them leave the room. After a moment, she realised that they had left her the copy of the Book. As a joke. She lay, aching, exhausted; her body mauled and dripping with sweat and semen, her flesh scored and scratched and bruised, her soul blazing with abjection and humiliation. How blithe she had been; how confident. And here she was. Naked and trussed up, and her arse still aching and pulsing from the buggering she'd been given. O my brother. My dear brother. At last we are one. *** Dovid sat in his room, on the bed, the Book open in front of him, listening with horror to the muffled screaming coming from down the corridor. It would have been easy to go to bed and just block it out, pretend it wasn't happening. After all, it was happening to the woman of the word. But, she had asked him for a copy of the Book, and he knew she'd been reading it. So she had an interest, at least, in righteousness. I did what I could, he told himself. I warned her. It is not my fault that she paid no mind. When I get home I will have to tell Ben Yosef about this. He will be able to tell me whether I did well or ill. He sat for a moment in silence, hearing the screaming turn into choked pleading that he couldn't make out. Oh G-d. Your ways are very strange. That poor woman. He forced himself to concentrate on reading more of the commentary on Hafesh, and his efforts were rewarded insofar as it managed to distract him from the sounds coming down the corridor. But then he was rudely interrupted by a banging on his door. He put the Book down and went over and opened it. The three men were outside. "All right, bookman," said the mercenary. "Did you tell the girl that we were planning to go after her?" Dovid looked at them, weighed up his chances of survival, and decided to tell the truth. "Yes," he said. "That was annoying of you," said the mercenary. "I had to fight her. Don't dabble in our affairs and we won't string you up from the nearest fucking tree. All right?" "I understand," said Dovid. "Good lad," said the mercenary, nodding, and moved off. The merchant paused, spat in Dovid's face, and walked off, looking pleased with himself. As Dovid slowly wiped the spit off, he saw the youth standing there. "Can I help you," he said. "Is it true you people drink virgin's blood?" said the youth. "No," said Dovid, appalled. "That's what your kind would say," said the youth, and punched Dovid in the face. Dovid reeled, but by the time he'd recovered his full sight and staunched his bleeding nose, the youth had gone. Dovid shut the door, thinking, Well, if that is what I get for intervening in the affairs of people of the word, I am well out of it. He undressed and donned his nightshirt, snuffed out the candle and got into bed, his face throbbing with pain. As he lay there, he heard an odd noise. It was a sort of repetitive thumping noise, but it would happen for about half a minute, in brief bursts, then stop, and there would be a minute's break, then it would happen again. He lay there, wondering what it was. Then he noticed it was getting louder. Dovid was in no mood to go looking for trouble. He lay in bed, listening and wondering if perhaps it was some sort of household ghost. But then he heard another noise; a rhythmic shifting sound as of a weight being dragged along the floor. It wasn't loud, but it would get louder, and then it would stop. Then it would resume, louder, and then stop. Then he heard the thumping noise. It was someone banging his door. He knew that he knew what was making the noise. He just didn't care to think of it too much. G-d, please, make it go away, make it go away ... Thump thump thump thump thump G-d, you are clearly testing me this night and I would have liked some notice of that. Thump thump thump thump It is not my business. Thump thump thump thump thump Clearly you mean to make it my business, G-d. Dovid got out of bed and tiptoed across the dark room to the door. He lifted the hook, turned the handle and opened it. The moonlight shone in the corridor. There was nobody there. Then he looked down and his heart lurched. It was the young woman. She was lying on the floor, naked, a blindfold tied across her eyes, a cloth gag tied over her mouth, her hands apparently tied behind her back. She was bruised and scratched and her skin glistened with fluids Dovid did not especially want to know about. She was trembling and making a little Huhhh, huhhh, huhhh noise in her throat. He realised that she must have somehow got out of her room, just as she was, and dragged herself down the corridor, knocking on each door as she went, with her head or her feet, in a desperate attempt to get help. He looked down at her, and for the first time in his life, he knew without having to ask himself what was the right thing to do. He leaned over, grabbed her under her armpits and dragged her into his room. She was cold and shivering. Then he shut the door and locked it and grabbed the bedspread and knelt down behind her and untied her wrists and wrapped her in the bedspread and cradled her, and took off her blindfold and her gag. "Please ..." she whimpered, staring at him through bloodshot eyes. "You're safe now," he said, holding her, feeling utterly futile. "I promise. You are safe." "Thank you," she said faintly, and she closed her eyes and gave in to her tears. "There's no need to thank me," he said. "I didn't do anything." He knelt on the floor, holding her, as she wept. Freyas Saga Ch. 07 The days went in their course. Once or twice a week, they would walk to the Houses of Healing, and Freya would 'talk' to Sophy. Five secretly suspected that they were doing more than talking, although he came to wonder if he wasn't just being jealous, given that Freya never came down from a talk with Sophy with any look of glowing serenity or post-fuck happiness. She always returned looking thoughtful and preoccupied, and although he didn't get much out of her at the best of times, he'd get even less at those times. Then they might go to the library or an inn to meet Moyra, and soon Freya and Moyra would be leaning over old books and manuscripts together and Five would be kicking his heels with boredom. To help himself deal better with the boredom, Five decided to brush up on his own reading, but he soon grew tired of kids' stories about heroes, which were about all he could manage. One afternoon, when Freya and Moyra were deep in discussion -- Moyra talking, Freya listening intently -- Five left the inn and wandered out into the city for a walk. One thing he had learned was not to wander too openly; he knew the hard way that one of the best ways to protect yourself in Memike was to look like you knew where you were going. Accordingly, he set off in a brisk walk in the direction of the sea. He glimpsed it several times down at the ends of streets, and between houses, but only after ten minutes did he reach the docks. It was a lovely day. The blue sea stretched off flat for a mile or so and then there was the brown strip of the Sea Wall, built centuries ago by the city to protect it from the big waves that had happened regularly, back in ancient times. There were tales in the sagas of the ground shaking, and huge waves coming in from the distant sea and wrecking the city, which was crowded into a narrow space between the sea and the high wall of Mount Zoie. The result was that Memike had one of the best and biggest artificial harbours in the world. The docks were noisy and crowded and full of life. Five got a poke of hot, salt-sweet, juicy shrimps from a seafood shack and munched them as he walked, dropping the heads and shells as he went. The ships were unloading and Five looked at them with interest, wondering where they'd been and what cargoes they carried. Then he came to one where he didn't have to wonder. The cargo was shuffling down the gangplank, a file of a couple of dozen black-skinned men and women, chained together at the ankle, dressed in rags of sackcloth. They all looked reasonably fit but most of them had sores around their elbows, many of them had bruises and their rags were bloodstained. Both the men and the women had had their hair roughly shaved off and their scalps were cut and scabbed. The crowd waiting at the foot of the gangplank was made up of businesspeople, Five could tell. They were casting a professional eye over the men and women. Five was not so naive as to think that their blank, unimpressed stares reflected what they really thought. But he'd never seen slaves before, and he felt sorry for the crowd of beaten, half-naked men and women being shifted into a line by the quayside. "Not so many," said one of the men to a man overseeing the slaves. The overseer glanced over his shoulder and gave the other man a nod of recognition and shook his head. "We had a fucking rebellion," he said. "This lot, I swear. More trouble than ever. We had to lose more than half." "What," said the first man, "you mean ..." and he made a furtive shoving gesture. The overseer nodded. "No other way," he said. "They managed to get free and kill my third mate. Fifteen years on deck and he gets killed by a fuzzy." "Shocking," said the first man. "Yeah," said the overseer. "So, over the side half of them went, right off, to teach the others. The ringleader wanted them to go on, but that broke 'em." "What happened to him?" said the first man. The overseer looked at the ship and pointed. "That's her now," he said. Five looked at the top of the gangplank. Two sailors stood either side of a tall young black-skinned woman, dressed like the others in a torn bit of sackcloth. Five was interested to note that she wasn't chained to the others. She was, however, in chains. Her ankles were chained together. Her arms were strapped behind her back and fastened with more chain, and she wore on her head and neck some kind of metal cage which was strapped around her head, fastened around her neck with an iron band which looked like it was digging into her flesh because it was brown with old blood and her neck looked raw. There was a metal bit in her mouth, which her bloodstained teeth were clamped on, and one of her eyes was puffed up and closed. The other one glared down at the people on the dockside with such ferocity and loathing that Five felt scared just to look at her. The men were gripping her by her upper arms. Five stared at her magnificence, feeling more than ever a wretched unfinished sliver of a thing. Oh ... my. I love my mistress, but you are glorious, lady. "That's their queen," the overseer said to the man. "Fucking animal, she is. Never seen the like." "What's that thing on her head?" "Cage. Our smith knocked it up. She bites." "Bloody hell," said the man. "Why didn't you sling her in with the rest?" "We did," said the overseer. "She climbed aboard again." "What? You're joking." "She was chained to the others, but somehow she broke the bolt on her ankle chain with her bare hands, and grabbed a line. Next thing we knew she was climbing up the rope and back on board for more. So we gave her to the lads, just to shut her up. Didn't work, so we clapped her in irons and since then, she's been as you see. Only way to stop her from running wild." "Good lord," said the first man. "I'll give her one thing," said the overseer, "she's bloody tough. Five lads on her at one point, and they couldn't shut her up. She'll never make a slave, though. She'll go mad on the first day and attack someone and they'll hang her." "What you gonna do with her?" "Do you want her?" said the overseer and laughed hollowly. "No." "We'll put her up for bids, but we'll not lie about her. If someone takes her, she's not our problem anymore. If nobody, she's going in the fuckin' harbour." The tall young woman shuffled down the gangplank and was stood some distance from the other slaves, none of whom looked at her. She is magnificent, Five thought. If only the lady were here. She would see it. Even as the young woman's gaze settled briefly on him and he felt the force of her hatred, he couldn't help admiring her. A sailor approached a slave girl on the far end of the line and, taking out a knife, he cut her sackcloth dress off her, exposing her naked body to the prospective buyers. The girl glared, ashamed, and he made her stand up straight. Then he did the same thing to the man next to her, and went on down the line, stripping all the slaves until they were naked. Then, he went up to the queen, who tried to turn her head and fix him with her stare, but the head restraint prevented her. He quickly cut open her dress and pulled off the rags, exposing her splendid but severely bruised and abused body to the world. Unlike the other slaves, the queen didn't flinch or try to hide herself; she stood there, as proudly as she could manage, her feet as far apart as they would go, defying them all to look at her, her body trembling with evident pain, her eyes glittering with hatred and humiliation. She said something to the sailor in a voice muffled by the gag in her mouth, and Five didn't need a translator to be told that she was cursing him, cursing all of them. The bidding started, and Five turned away. He didn't like the whole slavery business and he felt uncomfortable enough looking at naked, chained-up people in broad daylight. He had never seen black people before, but he didn't believe the rumours that they were animals who didn't understand what was happening to them. It was obvious that they knew perfectly well what was happening to them. They just didn't want to give their captors the satisfaction of seeing them cringe and be docile. All wrong, Five thought, all wrong, but what can you do about it? Not own slaves, I suppose. He went back to the inn, feeling depressed, wishing he hadn't gone down to the docks in the first place. He arrived back at the inn to find Freya and Moyra outside. Freya looked impatient. "We were wondering where you'd got to," Moyra said in her calm, unruffled way. Moyra only ever got impatient when people were ignorant who should have known better. "I went down the docks," Five said. "Just fancied a walk." "I think your mistress wants to go somewhere," said Moyra. Freya gave Five a well-let's-just-go-then look. "Sorry, lady," said Five. "I saw something I didn't plan to see. Got caught up." "What did you see?" said Moyra, as they started walking to the library. "A slave ship," said Five. "Ah," said Moyra, nodding, and a look of sympathy crossed her face. "It was horrible," said Five. "They'd 'ad some sort of fight on the ship and I heard one bloke saying they'd thrown a load of slaves overboard." "They do that," Moyra agreed. "And there was this one girl," said Five, "she was the ringleader, and they had her all chained up, and I heard them say that they were gonna put her up for auction but they knew that nobody would bid for her, so they were going to throw her in the harbour. And it was wicked, miss, it truly was. She was a grand figure of a girl. Bloody grand. As proud as anything." "It's a vicious business, slaving," Moyra said. "Once you enter into it, you find yourself doing the vilest things." "It were awful," said Five. "To look at her knowing they were going to kill 'er, when she'd that much life in her. They'd thrown her off the ship and she'd climbed back on, if you can believe it." He realised suddenly that Freya had slowed to a halt and was looking at him oddly. "What is it, lady?" he said. "When was this?" she whispered. "Not but long," he said. "Just now." Freya looked back the way they'd came, in the direction of the harbour, and seemed to be debating with herself. "What," said Five, feeling oddly excited. "Are you thinking of ..." Freya glanced at him, and Five nodded, trying to make her think, yes, let's, let's go down there and stop it. Freya shook her head with a grimace, turned around and set off at a fast walk in the direction of the harbour. Five had to almost trot alongside. Moyra looked slightly perplexed, but followed them, walking briskly. This was great, thought Five. This was something. This was a good thing they could do. "I swear, lady," he said, "she's ... I dunno what you're thinking, but there's something grand about her." Freya raised one eyebrow briefly. They turned a corner and descended a narrow alley, which took them down to the quay. Then Five led them at a half-run until they could see the slave ship. The crowd had melted away. The other slaves had gone. The girl was still there, standing on the edge of the quay, her ankles chained, her arms bound behind her back, the cage on her head. There were two men by her, one of them kneeling at her ankles, the other behind her. Five couldn't see what they were doing. He went faster. He saw the man behind the girl pull something tight behind her arms, and the girl flinched as whatever it was dug into her, and then he flung something to the ground, and Five heard the clang of metal on cobblestones. That's when Five knew. The girl started to struggle fiercely, and they heard her give a muffled scream. They were taking off her chains, and binding her with rope, so that when they threw her into the harbour to drown, as they were about to do, they wouldn't waste good chains. "No!" Five exclaimed. He turned and looked at Freya, who was beside him, her eyes widening. Freya broke into a full-tilt run. The girl was screaming in wordless, stifled rage and panic, and she writhed frantically as the man at her ankles fastened his rope, and then started to loosen her chain. Freya turned and stared at Five, who was running after her, and she gave him a pleading, desperate look and gestured frantically at the men. Five understood. "YOU MEN!" Five bawled in his high, shrieky voice. "YOU! WITH THAT SLAVE! FUCKING STOP THAT! STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The man holding the girl looked at them irritably and the girl tried to turn to see what was happening. The man at her ankles looked up briefly. They were forty yards away. Thirty. Five managed to catch up with Freya, who was running at full stretch. The man holding the girl nudged his colleague with his foot. Five glanced over his shoulder: Moyra was behind them, hurrying but obviously not as fleet of foot even as Five, let alone Freya. Freya reached the men and stood there, gasping for breath but silent. Five slowed to a halt as he reached them. "What you want?" said the standing man. He still held a chain attached to the metal cage on the girl's head. The girl was trying to turn to look at the new arrivals but if she moved her head, the collar dug into her flesh. Up close, Five thought, she was more magnificent than ever. He glanced at Freya as he recovered his own breath and saw with a pang that she was staring at the girl, if anything even more absorbed with her than he himself was. "I said, what you want?" said the man. "We're busy." "What you doing?" Five managed to gasp. "We're throwing out some rubbish," said the kneeling man. "Looks to me not," said Five. He had a stitch and leaned over for a moment. "This one didn't sell," said the man, "so we're dumping her. Can't afford to feed hungry mouths and this one loves her food." Freya tapped Five on the arm. He looked up at her. Freya rubbed her thumb and finger together. The man at the girl's ankles had stopped work, and she turned her whole body to look at them. Her brown eyes blazed gold at them. Hatred. "How much you want for her?" said Five. "Why doesn't she talk?" said the standing man, indicating Freya. "She's taken a vow of silence," said Five. "Oh," said the man. "Well." He looked at the other man. "We're supposed to dump the bitch," he said. The kneeling man stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers, as if he felt distaste at touching the black girl's skin. She was, Five had to admit, very dirty, and her ankles and neck had what looked like inflamed wounds where her shackles had been. "You two live here?" said the ankle man. "No," said Five. "Passing through." Ankle man looked at his friend and shrugged. "Does anyone have to know?" he said. "If they take 'er with them, what's it matter?" "How much you want for her," said Five again, and he glanced at the black girl's face. He assumed she couldn't speak their tongue, but she looked as though she bloody knew what was happening. She knew, somehow, that she was being bargained over. Again. And she loathed it. Her glare flicked from Freya to the men to Five himself. Her muscled arms twitched, as if she couldn't wait to turn on the lot of them and get revenge for capturing her and putting her on a ship with her people, and clapping her in irons, and stripping her naked, and treating her like a farm animal gone rogue. Shit. Even if this worked, it would not go well. This was not good. "Fifteen," said the ankle man. Freya shook her head and held up five fingers. "You must be joking, love," said ankle man. "Look at those arms. This one's strong. You could chain her up to a millwheel and make a fortune in flour." Freya held up five fingers again. "You were gonna throw her in the harbour," said Five to the other man. "You should be grateful for the chance to hand her over without killing her." "They don't know they're alive," said the man with a dismissive shake of the head. The black girl turned her gaze on him, and Five saw him doggedly ignoring her. "Thirteen, then" said ankle man. Freya held up six fingers. The black girl shot another look of hatred at Freya. "Eleven," said ankle man. Freya scowled, shook her head and held up seven fingers. No no no, Five thought. This is not the way to do this. He screwed up his courage and heard himself speak. "Hang on a second," said Five, placing a hand on Freya's arm. She looked down at him with surprise. "I'm sorry, mistress," he said, adopting his best humble look, "before we come to a deal, may I take a turn in the bargaining?" Freya looked annoyed. He held her gaze, nervous, and after a long moment she nodded slowly. He collected his thoughts for a moment. "I think we're going about this the wrong way," he said to all and sundry. "Are you lads soldiers?" "I'm not," said ankle man. "He was," indicating the other one. "Then he realised it's a mug's game. Why?" "You wouldn't do a favour for a couple of fellow soldiers?" said Five to the standing man. "You're a soldier?" said the man with disbelief. "Her I'd believe," he added, indicating Freya, "but you?" "I've seen more wars than you 'ave," said Five. "Don't think so, shithead," said the man, looking amused. "What are you, twelve?" "'Ow many men 'ave you killed?" said Five. "Three, since you're asking," said the man. "Happy to add to the total if you keep annoying me." "Fuck's sake," said ankle man, turning to Freya. "Eleven, and that's my final offer." "No, all right," said Five, frowning and waving his hand. "I gave you a chance and you didn't take it, and that's put a block in the road to us having an agreement, and I'll tell you why. Here we are bargaining over the life of this girl, and we're gonna pay you money to give 'er to us, when you were gonna throw her in the harbour and 'ave nothing for it but the sin of it on your souls. But that can't be right, can it? We pay you, to let us save your souls?" The two men stared at him in bafflement. "No no no," said Five, "that's no sort of a deal. On that reckoning, I think we don't owe you fuck all. It's you that owes us." "What," said ankle man. "Are you touched by the bloody fairies? Did you get dropped on your head? She's fucking goods, and if you want her, you pay for her. As long as she's ours we can do what we want with her." "You don't believe in sin, then," said Five. "Fuck off, fat boy," said the other man. "We're talking to your lady. Not you." "Yeah, you are," said Five. "And you know what you're gonna do? You're going to give us the girl, and you're also gonna pay us to take her off you. Cause you might do business your way, but we do business our way." He risked a glance at Freya, who was now staring at the men with that thin, amused smile on her lips that she'd had that night in the bar. Yes! She knew what he was doing and she was for it. "Who the fuck are you cunts?" said ankle man, staring at them in disgusted disbelief. "Who are you first," said Five. "I'm the man who's going to slit your fat throat for wasting my time, right after I've thrown this fucking bitch in the fucking HARBOUR!" said ankle man, his impatience finally getting the better of him. "No you're not," said Five. "Sorry, lads. You're in the shit." Ankle man stared at Freya, who calmly pulled aside the collar of her shirt and showed him her tattoos. "What?" he barked. "What's that? I don't fuckin' understand that. What's that got to do with anything?" The other man, the one who had once been a soldier, was staring at the tattoos. Five watched his lips move, and the recognition draining the colour from his face. The man looked up at Freya, who looked back at him, no longer smiling. "What!" said ankle man. "Who the fuck is she?" Freyas Saga Ch. 07 The man waited, watching Freya, waiting to see if she was going to move, if her hand were on her sword, if she was going to do anything at all but stare at him and know that he knew who she was. Finally he glanced at Five. Five inwardly danced with joy at the look of fear and horrible embarrassment on the bloke's face. "Just take the stuff off," the man said quietly, and he reached up and, his hands trembling, he slowly unscrewed the collar that fastened the cage to the girl's head. The girl was no longer staring at them with hatred. She looked baffled. "Who is she?" said the ankle man. "Take the fucking ropes off her," said the other man, unable to look at either Freya or Five. "I'll tell you later. Just do it." He snapped open the collar and slowly lifted the cage off the girl. She gasped as she flexed her neck, for what had to have been the first time in days. Five saw her eyes glistening, not with relief or gratitude, just with the pain of finally loosening her stiff neck. "You also owe us," said Five. "For taking her off you." "What do you want," muttered the man with the cage. He let it drop on the quayside; good iron could be melted down by the ship's smith and reused. He began to untie the girl's arms. The girl stood there, trembling with tiredness and pain as her ankle ropes and then her arm ropes were finally taken off. Her eyes went from Freya to Five with uncertainty and distrust. "Fifteen," said Five, unhesitatingly. "You're fucking joking," said ankle man. "Colin," said the other man, his voice cracking, "trust me, if you don't want to die, just shut your fucking mouth and give me whatever you've got." They took out their money purses and pooled their coins. Between them they had just over fourteen. Five took it. "That'll have to do," he said. "Pleasure doing business with you, gents. I suggest you find a new living. This one's shit." "Can we go now," said the scared man, glancing at Freya. Five looked at Freya, who fixed them with her look, gave them a moment to squirm, and then nodded. The two men trudged off, carrying the shackles and rope and the metal cage. Freya turned to the black girl, who was shivering, and looked at her for a moment. The black girl looked back at them. Five handed the money to Freya. Freya put it in the pocket of her breeches, and then stood facing the black girl for a moment. She inclined her head, bowing with respect. The black girl watched her, with a look of who-the-fuck-are-you on her face. Then Freya straightened up and pulled her own shirt over her head and handed it to the black girl, who took it uncertainly. Freya nodded, and unlaced her breeches. The black girl reached out and held Freya's hand, in an unmistakable gesture meaning no, you don't need to. Freya stopped, and tightened the string on her breeches once more. They stood there, facing each other, then the black girl slowly pulled Freya's shirt over her own head, covering her upper body. Then she looked at the money, and at them, as if they were all mad. After a long moment she inclined her head an inch or two. Freya looked at Five, and gestured to herself and the girl. "Aye, lady," he said, "I'll go and get you some more clothes." She nodded at him, and winked. He headed back to the lodgings, his heart singing. As he walked away, the black girl's knees buckled momentarily and Freya grabbed her to support her, looking in her face to see if she was all right. The girl looked annoyed with herself but she let Freya guide her to the stones and she sat, panting slightly from the pain in her limbs. Freya sat next to her. The girl glanced at her, and stared up at the ship which had brought her to the city. She looked at it for a long time. Finally, she spoke. It was a long speech, addressed -- or so Moyra thought, later -- partly to them and partly to herself. Moyra sat listening to it, the unfamiliar sounds of the girl's speech, the wonderfully varied tones of her language, marvelling at how the speech of foreign folk was as rich and diverse as her own. Freya clearly knew better than to pretend to understand what the girl was saying, and sat by her, not presuming to touch her, letting her say whatever it was she had to say. *** The ground was warm and hard and gritty beneath Her. The woman with no shirt sat by Her, not looking at Her. She sat and crossed her legs and slowly, slowly felt the fear lessening. The boat sat there, going up and down a little in the water. "[I guess that you want thanks]," She said. She glanced at the woman with no shirt, who was still sitting there, staring out, not looking at her. "[I guess I should thank you]," She added. "[That is what people do. When someone does them a kindness, they give thanks. That's what you want? You want something from me? Because everyone wants something from someone, and you take me from them, and you make them give you money, and you give me your shirt, and now you want thanks.]" She turned and stared at the shirtless woman. She saw that the shirtless woman wasn't quite of these folk. Her short hair was darker, her skin darker, her eyes darker. She was not all pink and white, but she had the blood of the south in her. And she had those little tattoos, on her skin. "[You are high-born]," She said. "[Just looking at you, I know. You are clean, you're not covered in lice, you haven't been sitting in your own shit for days. Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? You feel sorry for me? You know that where I come from, I am a princess? Fuck you, and fuck your mother and father. I have led men in battle. Have you led men in battle?]" She looked at the shorthaired woman's strong shoulders, her scars, her level gaze, the way she sat staring out to sea, not responding to Her, but neither acting as if She were not there. "[Maybe you have led men in battle. Have you been captured by men and put in chains and put on a ship with your own subjects? And stripped by your captors, and fucked, again and again? And seen your own people thrown in the sea because you would not sit by and let it happen to them too? Have you seen your own people blame you for fighting back? Have your own people cursed you for trying to be an example to them? Have you come to wish that those who hold you prisoner would just kill you? That they would just put a sword in your neck and let you bleed, rather than die an animal's death in the sea?]" The shorthaired woman kept on staring out to sea, her face unchanged. "[I know it is stupid that I talk to you]," She said. "[I know I am only eating my own guts. By the gods, I once would have sworn that I would die a thousand deaths rather than let myself be captured and taken as a slave. And I find that I am a slave, no matter that you have me now. And I find that I want to live, more than I want to live as a princess. It's funny how far we can fall and still tell ourselves that we are us, no? Have you fallen, Shorthair? Do you know the meaning of pride? Have you been humbled, like I have been? Or are you just some rich girl playing at being a saint, because it amuses you?]" The short-haired woman glanced at Her, and looked out to sea again. The bitterness of it made Her want to gag. "[You saved my life,]" She said, staring at Shorthair. "[And now I owe you. Thank you, Shorthair. Because I needed more burdens, besides my captivity, and my violation, and my knowing that to you and your kind, I am just a black cunt put in the world to work for you until I die.]" She saw the other woman, the older one, give a start at Her use of the phrase in their tongue. "[Oh yes,]" she said, "[I know your words for me. Black bitch. Fuzzy. Sow. I learned them on your boat. You call me a dog, a pig. Your men treat me like a farm animal for them to fuck and beat. That's what I learned from you. From your great people and their great lore and their great sense of how to treat the ones they conquer.]" She gave up trying to get Shorthair to look at her and stared out at the calm, gently shifting sea, and the sea wall beyond, that sheltered this place from the rage of the ocean. "[I had a husband,]" she said quietly. "[He fought you. He is dead. I had two babies. They were no use to you. You left them behind to die. I could have had more, but your men and their cocks tore me so that I do not think I will be bearing more. But you will make it all better, will you, Shorthair? You and your mercy, and your charity? You will put me to work as a serving maid in your home, and you will show me to your friends as the one you saved, and they will coo over me, and their menfolk will take me because I am property, and they will beat me for tempting their menfolk, and it will go on until I get too old to tempt anyone, and then you will cast me free and I will drift off and die somewhere. Instead of dying like a queen, which is what I was born to do.]" The short-haired woman looked thoughtful. She felt Her anger rising inside, a vast, unbounded sea of anger that She could go on talking to this woman and never get her to understand, never get her to know what it was like to be Her. She turned and looked at her again. "[I hate you, Shorthair. You let me live. I could have died in this harbour, and now I must live out my life in your cold country. Well, it will not happen.]" Shorthair turned her head and faced her, impassive. She raised her own hand, palm outward to Shorthair, to show it was a vow. "[You probably think I am swearing you loyalty. I am not. One day, Shorthair. One day I will get you. I will take you in your sleep and gut you, and you will not see the morning, and I will take my punishment and I will bless it, because I would rather die killing the one who saved me, than live my life as a slave in your land.]" She smiled at Shorthair, who smiled back. She could see herself doing it. Wiping the smile from this bitch's face, and all who love her. It would be a long time coming, but it would be sweet. "[And I bless that you cannot understand me,]" she added, "[Because even saying it makes the idea of it sweeter. And really, Shorthair, really, what? What could you offer me? What have you to give me that I could ever want?]" Shorthair regarded her for a moment, glanced down at the ground, swallowed, licked her lips, and looked back at her again, then spoke in a soft, hoarse, thickly accented voice. "[Clothes, for your back,]" Shorthair said. "[Food, for your belly. Work, to build your spirit. And glory, that your name might live forever.]" *** Freya saw the girl gasp, as if burned with an iron, and saw the blood in her throat pumping, and the whites of her eyes became visible, and she stared, aghast. There was a long, long silence, and then the girl breathed, "[You fucking cunt.]" "[I'm sorry,]" Freya whispered. "[How else could I know what you were thinking?]" "[You speak my language,]" said the girl. "[Not as you do, but some. I got your meaning well enough.]" "[And now you will kill me.]" "[Why would I kill you?]" "[I said I would kill you.]" "[Now you will not, though.]" "[Now I cannot,]" the girl admitted, and slowly she faced back out to sea, staring bleakly at the horizon. After a moment she turned and looked at Freya. "[Why do you whisper?]" "[That is a story about why I offer what I offer,]" Freya replied, and the girl had to lean in to hear her. "[Tell it to me,]" she said. Freya was silent for a moment. "[I was once like you,]" she whispered. "[A warrior. Proud. Brave. Skilled. I was the best in the kingdom. I am still. I went with my father's men and two fellow warriors to see about some folk who were taking our women. We found them. I went alone to talk to them, while the men stayed back. These folk had a beast, a worm. It took their women and tamed them and robbed them of their souls.]" Freya swallowed. "[The folk gave me to their worm, and it took me. My men let it happen.]" "[You were taken by this worm?]" said the girl. "[It ... made you its wife?]" "[It did to me what it did to the others. But I fought back. I kept my soul and it let me go. My men left me for dead. One remained, a squire, not even a fighter. That squire took me away from there and tended me. I woke and when I knew what had happened, I laid down to die. I could see nothing in the world. But that squire tended me, for five days as I lay there. Hunted. Cooked. Tried to keep me alive. In the end, my shame conquered my death. I got up, and since then I have been atoning for being so selfish as to long for death because I could not bear defeat and disgrace. I have learned to bear the shame, because to do otherwise ...]" Freya swallowed again, feeling the blood slip down her gullet. "[You have been taken by a worm and you have come through?]" said the girl. "[I would not say that,]" said Freya, glancing at her. "[I am wounded, in the places it took me. I doubt not they are the places that the men on that ship took you. But you are a mother. I was a virgin. I am wounded still. I heal, but it is slow. But you ask if I have been humbled.]" Freya swallowed again and stared at the girl, who stared back, and then nodded with understanding. The dislike on her face had been replaced by a kind of appalled fellow-feeling. "[From my manners,]" the girl said at last, "[you would not think I was raised a princess. You would think I was raised a country wife, or a city whore. Yet this is what your people have done to me.]" "[I know why you said what you said,]" Freya said. "[I would have done the same. It matters everything and nothing. I did what I did, not because I want a pet or a servant, but because we both need friends. You have lost your friends and I had none until this happened to me. There is a sickness abroad in my land, princess, and it is in everyone I meet. It is in me. It is in you, ever since your people met mine. I know not its nature, and I know not the cure, but I cannot rest until I have found the medicine. There is only one I know who does not have it, and the pity of it is that he does not feel it himself.]" "[Who,]" said the girl. Freya looked over and pointed at Five, who was walking towards them with a pile of clothes in his arms. "[That one,]" she said. "[That is the one that saved me. That one and I are together in blood.]" She showed the girl the still-livid scar on her hand. "[That is your lover?]" said the girl, with some incredulity. "[No,]" said Freya. "[I do not know if I am made for love. But I have bound us together, and nothing shall part us.]" "[Not even death?]" "[Not even that.]" The girl eyed Five dubiously. "[Forgive me, Shorthair,]" she said, "[but he does not look like one made for such a bond.]" Five stopped by them and looked down, perplexed that his mistress was whispering away in a foreign language to the black girl. "[This one is the one who knew that to bargain for you was wrong. This one has more secrets than you or I will ever have,]" said Freya, and stood up and put an arm around Five and kissed him on the head. He smiled, a little nervous. "I've brought some clothes," he said. "I mean, obviously." The black girl sat on the stone quay and looked up at them both. "[What is your name,]" said the girl. "[Freya. They call me Freya Aelfrethe. It means High and Cruel, in our tongue.]" "[That is an ill name.]" "[I wear it with honour.]" "[Why?]" said the black girl. "[Are you high and cruel?]" "[Yes.]" The black girl was silent for a moment. *** Shorthair looked out to sea, her arm still around the youth, in the manner an elder sister, and yet not. Shorthair's back was scarred, and her arms. Not heavily, but when she moved, you could see how strong and noble she was. Her right fist had what were clearly the bites of teeth on it. Yet there was a calmness about her that did not go with her being cruel. I have known cruel people and they are seldom so still. Or so sad. Damn you, Shorthair. I was prepared to die. "[My name,]" she said, "[is Djineba.]" "[Djineba,]" said Freya, holding out her hand. She took it, and Freya hauled her to her weak legs. "[I welcome you to these lands, highness,]" Freya whispered, a crooked smile on her lips. "[They are not fit for you to live in. But if you will help, maybe we can make them so.]" "[I am not anyone's servant.]" "[Nor will you be, highness.]" "[Don't call me 'highness'. I'm not a princess anymore.]" "[Very well. Then, will you join with us?]" "[Do I have a choice? I have nothing.]" "[That is not true. You have a shirt, and fourteen pounds, and we can give you something to wear in the meantime. The money would buy you passage from here.]" "[Whereas you can promise me clothes, food, work and glory.]" "[Yes.]" "[Do you know what you are going to do?]" "[Not yet.]" "[Will it involve revenge?]" "[I do not know.]" "[Will I have a chance to be revenged?]" "[I do not know.]" "[Will you let me carry arms?]" "[Of course.]" "[So you have no plan and you have no army and you do not know what you are going to do.]" "[That is so,]" said Freya. "[I am not fit to fight,]" she said. "[I am weak and my wounds stink and I have lice. I have lain in shit for days.]" "[We can clean you and heal you,]" said Freya. "[Soon you will be fit to fight.]" "[I am glad to hear it,]" she said, "[because I dearly wish to kill someone, and I no longer wish for it to be you.]" "[Good,]" Freya whispered, smiling. "[For I do not want to die yet. And if you are coming with us, I hope you do not either. There is much to be done, and I have no use for someone who just wants to blaze like a star one last time.]" "[No,]" Djineba said, wearily. "[I did want to die, it is true. But you have condemned me to live. And it is better to live than not.]" "[Then come with us and live, Djineba,]" Freya said, and squeezed the black girl's hand. *** She looked at Shorthair and felt the pressure of a warm hand holding hers, and on an impulse She pulled Shorthair to Her and closed Her eyes and kissed Shorthair on the mouth. Shorthair didn't flinch or pull away but leaned into the kiss and made a very faint sigh of satisfaction. So have I bonded so many men to me. And women. This may be the last. May I be granted what she offers. *** Freya felt the girl's grip on the back of her neck relax and she pulled away gently and opened her eyes. The girl glanced at Five, who was staring at them both, rather wide-eyed, and she inclined her head slightly. Five detached himself from Freya and bowed formally and offered up the clothes. Djineba looked amused, and she looked through the armful of clothes before choosing a dark shirt and a pair of leather trousers. She took off Freya's shirt and handed it back to her. While she dressed, Freya went out of Djineba's eyesight, so as not to embarrass her, and shook out the shirt discreetly before putting it back on, for in the short time it had been on Djineba's back, it had already acquired a small colony of the lice that had attached themselves to her body during her captivity. When they were at last all fully dressed, Freya turned to Five and whispered "She is a princess. Her name is Djineba. We are to clean and heal her, for she is joining us." "Highness," said Five, startled, and bowed deeply to Djineba. "[What did he say?]" said Djineba to Freya. "[He called you 'highness']," said Freya. "[Tell him not to,]" she said. "She greets you," said Freya to Five. "This way, highness," said Five, and set off. "[So hyness means 'highness'?]" said Djineba. "[I do not have the gift of tongues,]" Freya said. "[You are a liar]," Djineba said, shooting her a sidelong glance and leaning on Freya as they walked. Freyas Saga Ch. 07 Freya smiled. Freyas Saga Ch. 08 Dovid opened the shutter and looked out of the window at the night. Rain was lashing down and it struck him in the face. He stepped back from the window and pulled the curtain over, so that the rain wouldn't get too much into the room. The girl was asleep, at last. She'd wept and been sick and she'd wailed and he'd held her tight, all the while having no better idea of what to do for her than just be in the room with her. She needs the comfort of womenfolk, he thought, preferably her own people. But who are her own people? I know nothing about her. This is really very awkward. As soon as she'd finally fallen asleep, he'd snuck into her room to fetch her belongings, only to find them gone. The only thing left was the copy of the Book which he'd given her, left on the bed. He picked it up, blessed it quickly and stuck it in his pocket, then he'd gone down to the common room to find the three men sitting by the fire drinking beer. The merchant looked at him with disdain, and the youth with a sullen, vacant look. The mercenary ignored him. "The young woman you violated," he said in a high, nervous voice, "is badly hurt. I think she will live. You are vile, cruel men and you have brought sin into the world. I will see you punished for this." "Don't think so, son," said the mercenary, staring into the fire. "And I'll tell you why. The people round 'ere don't like your sort, and if you don't swear to us now that you will shut up about this, we'll tell 'em you did it, and by noon tomorrow you'll be hanging from the ash tree at the crossroads with your cock in your mouth." Dovid opened his mouth to speak, found that there was no reply to this, and closed it again. "So," said the mercenary, "will that be all?" "Yes," Dovid said, and went outside, and went back to his room. Half way up the stairs he found himself weeping tears of shame. He controlled himself with an effort, wiped them with his sleeve and continued. Back in the room, he sat down on a chair and stared blankly at her copy of the Book. The only atom of hope he could find in this whole business was the fact that she had asked him for it. That meant that the Book might have something to say to her. Or for her. He got up from the chair, placed her copy on the little stand by the bed, walked over to his own copy and picked it up with both hands. He went over to the chair and flopped down on it, the book weighing on his knees. G-d, he thought, truly your words lie heavy on us. Forgive my complaint, you who will forgive all on the day of judgment. He thought about what, exactly, to look up. Dovid had of course read the Book straight through, several times, and knew its sections and subheadings by heart. He knew straight off that the Book had nothing to say about what the righteous man should do with respect to a woman of the word who had been raped by one or more men of the word. That was just the kind of thing that people of the word did, and you couldn't expect them to behave like civilised people. However, this woman of the word had set foot on the road to righteousness by asking for a copy of the Book, thereby putting her in the debatable category known as a Novice Reader. Novice Readers were not, like most people of the word, utterly beneath the law, but were subject to parts of it. The question was, which parts. Dovid read and re-read the long and detailed sections on the duty of help and care towards victims of violence, and at the end of it he was no wiser. If she had been a woman of the Book, his duty had been clear: he was to have washed her, tended to her wounds, gone out of his way to feed and clothe her, restore her to her nearest and dearest at the earliest opportunity and raised a group of men of the Book to bring about justice for her persecutors. The particular justice required for those who committed acts of sexual violence was described in detail that made Dovid feel ill, the more so because he hadn't had anything to eat for hours. He didn't like to go down to the common room to get food because he feared that the men might want to attack her again, but he was ravenously hungry and it was affecting his judgment. When he got to the bit which described the minimum size of the grains of lime with which the judges were instructed to dust the severed organs of the rapist so as to wither them and prevent any possibility of them being reattached to the rapist's body, he closed the book, and then his eyes too, for a moment. This was not helpful. There were no other men of the Book in the area and he did not even know the young woman's name, let alone where her nearest and dearest might be found. An act of justice was not a possibility. It was he, and he alone, who stood between her and them, and they might attack at any moment. Well, but be reasonable, Dovid, said the other voice inside him, the one who always debated with him. They have slaked their bestial lust and will hardly want to ravish her again so soon. No, he said, these men of the word know me for a weakling and they must know that they have broken her. They could take her again any time they wanted to. Do you hear them at the door? No. So do not presume to know the future. Oh, G-d. This is futile wrangling. This is what comes of not eating. My mind is starved. I must go downstairs and, somehow, obtain food, without letting them know that I am not in the room. For all that I am weak, I am a witness to whatever they would do to her, and it is a boon for her to have me here, even if I lack the strength to prevent them from harming her. Dovid edged his way out of the room and crept along the corridor, keeping to the side to avoid the creaky parts of the middle of the boards, a habit he'd learned growing up in a house with many siblings. He sidled down the stairs again and paused at the bottom, listening. They were not talking. He peeked through the crack between the door frame and the door, and saw that the mercenary was staring into the fire; the merchant was asleep, snoring gently, and so was the young man. Dovid tiptoed to the kitchen and found the joint sitting on the sideboard, being nibbled by a mouse. He tore at it and stuffed some cold, greasy meat into his mouth, then tore off more, grabbed the nearest flagon and tiptoed out of the kitchen, snatching up a dry heel of bread as he went. He tiptoed down the corridor and just as he put his foot on the bottom step, he heard the merchant yawn, and he froze. "Ahhhh," said the merchant, sounding pleased. "That was most refreshing." The mercenary grunted. "I always find a little sleep after a good rut helps set me up for a fresh go," added the merchant. Dovid felt cold and the sweat prickled on his forehead. He did not move. "Yes," the merchant went on. "Think I might go again." "Please yourself," the mercenary said. "You're not coming?" "I've been," said the mercenary in a sour voice. "Tapped that. I'm done now for a while." "Oh, but it's much more fun if we all go," said the merchant. "Come on. Do join in." "Get the kid to join you," said the mercenary. "I'm not jesting. I'm a once-a-night man. Always have been." "What," said the merchant in a teasing voice, "not got the wick in your candle? It's all that beer you drink." There was a pause, and then the mercenary spoke coldly and quietly. "There is nothing wrong with my candle, my friend," he said, "and if you value yours, you won't pass such remarks." "Of course," the merchant blustered, "of course. Just a misunderstanding. My fault. Erm ... yes. Well, I might get a bite to eat first, and then I'll rouse this chap. No need for you to disturb yourself." "You wouldn't think of leaving the lass alone?" said the mercenary, and Dovid frowned. "Why?" said the merchant. "Let her sleep," said the mercenary. "Give her time to get some breath back. My experience, you take a lass for her first time, she's never as good if you go again right soon, but if you give her a breathing space, she's had time to think about it, she might be a little bit more obliging and a bit less, you know. Weeping and pleading." "I like the weeping and pleading," said the merchant happily. "Especially when I'm fucking her arse. That's the cream of it." There was a pause. "Well," said the mercenary, "we're all different." "So we are," said the merchant shortly. "All right then. Might I refresh your beer?" "No thank you," said the mercenary. "Very good," said the merchant. Dovid hopped up the stairs as quick as he could go and returned to his room. He went over to the bed and checked on her. She was asleep, her face pale and scratched, hollow circles under her eyes. He ate bread and meat and felt his strength returning, and then, thirsty, he took a deep pull from the flagon. And almost choked, for it was full of beer. Apart from the sacred wine at festival times, Dovid had never before tasted alcohol, and even then he'd only had the tiny amount provided by the consecrated goblet for blessing the feast. The landlord's ale was cool, powerful and mightily well-hopped, and it burned a path down his throat into his stomach. He paused, gasping, horrified at what he'd done, but he had to admit, he felt suddenly more confident, less anxious. He was well aware that it was verging on blasphemy to drink the ale of the people of the word. But his thoughts were swimming into order much quicker and more easily than they normally did, the less important thoughts receding into nothing and the more important ones increasing in size before his mind's eye. His thinking was often slowed to a crawl by his fatal fascination with nuance, but now he was thinking with lightning speed because things that normally would have nagged at him seemed trivial. So the merchant planned to attack the lady again. And he intended to enlist the help of the young man, who would no doubt be willing, being unattractive and obnoxious and probably desperate for any chance he could find to be in the same room as a human female. And I cannot fight them off. The mercenary does not wish to attack her again, being fully sated, at least for the moment. The idea came, lurking at the edge of his attention. He dared not look it in the face. It was too terrible to think about. It was also perhaps very unwise. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, daring it to get his attention. He looked it in the face. It was an insane idea. But it was the only one he had, and it seemed at least practical. It was worth a try. He took another swig of beer, in the hope that it would give him courage, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it did. He put the flagon down and headed out of the room again. On the landing, he heard muffled voices. Quietly descending the stairs, he realised that it was the merchant and the young man in the kitchen, refreshing themselves and chatting about what they were about to do. Closing his ears to their talk, he went into the common room and approached the mercenary, who was sitting slumped in his chair, staring into the fire. The mercenary looked up and viewed Dovid with dislike. "What do you want?" he grunted. "You better not have come here to tell me what a bloody sinner I am. Again." Dovid shook his head no, in an agony of apprehension, and beckoned to the mercenary. The mercenary looked puzzled. Dovid pointed up, and the mercenary shook his head. Dovid gave up trying to make his meaning clear and tiptoed over to the mercenary. "I need to talk to you," he whispered. "What about," said the mercenary, wary, in a low voice. "They plan to ravish the young woman for a second time, yes?" "They do," said the mercenary. "Not me." "I know," Dovid whispered. "I heard." "So what do you want?" "I am weak," Dovid said. "I cannot fight them off." "Just don't get involved, sonny," said the mercenary. "It's the best way. She's not one of yours, we're not any of us ones of yours, just keep yourself to yourself." "I cannot," Dovid said. "So what do you want?" said the mercenary. "I want to ask you to do something." "Oh no," said the mercenary. "I don't believe in the Book, I don't believe in the word neither. I don't give to charity. You're on your own." "What do you believe in?" said Dovid. "I believe in the gold," said the mercenary. "That's what I follow." "So why did you ravish her?" said Dovid, outraged by the man's casual cynicism. The mercenary stared at him, sour-faced. "Because I knew I could get away with it," he said finally. "Happy now?" "I'm not asking you to do something for nothing," said Dovid. The mercenary kept staring at him. "Go on," he muttered. "I will pay you," said Dovid, "to defend us. I have money." "To defend you?" said the mercenary. "From who? From them?" "Yes," said Dovid. "Regard me, swordsman, I am weak in the chest. I have no martial expertise whatsoever. I need you to defend us and since you are a man guided by greed rather than by ethics, I will pay you to do so." "You're very fucking lippy for someone with no martial expertise whatsoever," said the mercenary. "I was merely stating the truth," said Dovid, and then, feeling nervous, he added "Was I not?" "I know what ethics fucking are," said the mercenary, glaring at him. "I just can't afford them at this period of my career. But. Yes. You mentioned money." "I have money," Dovid repeated. "You have money," said the mercenary flatly. "I have money." "Show me this money," said the mercenary. Dovid pulled out his purse and opened it. The mercenary saw the glint of gold inside and mentally calculated how much money might be in the purse. "You do have money," he said finally, and slumped back in his chair. "Oh, god," he muttered. "You fucking wanker, bookman. And I was about to go to bed and sleep this night off." "I will pay you good money to defend us from them," said Dovid. "Name a figure," said the mercenary. Dovid quoted a sum. The mercenary paused, his face expressionless, and for a moment Dovid was terrified that he'd misremembered the amount quoted in the rolling appendices of the Book. "That's a very reasonable figure," said the mercenary, and sighed, and grasped the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. "You will do it?" said Dovid. "I will do it," said the mercenary. "If it ever got around that I were offered that much money for a job and said no, I'd never bloody live it down. I'll need twenty in advance," the mercenary said. "There you are," said Dovid, fishing out the coins and handing them to him. The mercenary took out a small purse and lovingly stowed the coins away. "Please hurry," said Dovid, and he went to the stairs. The mercenary followed, surprisingly quiet for such a large man. "And the lady is all right with this arrangement?" said the mercenary as they reached the landing. Dovid hesitated. "You 'ave told her," said the mercenary, frowning. "Not exactly," said Dovid. "She sleeps." "Don't you think she'll be a tad displeased to learn that you've hired me?" said the mercenary. "I reasoned that this was the lesser evil," said Dovid. "What fucking cloud do you live on, bookman," said the mercenary, shaking his head in wonder as Dovid let him into his room. Dovid heard a noise, and turned, and then he saw the young woman sitting up in the bed, awake, staring at the mercenary, clutching the bedclothes to herself, her mouth open. There was a moment when everyone froze. Dovid was afraid that the young woman was going to scream. The mercenary looked at him, and at her, gauging what was about to happen. The young woman was staring at the mercenary in horror. "It's all right," Dovid said hastily, going over to her. "It's all right." "Don't worry, love," said the mercenary, "you're safe." The young woman wrenched her eyes from the mercenary, who was standing inside the door with drawn sword, and stared at Dovid, appalled. "What are you doing?" the young woman gasped. "Are you insane?" "It's possible," Dovid conceded. "No," she whimpered, pulling the bedclothes up around her neck and staring at the mercenary, "no, please, you have done enough ..." "I'm not gonna ravish you, girl," said the mercenary, clearly by now in a bad temper. "I've done that already and I've no desire to do it again. Very comely though you are." The young woman didn't seem to have heard and was weakly trying to push herself backwards through the bedstead and the wall and into the next room. "Get away from me," she cried. Dovid put his hand on her shoulders, and she lashed out with one hand and scratched his face viciously. He sprang back, appalled. "What are you doing!" he cried. "You too?" she said to him. "No!" he exclaimed, horrified. "But, I do see how you might come to that conclusion." "For fuck's sake," the mercenary rasped, and he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge and grabbed the young woman's wrists. She stared at him in terror. "Calm down, girly," he said. "Calm down. You need to be calm." She writhed, trying to get away from him, emitting a low wail of panic. "Fuck," he muttered, and looked around. There was a bowl of rainwater by the bed. He picked it up and threw the contents in the young woman's face. She froze, and then gasped with the cold and shivered as it dripped off her, and then blinked and stared at him, but her panic had ebbed, and she was staring at him with something less like blind terror and more like white-hot anger. The mercenary grabbed her wrists again. "Look, girly," he said, "I understand. I done what I done, but that was before. Back then, you were a pretty face and a cunt. Now, you're my client. Those other blokes, they want to do you again, and your chap here has hired me to make sure it doesn't happen. And when I make a deal like that, I don't go back on it. I'm not a monster. I'm just a prick. So I'm not gonna say sorry, 'cos you were fair game back then, but now I work for you, and I got some pride. Not much, but enough to make me say that as long as I work for you, you got nothing else to fear from me. Right? So the best thing you can do now is shut up and trust me to do my job, and I'll get you out of here alive and intact, and there won't be no more nasty men fucking you up your arse. D'you understand me?" The young woman stared at him. *** Carfryn felt ill. She had woken up to what she felt to be the inconceivable betrayal of the bookman leading that man back into his room, but now the man was talking almost like a liegeman, and was asking her to trust him. She felt like she wanted to throw up. She had the bedclothes to conceal her body from them and she knew that they'd both had an eyeful of her, earlier, when she'd been helpless. She was bruised and sore, her arm throbbed with pain from where the swordsman had struck her earlier, and her heart was brimming with shame, but she knew she had to collect herself. The cold water had been astonishingly effective at quelling her uncontrollable fear. Now she felt wet, weak, stupid and humiliated. And furious. The mercenary, for all that he was human scum, was professional, thorough and sure of himself. He was looking her in the eye. His hands were gripping her wrists; she swung them open, freeing herself, and he stepped back, holding up his hands palm outwards in a peace gesture. I have not got time to be afraid. I have not got time. The worst has happened. "D'you fuckin' understand me?" he said again. Carfyrn nodded, blinking the water out of her eyes. "Good girl," he said. "Stay where you are." He immediately ran to the door and looked out, up and down the corridor. Satisfied, he shut it again and looked around the room. He ran to the window and pulled the curtain and looked out, but the night was barely turning to pre-dawn and he could see little. Carfyrn knew perfectly well that it was a ten foot drop to a grass bank which sloped away from the inn towards the road. He cursed. Freyas Saga Ch. 08 Things were moving so fast. Her heart was pounding. Nobody will ever do that to me again. But I must get out of this bed and not be the weak little girl. She grabbed a dry part of the sheet and wiped her face, made herself sit up straight and look at Dovid. "Give me some clothes," she said. "We 'aven't got time for that," said the swordsman, glancing at the door. "I will not be in a room with two strange men," she said through clenched teeth, "one of whom raped me a few hours ago, and go on being naked. Give me something to wear. I don't care what. Anything." "Oh, look," said the swordsman to the bookman, exasperated, "just bloody give her something." The bearded bookman went to his bags and pulled out clothes exactly like the ones he normally wore; black breeches, a black jacket, a white shirt. He held them out to Carfryn, who climbed out of bed and then winced from the pain in her nethers. "You bastards," she muttered. "I am wounded." "That wouldn't've been me, love," said the swordsman. "I was careful." "Yes, tell yourself that," she spat. "You were gallantry itself." "Not got time for that now," the swordsman said, slowly drawing his sword and examining it. "How do I know you won't do it again," she said. The sheer strangeness of the situation somehow made it easier to deal with; it was all so odd that in some ways it was at her arm's length. "I told you," he said. "Before, you were just a girl. Now you're my client. You don't turn on a client." "You will forgive me, swordsman," she said, "if I find it difficult to take you at your word, when a few hours ago you had so little respect for my person that you beat me and violated me." "Yeah," he said, scratching his chin, "I'll admit it doesn't look good." There was a knock at the door. The swordsman waved them to silence and looked pointedly at Dovid. Carfryn had pulled on the breeches and finished buttoning the shirt. She pulled the jacket on and stood by the bed, aching, trembling with tiredness and anger and humiliation, feeling like a damp towel that god had washed and wrung out after using it to wipe shit from the arses of his children. She glared at the swordsman. He held up a hand for silence. There was a pause, and then the doorframe creaked, and a sharp metal object appeared in the doorjamb, and the door popped open, and the merchant and the young man came in. *** Owyn looked at the merchant, and the merchant looked at him, and the young man, what was his fucking name, Gavan, looked at them both, and everyone looked at each other. Talk about awkward. "Well," Owyn said, "this is a bit of a thing, isn't it?" "What are you doing here?" said the merchant, smiling but clearly very cross. "Ah," said Owyn. "A very fair question, yes indeed. But I must ask you in return, what are you doing here?" "You know what," said the merchant, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Yes, I do," said Owyn, "but for the benefit of those others here, I'd like you to spell it out." "And I'd prefer not to," said the merchant. "Stand aside." "Can't do that," said Owyn. "Sorry." The merchant boggled. "What!" he said. "The bookman, here," said Owyn, turning to Dovid, "sorry, mate, I didn't catch your name?" "Dovid Berman," said the bookman. "Yeah," said Owyn, "he's hired me to defend the lady and himself from you two. So that's what I'm doing here. Now, 'ave you come to be horrible, or 'ave you come to 'ave a nice chat and maybe talk about the bright smiles on the faces of little kiddies?" "Look," said the merchant, his face going crimson, "we're not here to mess about. Get out, and take the bookman with you." Gavan, the kid, waved his spear in their general direction. "I feel that you're not getting my meaning," Owyn said. "You do know what I do for a living?" "You're a hired sword," said the merchant impatiently. "Exactly. And the bookman here, Mister Berman, has hired me. What 'ave you got to say about that?" "I'll pay more," said the merchant. "All right then," said Owyn pleasantly, and he saw the bookman and the girl flinch and go pale. He was enjoying himself. "How much?" "How much is the bookman paying?" said the merchant. Owyn told him, and with satisfaction he saw the merchant's eyes widen a little. This was great. He hadn't had this much fun since he'd been a proper soldier. "I can do better," said the merchant at last. "Then I'm yours," said Owyn, ignoring the panic on the faces of the bookman and the girl. "I don't have it on me," the merchant muttered. "Then I'm not," said Owyn. "Sorry, gents. Back downstairs you go." "Oh, for god's sake," the merchant burst out, "just fuck off, will you? Stop messing us about and get the bookman out of here." Owyn let the remark hang in the air for a long moment, and just stared at the merchant, who sweated and looked at them all in turn and waited to see what was going to happen. "Sorry, mate," Owyn said at last, "you were telling me last night about some business deal you were doing, and I wasn't getting the whole point of it, 'cos I was consumed with lust for this here young lady." He indicated the girl, and didn't really bother to take in the look of outrage that he knew was crossing her face. "But maybe," he went on, "you'd do me the courtesy of remembering it." "What?" said the merchant irritably. "Oh. Yes. Why?" "Just, do me a favour," said Owyn. "No," said the merchant. "I'm not going to go into all that now." "Aren't you?" said Owyn. "Then I will. I remember now. You were telling me 'ow you'd sold a load of salt pork to a local chief, sight unseen, for a good price, when you'd paid next to nothing for it 'cos it hadn't been salted properly, and you knew all along that by the time it got to his men it'd be spoiled and poison." "Yes," said the merchant uneasily. "Yeah," said Owyn. "You know what, fat boy? I fuckin' hate men like you. I've been on marches where you finally get to rest up and the only thing you had to look forward to was a bite to eat, and then they come around and tell you that the meat's spoiled and there's nothing, and you've to go to bed hungry, and fight hungry, and see your friends die 'cos they were too hungry to notice that someone came up behind them. And that's your doing. You and your kind." "Oh, remarkably fine of you to grow morals at this stage," said the merchant. "I hope, my dear, you haven't started to trust this man. It won't go well with you." The girl was silent. Good, Owyn thought. She was still standing by the bed, looking wet, drained and angry in her ridiculous bookman's clothes. If she just has the wit to stay out of this she'll be all right. "What's going on?" said a voice outside. The merchant smiled and stepped aside. Two more men entered the room. Owyn didn't know them. "What the fuck d'you want?" he said. "Who are you?" said one of them. Big lad with a local accent. "I'm asking the questions," said Owyn. "We met these chaps outside," said the merchant. "Said they quite fancied a crack at the lass. Or the crack of the lass, if you get my meaning." He laughed, but there was a slight edge of hysteria to his laughter. He's the weak spot, Owyn thought. He didn't like the look of the two new bastards at all, but they appeared to be unarmed. "This is private," said Owyn. "Get out, boys." "That the girl?" said the other man, who was smaller than his friend but looked more dangerous. Snakeish, quiet. "No," said Owyn, "that's my fucking grandmother. Step out, boys, seriously. This isn't for you." "What are we waiting for?" said the big one. "Stab that bastard, gut the bookman and let's get on with it." Gavan waved his spear in Owyn's direction. "You actually used that thing, son?" "I've killed a man," the lad said. "With what," said the girl, "your breath?" "What spirit!" said the merchant merrily. "Oh, my dear, what a joy it shall be to humble you all over again." "Stick to boys," she said to him. "From the way you used me, you clearly prefer them." "Shut up," said Owyn. What was she doing? She was stirring it further. He had to get them out of here before they got pissed off enough to make a move. "Oh, I'll have you," said the merchant to her, not smiling anymore. "I'll have you in every hole before we're done with you." "You'd better have killed me before you try my mouth," she said, "or it will cost you when I bite off your manhood." "Oh really," said the merchant, moving towards her. Owyn quickly stepped between them and Gavan moved forward, waving his spear in Owyn's face. "Put that thing down, son," said Owyn. "You're gonna hurt somebody." "If you're not gonna use that fucking spear," said the big lad, "give it to me and I'll fucking kill him." Gavan made to thrust the spear at Owyn's head and Owyn ducked easily and deflected the wooden shaft with his arm. He grabbed it, and with a jerk he yanked it out of Gavan's hand. "Now, go downstairs," said Owyn, "and we'll forget this ever happened." "Give me that back," said Gavan, and Owyn found himself looking at the big man's face, and something about the situation made them recognise it at the same time. They both laughed. "For fuck's sake," said the big man to Gavan. "You useless prat." "Really, boys," said Owyn, "got to do better than that." He glanced at the girl. It was working, it was looking more and more like they thought it wouldn't be worth it. He just had to keep it up. She was pale and silent and angry and if she just kept her mouth shut, it would be over and nobody would have to get hurt. "Hold this," he said, and handed her Gavan's spear. The merchant stood, irresolute. It was four against three, but the four were now unarmed, apparently. The merchant held up a knife, but nobody paid him any attention. "Been in the wars, have you?" said the big man. "Yeah," said Owyn. "Me too," said the big man. "Where'd you fight?" "Here and there," said Owyn. "Name a place," said the big man. "Brierson Field? Wudwotha? I was at Wudwotha." He pulled open his shirt, and Owyn peered cautiously. Sure enough, the bloke had the Wudwotha sigil. "Nice," he said. "I wasn't actually at Wudwotha, but I was at Grims Farm, two days earlier." He managed to pull down his leather jerkin far enough to show the bloke. "Grims Farm," said the big man, nodding respectfully. "Heard that was fun." "Got a bit tasty, all right," said Owyn. "What you doing now?" said the big man. "Just making a living?" "Just making a living," said Owyn. "Nothing personal." There was a silence, and they all stared at each other. "Well," said Owyn. "Well," said the big man. "This is a pain in the arse, isn't it?" "Yeah," said Owyn. "Look, sorry, lads. Not tonight. Not any night. All right?" There was another silence. Gavan was giving the girl his best and most lethal stare, but he was spoiling the effect, Owyn noticed, by drumming his hands nervously on his legs while he stood there. The girl stood absolutely still, holding the spear in what looked out of the corner of his eye like a throwing grip, the tip of it pointing at the ceiling. "Oh, sod," said the big man, turning to his friend. "This was meant to be easy, but I'm not that bothered, are you?" His friend shrugged. Owyn enjoyed the dismay spreading over the merchant's face. The big man turned back to him. "All right," he said. "We'll be off, then. Take it easy, mate." "What?" said Gavan, looking incredulous. "You too," said Owyn amiably. "Much obliged, lads. Peace and quiet, eh?" "Peace and quiet," agreed the big man. He looked at the girl. "Ta-ra, love," he said. "Some other time, p'raps." She stared back at him, her blue eyes glittering. She really was a looker, Owyn thought. The local boys turned and they heard them walk down the corridor, down the stairs, and the door bang shut behind them. The merchant was sweating and he managed to make a ghastly smile. Gavan was almost hopping up and down with frustration and impatience. "Well, we had to try," he said. "You were worth it, my dear." "We're not going," said Gavan. "We are," said the merchant. "You are," said Owyn. "Fuck off and don't come back." "FUCK!" said Gavan, actually punching one fist into his other open hand, a gesture Owyn had never seen before. "It's blue balls, son," said Owyn. "You'll get over it." Gavan backed towards the door, staring at Owyn and the girl with loathing. "I'm not finished with you," he said, to her. "I'm having you again." "No," she said. "Tell her to give me my spear back," he said to the merchant. "Laddie," said the merchant, "if you can't hold on to your own weapon, it deserves to end up in the hands of a girl." "She can't keep it," said Gavan. "It's mine." The girl glanced at the spear, tossed it in the air lightly and caught it overhand, and then abruptly whacked it against the floor. The tip bent. She whacked it again and the tip bent over completely. "You're fucking breaking it!" Gavan wailed. She stared at him, and hit it twice more, and it snapped in two places, near the point and about halfway along its length. She knelt down, still watching Gavan, who was now hopping frantically from foot to foot, and she picked up the bits and threw one of them into the fire. The fire, which had died down, flared up. She picked up the longest bit and, still staring at the boy, she broke it over her knee and tossed the fragments on top of the flames. Finally she threw the last piece into the fire, metal point and all. The flames licked up cheerily. "You fucking bitch!" Gavan said, on the verge of tears. "Now come and get me," she said. He started forward and she didn't move, but the merchant grabbed his shirt. "Don't be such a bloody fool," the merchant barked. "She's trying to provoke you." "Let him come," said the girl, pale-faced and tight-lipped. "Let me get her," Gavan bawled. "I'll fucking kill her." "Go home, son," said Owyn sharply. "You're over-tired." "I've killed a man," Gavan bellowed. "What have you fucking done, you whore? Eh? What have you done? Have you killed anyone?" "No," she said. "Get that twat out of here," said Owyn to the merchant. "Before he does himself a mischief." "I'll fucking kill you all," Gavan screamed, trying to run at the girl, who just stood there, waiting for him. "You won't beat him, girl, you've got him too angry," said Owyn, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She swatted his hand away and picked up a bottle. "Let him come," she said to the merchant. "Come on with me," said the merchant, and dragged Gavan backwards towards the door. Gavan strained forward so hard that his shirt tore, and he lurched forward with outstretched hands towards her. Owyn raised his sword to swing it, ready to hit the lad in the stomach and wind him without wounding him. The girl lifted the bottle. Then something large and heavy hit Gavan in the head, and he stumbled sideways, tripped over his own ankle and fell over, crashing to the floor. His head struck one of the drying irons by the fire and there was a nasty crunching noise. He lay on the floor, twitching slightly, and blood started to well across the floorboards. His head was obscured by the large, heavy object that had struck him and was now sitting on his skull like a big, angular, black bird. It was an enormous book. Everyone turned and looked at Dovid, who was staring down at Gavan's body, appalled. "I merely meant to stop him," he said in a weak voice. Owyn went over to the boy and knelt down and lifted the book off him. It dripped blood onto the floor. The drying iron had pierced the boy's skull at the temple and his brains were on it. He was still twitching a little, but after a moment he was still. Owyn touched a hand to the boy's neck, and after a moment withdrew it. "Bugger," he said quietly. "Oh my god," said the merchant. "You all saw," said Owyn. "He fell over." "May I speak with you outside?" said the merchant. Owyn glanced at the bookman, who looked like he wanted to burst into tears, and the girl, who was looking at him and the merchant both with undisguised dislike and contempt. "You can speak with me in front of these two," he said. "It's a delicate matter," said the merchant. "Then choose your words with care," said Owyn. "Very delicate," said the merchant. "Just out with it," said Owyn, who disliked beating around the bush. "If I could have your ear for a moment," he said. "He wants you to help him turn the bookman in," said the girl. "There'll be a bounty." "It was an accident," said Owyn. "The lad fell over." "After the bookman threw a book at him," said the merchant. "Now, I think you need to consider where you stand." *** Carfryn saw the mercenary pause, and then give the merchant a strange look. "What you mean by that, exactly?" he said. "Your client killed this boy," said the merchant, doing his best to sound reasonable. "It was an accident," said the mercenary. "Is anything ever really an accident?" said the merchant. "I'm afraid that this will not look good. I mean, good luck recovering your fee from the bookman when he's swinging from the nearest tree." "If you are proposing something," said the mercenary slowly, "maybe you should out with it." Oh, you would, she thought, staring at the mercenary's cruel, gloomy face with its broken veins. Of course you would. You would sell us to the highest bidder. The bookman was trying to protect me. Why did I break the damn spear? I am stupid. It was because I wanted to do something. "The bookman needs to be taken to the manor house and placed under the lord's protection, so he can be tried," said the merchant. "I know that, as the young lady says, there will be a considerable bounty for turning in a bookman who's killed an innocent man." "He wasn't an innocent man," said the mercenary. "He raped the girl." "So did you," said the merchant. "So did you," said the mercenary. "That's irrelevant," said the merchant. "Our duty is clear. This bookman is as unreliable as all his kind and he must be turned over to the lord, preparatory to being found guilty of murder." "And we would get the generous bounty," said the mercenary. Carfryn was wondering if she could get the bookman over to the window and they could just jump out, but glancing at him she saw that he was frozen in his seat, rigid with fear. "We would," said the merchant. "Split evenly." "How else would it be split?" said the mercenary. "Well, no other way, of course," said the merchant. "Of course it would be even." "You hypocrite," she said to the merchant. He ignored her. "Well, the thing there is, it was an accident," said the mercenary. "He wasn't trying to kill the lad, and throwing a book at someone isn't normally fatal." "Don't be so obtuse," the merchant snapped. "You know what's right here. Let us stop talking and do it." "Hold on," said the mercenary, smiling good-humouredly. "I just want to consider this a moment longer. See, I have a contract with the bookman. He's already paid me a deposit." "What does that matter?" said the merchant. "Keep it and hand him over." "No," said the mercenary with maddening calm, "that wouldn't be right." "Never mind the deposit!" the merchant barked. "He's only a fucking bookman!" "Steady on," said the mercenary. "I've got nothing against bookmen as such." "Then give it back to him," said the merchant. Freyas Saga Ch. 08 "You know," said the mercenary, frowning, "the more I think about this, the more it doesn't seem quite right." "Well, if you're not going to hand him in with me," said the merchant, "I'll make sure that his lordship knows that a fugitive is being harboured in his district. There. You won't be quite so high-horse with his lordship's men tracking the countryside for you." Carfryn watched the frown on the mercenary's face deepen, and then he looked up at the merchant for a moment, and then the atmosphere in the room became much colder. "Ah," said the mercenary. "Yeah. Hm. No, you won't be doing that." "Well, you try and stop me," said the merchant, and headed for the door. Carfryn darted over to it, aching and sore as she was, and stood before it. He slowed as he saw her get there, and scowled at her. "Get out of my way, little girl," he said. "This is men's business." "Sorry, mate," said the mercenary, drawing himself upright and slowly removing his sword from his scabbard. "I'm afraid you went a little bit too far." The merchant turned, slowly, and Carfryn saw his face go pale as he came around to face the mercenary. "What?" he said. "Well," said the mercenary, "you almost had me convinced, but then you had to go and threaten me, and I can't have that." Carfryn stared at the mercenary. He glanced at her, over the merchant's shoulder. She moved a little aside from the door, wide of the merchant's fat frame, and planted her feet apart. "If you heard my words as a threat, that's your lookout," said the merchant. "I was merely stating a fact." "That's what people say when they threaten people," said the mercenary. "I don't like people threatening me and I don't like you." "So what are you going to do?" said the merchant shrilly. "Kill me?" "No, I'm not going to kill you," said the mercenary. "I should think so," said the merchant, "since I've done nothing to offend you." "Not quite nothing," said the mercenary, "but little enough, it's true. No, you've done little to offend me." "Which is why you won't kill me," said the merchant and he started to turn for the door. "No," said the mercenary. "For I'm not the one with the grievance." And he tossed the sword, hilt-first, sailing over the merchant's shoulder. For a moment, all the eyes in the room watched it sailing through the air, glinting dully in the candelight. Carfryn caught it, both hands grabbing the hilt, and she immediately lifted it to shoulder level, pointing it at the merchant's face. She took the weight of it in her shoulders. God, it was heavy, but this time, she could not make a fool of herself. The merchant stared at her, gaping, and then he burst into laughter. "Oh," he said, "surely, you must be ..." She swung the sword around, giving it her best effort - it was a heavy weapon, and her bruised arm was still sore - and she was focusing on his neck, hoping to swipe his head clean off. But it didn't hit there. It struck the side of the merchant's head, blade-on, just above his left ear, and wedged itself in his head. The merchant goggled at her, his brain rudely invaded by a long piece of sharpened metal, blood flowing out of the wound, his ear, his nose and mouth, but Carfryn found that the damn sword was stuck in the man's head, and even as he sank to the floor, blood pumping out of his skull, he dragged the sword down with him. "That's not bad," said the mercenary, ambling forward. "Not bad at all, for a beginner." "I am new to real fighting," she muttered, as the dying merchant reached up and tried to fumble at the sword wedged in the side of his head. She put her foot on his chest and pulled, but the sword was stuck fast. "I can tell," the mercenary said, "but you've done for him, don't worry. You just need a bit more finesse." Carfryn put her foot on the fat man's chest and managed to haul the sword free of his head. It came out, dripping blood and white curds of the man's brain. The merchant reached up vaguely and twitched as his blood spilled over the floor. Carfryn watched him scrabbling at his throat, reaching out to her, desperate for something to stop the blood from flowing. She did not move, but looked down at him dispassionately. The mercenary stared down at him. "You really are a twat," he said to the merchant, who lay there, gargling horribly, his blood spreading across the faded rug. "You're not going to finish him off?" said the mercenary. "I've never done that before," said Carfryn, trembling. "I don't know how to." "You could cut his head off, or go for the heart," said the mercenary. "Up to you." "I think I'd prefer not to," said Carfryn. "Your choice," said the mercenary. "But let's make sure he's dead. We're not gonna just walk off and assume that he died. That's never good." They watched, as the merchant choked and spluttered and twitched, and finally lay still in the spreading pool of his own blood. "That's it," said the mercenary. "But if I were you, just to make sure, sever the neck." Carfryn swallowed her rising gorge, took a deep breath, lifted the sword and brought it down cleanly, cleaving right through the merchant's neck until his head was attached to his body by nothing more than a shred of bloody skin. "Nice job," said the mercenary. "Now, let's go." "What?" she said, staring down at the body of the first man she'd killed. She looked up at the mercenary. "We can't stay 'ere," he said. "I mean, unless you want to spend the rest of the night in a room with two corpses." "So what are we doing?" she said. "We've got to hit the road," he said. "You two and me. You have me to protect you. He's paying good money." "Where would we go?" she said, feeling dazed. "Anywhere you want, as long as the contract lasts," he said. "But decide on a direction, because once we're out the door we need to get on the road." Carfryn took a deep breath and forced the world to stop spinning around her. "Very well. We'll go north." "Your choice," he said with a shrug. "I suppose you want your sword back." "I wouldn't mind." "You're not afraid that I'll kill you too?" "No," said the mercenary. "Not tonight. Maybe later. But right now you need me, so get your sweetheart there and let's be off before someone comes along." "He's not my sweetheart," said Carfryn, handing him the sword. "I stand corrected, then. Let's get a move on." Carfryn looked at the bookman, who was sitting curled up in a ball against the wall. "Bookman!" the mercenary barked. "Get up off your arse! This is a mess! We have to go before daybreak!" "That won't work," she said, waving him to silence. She went over to the pale young man and knelt in front of him. "What's your name?" she said. "I didn't mean to," he whimpered, staring at the dead body of the youth. "Sir," she said, "speak to me. Tell me your name." He managed to tear his gaze away from the bloody corpse on the floor and look at her. "Dovid," he said. "Berman. Dovid Berman." "It was a mishap, Dovid," she said. "You acted from the best motives, but it was a mishap. You couldn't have known that that would happen." "And now the book is defiled," he said, almost in tears. "We'll take it with us," she said. "Perhaps we can get it cleaned." "Do we have to?" said the mercenary. "It's fucking heavy." "We have to," she said over her shoulder at him. She grabbed the bookman's hand and hauled him to his feet, wincing from the ache in her private parts. "Are you good to ride a horse?" said the mercenary. "I had better be," she said, wiping some blood off the book with a sheet and handing the book to Dovid. "You came on one, didn't you?" "Yes. A roan mare with a white star on her forehead." The mercenary opened the door and looked both ways, then beckoned with his head. Carfryn helped Dovid to fumble the book into his bag and then watched as the thin young bookman hefted the bag onto his back. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For what?" he said. "For helping me." "I did nothing except throw my book at a man and kill him," said Dovid, his face bleak. "Could have been worse," said the mercenary. "You could have missed." He went out and they went out after him, sidling down the corridor. The house was largely dark, and silent. They slipped out through the front door and stood in the darkened courtyard in the rain, as the mercenary went to get the horses. The eastern sky was grey. He returned with the horses and it took both of them to help Dovid to get on hers, then she swung up and sat on the saddle, wincing with the pain. "What's your name, anyway?" said the mercenary suddenly. Carfryn looked up at him. "Carfryn," she said after a pause. "Of Hargest." "Right," he said, nodding. "Well, look, about earlier." "Don't," she said. "I just wanted to say ..." "Don't, swordsman. Just don't." "Sorry, all right?" he said. "Just that." She stared at him for a long moment, until even in the thin moonlight and the rain, she could see he was uncomfortable. She dearly wished that she had a weapon, so she could point it at him. "You could keep apologising to me until your tongue turns black and the world falls to dust, and I will still fucking hate you, swordsman," she said. "You will be very lucky if you live out your contract and I don't kill you in your sleep. Abide by your contract and defend us with your sword, that's all I want from you. Don't insult me with your "sorry".' She glared at him for a long moment, the pain in her lower body reminding her of how much right she had to say what she had said. "All right," he said. "Good to know." "Where d'you think you're going?" said a voice behind them. Carfryn turned her horse. The landlord was in the doorway holding a bow and arrow, which he was pointing at her, she noticed. "You 'aven't paid your full fee," he said. On top of everything else that had happened, it was too much. Carfryn felt empty. She couldn't help it, she started to laugh. "You've got to be fucking joking," said the mercenary. "This is the worst fucking inn I've ever stayed in. The beer's good, I'll grant that, the beer's good, but your meat is tough, the beds are rancid, and did you know that that girl got attacked last night?" "Attacked?" said the landlord. "Yes!" said the mercenary. "She'd an outrage committed on her! The men who did it are upstairs at this minute, atoning for their sins, but what sort of place is this, that a noble young lady like herself can't stay here without indignities inflicted on her person? Eh? You ought to refund her fee, you bloody tosspot." "Oh god," Carfryn spluttered, wanting to weep but unable to stop laughing. "What is funny?" said Dovid behind her. "Your porridge is also noticeably lumpy," the mercenary added. "I - I beg the lady's pardon," said the landlord, red in the face. "I've had to run the place myself since my good lady went on." "Poisoned by your porridge, I shouldn't wonder," said the mercenary. "And the milk is also sour. That's no way to run a business, friend." "I am leaving," Carfryn gasped, and she spurred the horse and they started off out of the yard. "Consider yourself lucky we don't spread the word about your bloody horrible bread, too," said the mercenary, and she heard him start his horse too. "Safe journey," the landlord called after them weakly. Carfryn's despairing laughter subsided and she squinted into the rain as they rode, feeling it whip her face. "Where are we going?" Dovid called behind her, holding onto her black jacket with his thin hands. He was so thin that he barely provided any heat. "Far away," she said. They rode on into the night. Freyas Saga Ch. 09 They took Djineba to the House of Healing, and waited in the hallway for Sophy to make her entrance. She walked in with her usual broad smile, which faded as soon as she saw the bruised, bloodied, lice-ridden woman standing between Freya and Five. Djineba regarded Sophy with her customary look of hostile suspicion. "You bring me a guest," Sophy said. "She doesn't speak our language," said Five. "Think she's some sort of queen, though." "Queen of where?" said Sophy. "How do I know?" said Five. Sophy addressed Djineba in some foreign tongue, then another, then another. Djineba didn't respond to any of them, but went on staring at the healthy, glowing blonde woman before her. "Lady Freya knows her tongue," said Five, "but they had a long conversation and it's wounded her voice, and I don't want her talking anymore until she's better." "What was it?" said Sophy. Freya mouthed a word that Five couldn't make out. "Ah," said Sophy, her face clearing. She curtseyed deeply to Djineba. "[I welcome you, highness, to my poor establishment,]" she said. "[I am the patroness. My name is Sophy Bunfashazir. My women and I will do our utmost to clean you, heal you and make you as comfortable as possible. May the wind speed your sail, may the seasons keep your land fruitful, and may the gods smile on all that is yours.]" Five saw Djineba blink, clearly understanding this stream of gibberish. "[You are fair-spoken for a white person,]" she said. "[As you can see, I have neither sail nor land, and it is a long while since the gods smiled on me and mine.]" "[Then let me be the agent of a change in your fortunes,]" said Sophy, smiling. "[It is not often I get to receive a queen in this house. You honour us with your presence.]" Djineba smiled, and Five saw the bitterness in her smile. "[I do not mean to laugh,]" she said, "[but to come in here as I am, and to be greeted thus by one who behaves that I am not in the condition that I am in ... as I said, your speech is fair and your greeting is welcome, but do you not feel the mockery in this?]" "[I do,]" said Sophy, "[and I have no desire to make you feel mocked. But I was brought up to have manners, and I cannot drop them just because a guest in my house finds herself in ... an unlucky state.]" Djineba inclined her head at Sophy. "[You have excellent manners,]" she said. "[Health and good luck to your house, patroness, and to those who dwell in it.]" "[Now we have got the manners out of the way,]" said Sophy, "[let us get you bathed, majesty, for you are in need of a bath.]" "[Do not call me 'majesty'. I will count myself a queen if I ever again find myself at the head of a people. My name is Djineba.]" "[Then come, lady,]" said Sophy, "[and let us look after you.]" She summoned three others, and they took Djineba up the stairs and into the finest room available. Sophy called for a bath to be run, and Djineba watched as the blonde woman poured carefully judged amounts from various flasks and bottles into it. Finally, she stood up. "[Lady,]" she said, "[let us take your clothes. We will wash them and rid them of any passengers you may have acquired.]" Djineba undressed, reflecting that it was the latest of many times that white people had seen her disrobe. Ever since she had been initiated into womanhood, the sight of her body had been a privilege meant only for her husband. Ever since she had been sold into slavery, white people had been stripping and ogling her. A girl took her clothes - without, however, glancing at Djineba's body - and put them in a bag, gave her a charming smile and left. Sophy beckoned and Djineba walked forward, stiffly, into the bathroom. The tiled bath was like nothing she'd ever washed herself in, but the water smelled sweet. "[Is it hot?]" said Djineba. Sophy knelt down and swirled her hand in it. "[Warm, only,]" she said. Djineba nodded, satisfied that whatever else about this house and this woman, she was not about to step into a bath full of some poison that would burn off her skin. Sophy took her hand and Djineba stepped into the water. It was warm, but not too warm, and it made her skin tingle from whatever medicine had been put in it. She sat down, feeling the water sting the wounds on her ankles, and gasping as it touched her abused privates and arse. But it soothed as well as stung, and the stinging wore off under the soothing. Under Sophy's instruction, she lay back and rested her head on a cushion. She felt unspeakably tired, but she kept watching Sophy. "[There are healing oils in the water,]" Sophy said, "[which will clean your wounds and help them to close. But I'll bandage you afterwards too.]" "[You would not think that I have led men in battle,]" Djineba said. "[Do you pamper all your clients so?]" "[You are no ordinary client,]" said Sophy. "[And any friend of Freya's is welcome to be a friend of mine.]" She beckoned Djineba to sit up. "[You will forgive me if I am slow to own myself anyone's friend,]" said Djineba, sitting up to let Sophy wash her back. "[I am still waiting for the men with chains to come out of the walls and drag me off to be some merchant's whore.]" "[That does not happen to anyone in my house,]" said Sophy. "[Not that we don't do a little whoring, but deception and trickery are not my way.]" "[I want to trust you, blondie,]" said Djineba. "[You are fair of face and speech, and whatever you put in this bath is doing good to my body, but you must see that I would be a fool to lose my guard.]" "[You are in no state to fight,]" said Sophy. "[I have fought men before, with as little armour,]" said Djineba icily, "[and beaten them.]" "[I would be the last person to question your prowess in combat,]" said Sophy. "[I for one am no fighter. If it came to it, you would beat me easily. So it's I that must trust you too.]" Djineba grunted non-committally and kept her eyes on Sophy. "[And this is your business,]" she said. "[This house.]" "[It is,]" said Sophy. "[For more than fifteen years now, I have kept more secrets than anyone else in this city.]" "[If you know so many secrets, you must know the secrets of the one downstairs, the shorthaired one.]" "[I was going to say,]" said Sophy, pouring the water over Djineba's raw shoulders, "[even if you don't trust me, you could do worse than trust her. Freya has many flaws, god knows. She is arrogant, she is stiff, she has little in the way of small talk and she can be mightily cruel, but she is loyal, truthful and brave, and those who care about such things tell me that she she is skilled at war.]" Djineba was silent. Sophy handed her the cloth and she washed her own breasts and face, and then she closed her eyes as Sophy poured a jug of the warm water over her head, once, twice, three, four times. She let the water run over her face, searching her thoughts. Did this feel as though it were true? Was Shorthair truly offering her partnership in glory, instead of subjection? She felt a touch of something cool on her scalp, and opened her eyes. The blonde one was preparing her scalp for a proper shaving. A razor lay on the side of the bath. Djineba picked it up and said "[I will take this, if you don't mind.]" "[Fine with me,]" said Sophy, and she went into the other room briefly and brought back a small piece of highly polished metal. Djineba shaved her own head, carefully avoiding the cuts and scabs, and when her skull was no longer a tufted mess but smooth-skinned apart from her wounds, she placed the razor back on the edge of the bath, grabbed the sides and lay back, disappearing under the water for a moment. She surfaced, blinking water out of her eyes, and looked up at Sophy. "[Much better,]" said Sophy. "[You look wonderful.]" "[I look like I have been beaten in the hold of a slave ship for eight weeks and have just been given a bath,]" said Djineba. "[Well, do not fault me for offering flattery,]" said Sophy, smiling. "[It is my role, and it's a habit of mine. But as part of your healing, I must bring up something else.]" "[Talk,]" said Djineba. "[I have seen your wounds,]" said Sophy. "[I take it you were attacked on the ship. By the men.]" "[Yes,]" said Djineba. "[Four or five times. I fought them off at first but they made me yield.]" "[I don't know if you wish to talk about it,]" said Sophy. "[I don't.]" "[Very well. But may I ask you something?]" "[Go on,]" said Djineba, washing her legs and not meeting Sophy's eyes. "[You had been with a man before?]" "[Of course,]" said Djineba stiffly. "[My husband. And one or two others.]" "[And you liked it.]" "[I did. And now they have spoiled it for me.]" "[Believe me when I tell you that they have not,]" Sophy said. "[You must not let them. That would be their victory. Give it time, and the pain will lessen. All the pain, not just from your wounds. I deal with these things every day, in this house, and I know what I speak about.]" Djineba looked up at her. "[We shall see,]" she said. *** Three weeks went by. To Five, they seemed an eternity. Freya had found an old, rather deaf soldier to teach him swordsmansip and basic combat techniques, so he spent his days training, and wandering the streets of Memike, peering in at the windows of the barber shops - they also offered tattoos, and Memikan barbers were famous for their supposedly uncanny ability to give you the tattoo you wanted without even knowing that you wanted one - and tasting the street food, and wondering what lay beyond the sea. Freya was off with Moyra, in deep discussion over old books, and when she wasn't doing that she was visiting the House of Healing, either to see Sophy or to see how Djineba was doing, or both. Five was never again invited for a private chat with Sophy, which gave him his usual feeling of being someone who was being tolerated out of politeness, rather than actively valued for his contribution. For he could contribute nothing. Freya was largely silent, checking in on him to see how the training was going, giving him the occasional pat on head or clout on ear depending on how he'd been progressing, but even though they shared a room in their lodgings, Freya seemed to be too preoccupied to want to share any of her inmost thoughts, or even listen to his outmost ones. Five began to feel that Freya was getting lost, once again, in doing nothing; preparing endlessly rather than going out and engaging. Then one morning, they went to the House of Healing. *** "It's good to see you again, Aelfrethe," said Sophy, pouring the wine. Freya accepted it. "Your new arrival is healing nicely," said Sophy. "Physically, anyway. She is understandably mistrustful of anyone who extends a helping hand to her." Freya nodded. "So," said Sophy, "this is our ... eighth meeting, I think, and I'm getting the feeling that we are going around in circles. I want you to trust me, or this will have been a waste of our time." Freya nodded, soberly, looking up at her. "You do trust me, don't you?" said Sophy. Freya nodded. Sophy could feel Freya's body next to her; tense, her chest rising and falling. Freya's eyes flicked from Sophy around the room. Her fingers twitched. "Nobody's going to come in," she said in her most soothing voice. "You're safe, Aelfrethe. This is my house, and it has more protection than just men with swords." Freya stared at the ceiling. "I guess 'safe' is not a word you throw around much anymore," Sophy said. "Maybe I shouldn't either. Tell me, that time you came here with a beautiful black eye, what did happen there?" Freya curled her lip and shook her head. "Well, don't tell me. You know, I've been thinking of this thing you do. Not speaking." Freya glanced at her. "Before you were ... attacked," Sophy said coolly, "you were a warrior, sure, but you were also a speaker. I'm told you were a wonderful one. People have been quoting you to me for years, ever since the, the what was it? The True Battle speech. I have to admit, that one even moved me, and I don't give a shit about war and slaughter and such things. You lived to give orders and inspire people. Of course, when you were in here you tended to swear a lot and drag your men out of my house and tell me what a whoremistress I was." Sophy smiled down at Freya, who looked uneasy. "I'm just teasing you, Aelfrethe. You let them come here in the first place and for that, I should be grateful, even though you were over-keen to make sure they didn't linger. Were you not tempted? By the boys? The girls?" Freya nodded. "I thought so. Some people thought you were naturally celibate. That you just weren't interested. I never believed that." Sophy stroked her finger down Freya's profile and Freya looked up at her with her large, dark eyes. "You look at me like that," said Sophy, "and I want to grant you anything. But ..." Sophy looked around the room, thoughtful - at the table by the window, the blue sky outside, the breeze coming in from the sea, the wine and fruit. "No," she said. "We shouldn't do this in here. This isn't the kind of place where you're going to tell me anything." Freya frowned, but Sophy stood up and went to the door. She opened it a fraction and whispered something to someone outside. "Come with me, Aelfrethe," she said briskly. Freya got off the bed and followed her. Sophy let her down many corridors and stairs and gradually the surroundings got more and more shabby, the carpet fraying underfoot, the walls missing paint. At last they entered a stone cellar. "These are where we put drunks and anyone who gets rough," said Sophy. "They soon learn manners. I don't think that my chambers are putting enough steel into you." A young woman appeared, discreet and severely dressed. Sophy walked down the corridor and tapped a cell door. The young woman walked over to it and unlocked it, and Sophy went in. Freya followed her. The cell was unfurnished apart from a wooden slab to rest on and a hole in the floor. As soon as Freya entered, Sophy went behind her and pulled the door shut on them both. Freya spun and stared at her. Unruffled, Sophy went and stood opposite her, and rapidly and without any ceremony removed all her clothes. When she was naked, she went behind Freya and opened the slot and handed her clothes to the young woman outside. "Now you," she said to Freya. Freya sighed, and resignedly took off her boots and breeches and shirt and handed them to Sophy, who passed them through the slot to the girl outside the door. "Thank you, Charmian," said Sophy through the slot. "If I don't call on you sooner, please check on us when the sun is below the turret of the church." "I understand," came the girl's voice, and Freya heard her booted feet as she walked back out of the jail. Sophy tentatively sat on the stone floor, cross-legged, and gestured for Freya to do likewise. Freya sat, feeling self-conscious. "Now," said Sophy, and there was a new hardness in her voice, "you can have nothing to hide from me, Aelfrethe. We are locked up naked in a stone room. If you wanted to do anything to me, I could not fight you off. You could beat me. You could rape me. You could use me as grossly as you were used yourself." Freya shook her head in outraged protest. "I don't think for a second that you would," said Sophy, holding up a warning hand, "but the fact remains, you could do it if you wanted to. But you would be found here with me, by my people, and they would make you suffer. I say this not as a threat, for I don't think you wish me ill. But I know you have much anger about what was done to you. I think that you don't speak because you think that if you could give voice to your anger, you might destroy the world." Freya stared at Sophy, her eyes wide. "You don't speak," said Sophy, "because now, you don't need to give orders. Now, people have to figure out what you want. Now, they have to put themselves in your place. You want them to do that because you want them to imagine it happening to them. Am I not right?" Freya kept staring at Sophy, her mouth slightly open. She trembled gently. It was not warm in the cell, but that wasn't why she trembled. "You don't speak," said Sophy, softly, locking her gaze with Freya's, "because what happened to you was unspeakable. You're good with words but even you couldn't convey what it was like to have everything taken from you except your life. Your authority. Your dignity. Your pride. Your chastity. Your honour. They took them all, and left you with nothing. And you still don't know how you can recover them. You had a whole army. Now you have just one soldier. And, forgive me, but he's not much of a soldier, is he?" Sophy's smile had only a hint of friendly mockery, but she flinched and gasped to find Freya's hand around her throat. "Too far?" she said in a strangled voice. "I'm sorry, Aelfrethe, I'm sorry, please, let me go, I didn't mean to be cruel." Freya slowly let go, but her face was still full of anger. "All right," said Sophy, rubbing her throat, "clearly the boy has merit. I trust you to know. But you have fallen far, Aelfrethe, and you must wonder whether you'll ever command in the field again. I know that that was what you lived for." Freya stared at the floor, ashamed of having lost her temper. "So," said Sophy. "I know you must have plans. I don't expect you to share them with the likes of me, but I do want you to ask yourself, what do you really want? Who do you want to be, now that this has happened to you? Do you think that you can go back to your old life, just like that?" Freya slowly shook her head and looked up. Sophy shifted towards her, and placed her hands on Freya's bare shoulders. "You are someone else now," she said, "whether you like it or no, and you will have to learn new ways." Freya looked down at Sophy's hand on her shoulder, and looked up at Sophy's face - round, apple-cheeked, beautiful, serious and yet merry. Sophy looked down at her, and smiled, narrowing her eyes. "I could seduce you now," she said quietly. "It would be so easy, Aelfrethe. It would be like taking a sugar stick from an infant. We would have a time in this room that you would not be able to forget even if you wanted to. I could take you in my arms and open you up to me and make you feel such delight as you've never known. I could make you feel like you never wanted to be with anyone but me." She leaned down until her face was only a couple of inches away from Freya's. Freya stared at her, her own lips parted, her eyes wide, her body trembling. "You probably want me to do that," she said, "or you think you do, anyway. You think it would give you valuable 'experience'. When in truth, it would be so cruel. The last thing you need is me as your lover. I am a good boss and a good friend and a good whoremistress, but a terrible lover. I don't want to add you to the gang of people in this city who moon after me." Freya felt the ache of wanting Sophy so badly that she had to fight to remain still. She closed her eyes and breathed in the faint, clean scent of Sophy's body. "It would be lovely, Aelfrethe," Sophy murmured, and Freya cursed the woman inwardly for teasing her so much. "It really would be. And don't think I don't want it. I've wanted it since I first saw you, but I reckoned two things: either you would marry and give up fighting because some man had bent you to his will and charmed you out of your ivory tower of chastity, in which case we would have had all the time in the world for me to get you into my bed, because nobody resists me who already knows how good sex can be. Or else, you'd be killed before I got a chance to try." Freyas Saga Ch. 09 Freya sat still, her eyes closed, listening as Sophy spoke softly into her ear. "What I never thought would happen," said Sophy, "was what actually did happen. Because now that you've been broken, just a little bit, I can't do that to you. I may not be very moral, but I have a vocation, and you're not my lover. You're in my care." Freya hung her head. "It's not easy to admit, is it?" said Sophy. "It's hard to confess that you need help. But you need it, and that's why you sought me out. Do you think I put us in this room and took our clothes away because I wanted us to make with the fun?" Freya gave the faintest smile. Sophy cackled. "I knew it," she said. "But no. It's to make us honest with each other. I don't think it's so easy to tell lies when you're naked with someone. And god help me, Aelfrethe, ever since I met you, you've been a pain in the ass to me, but I've grown fond of you. And I can't do that to a friend." Sophy sat back and crossed her legs at the ankle and hugged her knees and regarded Freya. Freya looked so crestfallen that Sophy had to cover her own smile with her hand. "You don't even know me," she pointed out. "You think of me as that woman who arranged whores for your men. And I offer you my friendship, and still you think of me as just someone you might be able to fuck. So you can find out what it's like." Freya flushed and lowered her eyes. "Don't be ashamed," Sophy said. "I don't want you to feel ashamed. God damn it, Aelfrethe, you think I don't know my own skill? How do you think I got this job?" Freya looked up again. She moved back and sat against the wall and made herself comfortable. Sophy smiled, stood up and went to the door. She rattled the slot, and when someone came she gave a brief order in a language Freya didn't know. Then she waited, and a moment later a bowl of fruit was pushed through the slot. Sophy took it, selected an orange, and tossed it to Freya, who caught it one-handed. "There's no reason for us to starve," said Sophy, smiling, and she sat back down again on the stone floor, crossing her legs. She began to peel the orange. "I was a milkmaid," she said simply. "If you can believe it. I was a milkmaid in Finnmark. Yup. That was going to be my life. I was a daisy-fresh maiden. And then the Moors came. And they slew my father and my brother, and they raped my mother, and they raped me. And one of them took me for his wife." Freya sat opposite Sophy, slowly peeling her own orange, listening. Sophy tossed the peel in the corner and split her orange into two. She extracted a single segment and popped it into her mouth. "He was a bad man, Aelfrethe, my first husband" she said. "He treated me very badly. I mean, very badly. I was never safe. All day, every day. I was at his mercy. I tried to get used to it. I could not." Freya watched Sophy, her own orange forgotten in her hands. "And so it went very badly between us," Sophy went on. "I was not rebellious. I submitted to him, every time. I had no option, I can't fight, I'm crap at fighting, believe me. These hands were not made for punching people." She smiled and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the memory. "And we went south," she went on, "and in due course we ended up in this city. And by this time, my husband hated me. I mean, he hated me. He hated that I could not even pretend to enjoy him. I longed to die. I saw no other escape from the life he had made for me. "And then we came here, to this house. He came here to find a girl who would let him fuck her in whatever hole he wanted but not weep pitifully while he was doing it. I came to await his pleasure and to sit in the hall and be a good wife. "And then a couple of the girls started talking to me. They were so kind to me, Freya! I was astonished. I'd thought they would be hard-faced and cruel, but they praised my pale skin, and my pink cheeks, and my blonde hair, and they said I had a lovely smile and a good healthy body, and they told me that I should take pleasure in my beauty, and not be ashamed of it. I listened to them, and after a while I realised that I had made friends. "When my husband had had his fun he came and he told me to go with him, and I told him I would stay here. I would stay and work in the kitchen, if I had to. I told him I no longer wanted to be with him. He called me a godless barren cunt, but he was happy to abandon me here. The girls took me in and put me to work here, first as a servant. Then, later on, they let it be known that I had ... assets, which were valuable to the company, and I had to put them to work. But first, I had to meet the Boss." Sophy threw Freya a meaning look. "So, what do you think, Aelfrethe? I was shitting myself. The same way I shit myself every time I know you are coming here. The Boss was legendary. His temper was legendary. So maybe he wasn't an unstoppable killing machine like you, but I was fucking frightened." Sophy popped another bit of orange into her mouth. "So I went up to meet him. He was a big guy. A Moor, like my first husband. Quite chubby. He was polite, though. He knew my name. He knew where I'd come from. He knew how I'd got here. He was warm." Sophy looked at Freya. "He was unusual," she said, with emphasis. "He said, Sophy, what do you want to do? I said I wanted to go home to my family. He said, I'm truly sorry, but your family is dead. I said, Yes, they are. He said, Then, let us be your family. We like you and we want to look after you, but you do understand that if you want us to do that, there are things you must do in return? I said, You mean, fuck men? He said, Yes, very likely, but it doesn't have to be as bad as all that. He said, We have been doing this for a long time, and we understand how it works. We look after our own. And if you come to work with us, we will look after you. I said, What choice do I have. Because I assumed that they would tell me I had none." Sophy took two more bits of orange and chewed them, looking at the ceiling. "He said, Look, I don't care. I have enough girls. But the girls like you. They want you. And if they want you, that's good enough for me." Sophy shrugged. "So I said Yes. And the more I did it, and the more I listened to the other girls, the more I realised that if you knew what you were doing and you had a good organisation, you didn't have to worry about the things most girls doing this job worried about. I loved the girls because they had been so nice to me, so I tried to help them, and the more I tried to help them, the more they tried to help me. And Munaf, the Boss, he soon saw that I was running the place as much as he was. And he was grateful. So he got less involved, and I got more, until I was the manager and he was just the owner. And then one day he said, Sophy, you are the smartest girl here, will you marry me?" Sophy tore apart the remaining half of the orange and put a piece in her mouth. "I said to him, Munaf Bunafashazir, are you fucking kidding me? You are my pimp. Why the fuck would I want to marry you?" Sophy looked at Freya, while chewing her orange. "He said, Sophy, this is shit, but what do you want me to do? I own this place, you run this place, there will always be a need for a place like this. But if I close it all down, you and the other girls are out of a job. I'm not saying that this is wonderful, but we make a living, and if any of the girls get hurt we make sure that whoever did it gets hurt worse." Sophy sucked on a piece of orange and looked pensive. "I tried to think of an answer and I couldn't. He told me that if we got married, and anything happened to him, the business would pass to me, and he couldn't think of anyone better for it to go to. So I said yes. We got married. I was twenty-three. And he was lovely, Aelfrethe, in his way. He was kind and thoughtful and I was glad I had married him." Sophy chewed the piece of orange and swallowed it. Freya waited for her to continue, and when she didn't, Freya sucked on her own piece of orange and whispered "What happened?" "Oh," said Sophy, "he died. He had a big heart, but it was weak. He ate too much. He was kind, though." Freya sat and watched Sophy, who absently popped another piece of orange into her mouth. "And I got the business," Sophy said, sitting upright again, "and I turned it around. Munaf had this dream that one day, this would be more than just a whorehouse, but he was too lazy to make it happen. So I made it happen. With the girls, of course." Sophy swallowed the last piece of orange and stretched, luxuriously. "People think I'm this magic lady who made this place into a house of wonder. It's all shit, Aelfrethe. I would have lived out my days here and not made a peep if the girls hadn't told me to step up and speak for them. Because I'm pretty and I can speak nice. I lend this place class. And sure, I'm not stupid. But I run this place for me and my girls. And I am beholden to no one. Which is why I can afford to spend a few hours in a stone cell with a broken little rich girl. I have made this place so it can be something more than just a place where guys fuck. But believe me, it was hard won." Freya sat, silent. Sophy eyed her. "If you have me here," Sophy said, "it's because I choose to be with you. I sometimes think, Aelfrethe, that you don't realise that the nice stuff in life costs money. And, I don't want to shame you. I just want you to know." Freya sat, her hands folded in her lap. After a long pause, she looked up at Sophy. "Your first husband," she whispered. "Yes," said Sophy, puzzled. "Tell me his name," Freya said, "and I will seek him." Sophy rose to her feet and, to Freya's astonishment, reached out and smacked Freya on the forehead. "Oh, Aelfrethe!" she exclaimed. "For fuck's sake! You are not listening!" Freya looked up at her, hurt and confused. "I don't want revenge on my first husband," Sophy said, exasperated. "I want you to see where you are in this chain. Do you see?" She slapped Freya on the head once more, and then hung back, nervous and chastened. Freya, sitting on the stone floor, stared up at her. Then Freya squinted, and thought, and then she nodded, ashamed, bowing her head. "Yes," said Sophy quietly, "you see? It's not about that. It has to do with men and women." Freya nodded. "Honestly, Freya," Sophy said, "I won't say you haven't come far. But you truly have a long way to go." Freya stared glumly at the stone floor. Sophy moved over to her and put her arms around Freya's neck. "Don't worry," she said. "I have faith in you. But don't you see how much you need to change?" Freya looked up at her, and held up her hands, and opened her mouth to say something, and no words came, until she helplessly let her hands drop and fought back the tears that Sophy could tell were lurking behind her eyes. Finally, after a long moment in which she avoided Sophy's gaze, Freya rubbed her eyes and grabbed Sophy's wrists. "I am Freya Aelfrethe," she gasped. "Why can I not be her?" "But look where it's got you, my love," said Sophy quietly, stroking Freya's head. Freya closed her eyes, and her expression didn't change, but the tears spilled out from her closed eyelids while she sat, motionless and silent. Finally she opened her eyes and blinked, and Sophy hugged her, feeling for the first time the power in Freya's upper body and arms. "I don't know what you have to do," Sophy whispered in her ear, "but I know it's something. Do you remember when you first came to me, weeks ago, what we talked about? Please, Freya, don't do what those others did. Please don't burn yourself to a cinder because you couldn't change. There has to be another way and if anyone can find it, why not you, hah?" Sophy said it as a joke, but she found herself clutching Freya the way a drowning person clutches a helpful sailor. After a long moment, they disengaged and sat with their legs intertwined, facing each other. "So," said Sophy, "are you in any way reassured?" Freya paused, and shook her head no. "Do you feel that I did my best?" Freya nodded yes. Sophy threw up her hands. "Then that's all I can do. Let us get dressed and get back to the world." She stood up and went to the door. *** Outside, it was noontime and Five's stomach was rumbling. Freya washed her hands at the crock just inside the door of the House and stood shaking the water off them. "Can we get something to eat?" Five said. "I mean, if you're hungry, lady?" Freya smiled, patted him on the shoulder and nodded. They set off at Freya's usual brisk pace, Five thinking. They entered the first clean-ish inn they found, and Five ordered for them, a jug of small-beer and some sort of nameless and slightly unnerving stew which the landlord urged them to try. It was spicy and had a good flavour, but Five didn't like to think what was in there. But he was so hungry that when he found something hard in his mouth and spat it out, and it turned out to be some sort of beak of a fowl, he only hesitated for a moment before going back to eating. He was glad to see that Freya was eating too. Some days she ate very little. At last he pushed his bowl aside and had a gulp of the thin, bitter beer. It wasn't bad for small-beer. At least you didn't have to chew it. "Lady," he said, "can I ask you a question? I mean, I can guess answers. I don't want you talking." Freya looked up at him and nodded. "So you've got that girl as a friend of ours, and there's the scholar lady, and Mistress Sophy seems to think she's a friend of ours now, and there's that bloke from the place ..." Freya nodded. "Are you building some sort of company?" Freya paused, then nodded. "What for? Are we going back to Hargest? Are you minded to see Sir Ulf?" Freya hesitated. "I mean, surely, that's what you want, isn't it? Revenge?" Freya stared at him blankly for a moment. "Why wouldn't you?" he said, confused. "You've got to get something, or it's not fair." Freya stared at the table, then looked up at him thoughtfully. His heart panged that she wouldn't confide in him. "You can trust me, you know," he said. She looked him in the eye for a moment, then lowered her gaze again and remained silent. "Oh, come on," he said, hating the whiny tone creeping into his voice, but he felt affronted that once again she was showing him so little trust, giving him so little to go on. "You listen all day to that scholar lady, and I don't know what you're talking about, but you won't tell me your mind. I don't know what I'm good for. I feel like you're just carrying me along because you need someone to sweep up, and you feel loyal to me 'cause I rescued you, but other than that you think I'm nowt but a big load." She shook her head no. "There must be something I can do," he said. "If I knew your mind, I could speak for you. If there was some way of getting what you want to say into my head without you having to talk. Otherwise, what am I good for?" She shook her head no again, and closed her eyes wearily for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to bother you with all these questions." Freya opened her eyes again, looking down at his arms on the table. Then she frowned and reached across the table and poked his arm. "What?" he said. She extended her fingers and put them around his forearm. Her hands were large and calloused and she could touch her thumb to her fingers in a ring around his wrist without too much difficulty. He looked at his weak, toneless arm and looked at her, and she shook her head disapprovingly. "Well, no, I'm not like you," he said. "Why? Is that something you'd want me to be good at? Fighting?" She nodded. He thought about it for a moment. "I've never been good at it," he said. "But I suppose I could try." He trailed off, feeling weak and half-hearted. It was his turn to stare at the table. It was engraved with names. MESSANIA. GUNFRIED 45-7. AMLETH AND GUNRUN 4EVA. He felt her eyes on him. He urged himself to say it. He looked up, and leaned across the table and spoke quietly, so that none else could hear, not that there was anyone else in the place. "What's it all for, though?" he said. "Are we going to revenge you? If so, on who?" She looked back at him, patient, her dark eyes unblinking. "If not," he said, "what are we doing here? What d'you suppose our people think happened to you? Do you want them to know you're alive, or do you not want them to? I feel like we're just marking time. Waiting for things to happen." She opened her mouth, coughed, swallowed and grimaced. She looked around, got up and walked over to the fire. She picked up a bit of charcoal and looked all over the inn, and then stepped outside. A moment later she came back with a bit of paper, and returned to their table. It had a picture on one side, some cartoon lambasting the town elders. She turned it over to the blank side and wrote in as small letters as she could make with the charcoal. I AM NOT READY "Not ready for what?" he asked. "Not ready to tell me?" FOR ANYTHING, she added to the end of the first four words. After a moment she scratched YOU NEITHER. "What do we need to be ready for," he said. She looked at him, or rather looked in his direction, for her gaze wasn't on the outside world but turned inward. Finally, she focused on him, and wrote. DO YOU KNOW YOUR DESTINY "Of course I do," he said. "Everyone does. I'm a soldier of Hargest. I always reckoned I'd be killed in the field, or die as a prisoner. Specially since I can't fight. I'm a useless mouth to feed so I reckoned I'd die first. Why?" She looked thoughtful. "Don't you know yours?" he said. She shook her head. "But we're still soldiers of Hargest, though," he said. She raised her eyebrows. "Aren't we?" he said, suddenly chilled. She covered the writing with her hand, this time, and only held it up to show him when she'd finished. I FOLLOW NO ONE "His lordship your father won't like that," said Five. "After all these years in his service and you reject his protection. He'll take that very ill." She stared at him coldly and wrote just one word. PROTECTION? Five stared at it, and for the first time he began to feel like he understood why she hadn't just gone straight back to Hargest. He could sense it, at last: beneath her surface calmness and quietness and friendliness, which themselves were so different from the fiery energy and authority she'd had before the worm, beneath all that, he could now see, was this huge, dark, heaving sea of rage. It was what came to the surface when she fought, when she lost her temper, when she forgot herself. Betrayal. It was the thing that she never forgot, never forgave. You could be as vicious as anything and she might even admire your style, as long as you stuck to your own side. But if you broke a bond around her, she was your enemy for life. "So," he said. "No going back, then." She wrote NOT YET. "I see," he said. "When we're ready." She nodded. "When will that be? When you have a company? When you can wear your armour? When the moon turns to green cheese?" She smiled slightly, and then the smile left her face and she looked grim once more. "Yeah," he said. "But sooner or later, I mean ... we will have to go back. We'll have to show them that you're not dead, won't we?" She nodded, staring past his shoulder, lost in thought. I need to buck her up, he thought. She does it for me so I need to do it for her. "What a look'll be on Sir Ulf's face," he said, smiling, "when he says that you've come out of that thing and you're stronger than ever." Freyas Saga Ch. 09 She made no move for a while, then something entered her face, some frown, and her eyes slowly slid towards him until she looked him in the eye, questioningly. "Well," he said, "I mean, you have, haven't you? Been through the ordeal, and now you've learned from it, and now nothing can stop you, I reckon." He smiled brightly, or tried to, but Freya's frown deepened. She reached for the paper and, without looking at it, without taking her eyes from his, she scrawled on it, and held it up to him. Her words ran down the page in a barely legible scribble. IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK "Well, but ..." he said, helpless, "I mean, isn't that what happens, you know ... you pass through the, you know, refining fire, and you come out ... more pure, or stronger, or ..." She stared at him, and his heart ached, for her face was terrible, like it had been that morning he woke her up, weeks earlier, only now it wasn't pale with rage, but with pain. She looked much, much older, suddenly. Oh god, he thought. What have I said? "But ..." he said, and he reached out and grasped her hand and held it. She blinked, finally, and looked down, and wrote on the paper and held it up to him. NOT STRONGER He read it and stared at her, aching with pity. She nodded, swallowed, put it down and wrote again, and held it up again, looking at him again. ONLY BURNED He felt weak and stupid and his eyes prickled. He rubbed them to stop a tear of shame before it got properly started. "Right," he said, his throat tight. "I understand." They sat in silence. "I'm sorry, lady," he said after a long moment. "I should've known." All of a sudden, he felt the bench beneath him shivering, just very slightly, and he saw the beer in her cup ripple faintly across its surface. Freya looked up sharply. "It's Toll!" shouted the landlord cheerfully. "Toll's stirring!" The landlord hopped up on the bar and swung himself across it nimbly for a fat man, and trotted outside. Freya got up to follow and Five went after. "Who's Toll?" said Five. People were coming out into the street and running down to the harbour. The landlord quickly locked the door to the bar - they had been the only customers. "You know, Toll!" he said. "We're not from round here," said Five. "Where's everyone going?" "Down to the harbour, to see the wave hit!" said the landlord happily, and he set off. They followed. "What are you talking about?" Five panted as they ran after the landlord. "Who's this Toll character?" "He's the worm that lives beneath the earth," the landlord explained. "He sleeps, but every now and again he stirs in his sleep and when he does, the sea moves. That's why they build the Sea Wall, to keep the waves out. Toll used to wreck the city every time he stirred, but not anymore. Not since the wall. It's good luck when the waves hit, but it hasn't happened in years. Not since I was a lad. Come on!" They reached the harbour. People were trying to get to high points to see over the wall, which had been built from a spit of land some five miles east of the harbour into a vast semicircle that enclosed the whole bay, some ten miles out, except for a gap to the southwest where the ships passed through. It was a long, thick, massive, rugged embankment of earth and stone that was so big that it had trees growing on it. "The wave's coming," said the landlord. "It always happens when Toll stirs. It starts out in the wide sea and then it comes towards us, and then it hits the wall and breaks. It's good luck. You should make a wish on it." "Right," said Five, thinking that this whole wave business was a load of crap and it was probably going to be a barely visible splash. Freya was watching the Sea Wall with interest. "They knew what they were about when they built that wall," said the landlord fervently. "It's never seen a wave it hasn't broken." People high up were shouting excitedly. "Here it comes," said the landlord, grinning. "Any second now ..." Five peered as hard as he could, and he could just about make out tiny people on the wall running for boats and paddling away from it as hard as they could. And then it happened. Or rather, it didn't. Nothing happened. There was no spray, no splash, nothing, no big drama. There was just a distant cheer, which spread towards them as it became apparent to everyone that the wall had absorbed the wave and broken it. The crowd went wild cheering. The landlord hugged them. "God bless the wall!" he cried, kissing them both. Freya leaned back from his embrace but did her best to smile politely. "God bless the wall!" he said again, and somebody grabbed him and they hugged. Five and Freya looked at all the happy, jubilant people, and then at each other. Everyone was shouting God bless the wall! "Ten years' good luck!" cried the landlord. "Ten years! Come on, a drink for all, on the house!" There was further cheering, and Freya and Five felt themselves being swept back in the crowd that hastened back to the inn. Five was quite happy to go back, but Freya plucked him out of the crowd and they remained on the quayside in the bright sunlight. Five looked up at Freya, who was looking out across the bay at the sea wall, thoughtful and silent. "Lady," he said, "it's not every day we get offered a free drink. And if we don't take up the offer they might think it rude." But Freya started walking, off in a different direction entirely, towards the spit of the land from which the sea wall curved around like a protective arm, holding the sea back from the harbour of Memike. Five sighed, and followed. It was a long walk, taking more than an hour, but the wall gradually became closer and closer and the city was left a few miles behind them. It was quieter out here; there were a few houses but the most significant sign of life was the military post and defensive wall where the sea wall met the land. Clearly, it was prohibited for normal mortals to go on the wall. Freya walked up to it. Five followed, footsore and sweaty. A man in the uniform of the Memikan city guard emerged and viewed them with the face of an expert cardplayer. "Morning," said Five, giving a friendly wave, although it was past noon. The man nodded very slightly, looking them both up and down. "Lovely day," said Five. Freya stood for a moment, giving the man a friendly smile. "God greet you, strangers," said the man. Five glanced at Freya. She was looking at him, and she pointed to the wall and to them, and raised her eyebrows. "We were just wondering if it were possible to have a look at the wall," Five said. "No," said the guard. "Ah," said Five. "Only those given the freedom of the king may walk on the wall," said the guard. "I myself am forbidden to." "So how do you keep people off it?" said Five. "Anyone trying to pass this gate without the freedom of the king does not get far," said the guard. "Anyone landing further down the wall soon discovers that the wall has its secrets." "What," Five said, "you mean, traps and such?" "Aye," said the guard. "Nice," said Five. The guard seemed to relax, perhaps because Freya was standing and looking at him with what Five realised with surprise was a smile; she had shifted her weight onto one leg and had one hand on her hip, and it was working on him, the fascinated attention of a tall, good-looking woman. He stepped out of the shadow of the guardhouse and tipped back his helmet slightly. "Aye indeed," he said, "I have stood guard here for fifteen years, and in that time I have seen pirates and others try to cross the wall on foot. You will see, on the seaward side, the embankment is a shallow curve, and it is not hard to step off a boat and walk up it. Only on the landward side is it a vertical drop. Well, when those corsairs reached the summit of the wall, you may be sure that they thought themselves great fellows; but I have seen, with mine own eyes, the very wall swallow them up! Like that! And they were not seen again!" He snapped his fingers at them, his eyes wide, to convey to them the strangeness and terribleness of it. Five was rather chilled to think that the wall actually somehow ate people, but on glancing at Freya and seeing her look of all-too-appropriate wide-eyed horror, he realised that whatever she really thought about this story, she was laying it on for the benefit of the guard. "Aye," said the guard once more, with satisfaction. "There are those who think Memike just a trading port full of inns and adventurers, but this city has a secret life, and it looks after its own. The elders saw to that." "The elders who built this wall, you mean," said Five. "The same," said the guard. "They had mastered arts that we have forgotten existed. But their work endures. That is why it is an honour to guard their work." "You do your ancestors credit, sir," said Five. The guard nodded. He looked Five up and down. "You are from the north?" he said. "We are," said Five. "Your lady is too high-born to speak to the likes of me?" said the guard with a slight edge. Freya gave a charming smile and shook her head. "She's taken a vow of silence," said Five patiently. "Very fitting, in a woman," said the guard, and bowed to Freya. Five caught the glare as it flitted across her face and reflected that the guard would never know how close he'd come to a beating, at that moment. Then Freya glanced at him, and stepped back. "Well," said Five, "we will return to the city. Everyone's celebrating the stirring of Toll." "Toll," said the guard, suddenly serious. "Yes. I will tell you, strangers, since you are strangers, they in the city may rejoice when Toll stirs, but out here, it is no laughing matter." "Really?" said Five. "Why?" "Because when you have seen the sea rise, as I have," said the guard, "and seen it not stop, but keep rising, all to within maybe two men's length of the top of the wall, before it subsides once more - every time that happens, you pray that the wall will hold, and do not mistake me, I am a god-fearing man, but ..." He left off, helplessly, turning and looking at the guardhouse. "You wonder, each time," he murmured. "You wonder. And then the wall holds, and you realise that the elders, god bless their name, knew what they were doing." There was a silence. Freya looked like she was keen to go. Five cleared his throat. "Well, no doubt they did," he said. "We won't keep you any longer, sir. Health to you and yours." "And to you and yours," said the guard. "Enjoy your stay in Memike." He nodded them, stiff once more, and went back into the guardhouse. As they walked back, Five dearly wished to sit down and have a cool beer. He looked up at Freya. "What was that about, then?" he said. "Just having a look at the town defences?" *** Freya ignored him. One thought nagged at her all the way back to the city. What were the elders doing when they made me? Freyas Saga Ch. 10 Back at the inn, the festive spirit that had suddenly risen up in the whole city was in full glow, and the place was packed with revellers. It seemed that the stirring of Toll had the power to make the whole city take the day off and celebrate. Five thought that Freya would want to leave, but he was surprised to see her watching all the happy, drunk people with something like interest. They found that people kept buying them drinks, and Freya gave Five a handful of coins, without needing to tell him to return the favour. Five had a couple of beers and began to feel very happy, but then he noticed that Freya was still on her first one, and he slowed down. At one point in the afternoon, with the sun setting and making the buildings gleam bronze, Five spotted Marco the squire and his girl across the room. Marco still had a bruise on his face, and when the girl nudged him and pointed to Five, Five was glad to see Marco quickly turn away as if he didn't want to have to see them. He had a sip of his beer and looked at Freya. She was looking over at the two, as well. She glanced at Five and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Yeah, that's them," he said. She nodded once. A few minutes later they both saw Marco and the girl heading through the heaving crowd and going out the door. Five was relieved. Then two cheerful drunk young fellows sat at their table and started trying to chat Freya up. She watched them with the same polite detachment that she watched everyone else, and when Five explained that she'd taken a vow of silence, they were more baffled than anything else, but they were quite entertaining nonetheless. As the afternoon turned to evening, the crowd changed, with some of the ones who'd been there from the start weaving out the door and going home, and a more grown-up, more sober crowd coming in. Nonetheless, the landlord ensured that the party atmosphere went on, handing out two bowls of stew for the price of one. Freya and Five ate again, and people were friendly, and it was all lovely. Then two men came in. Five recognised them as the sailors from the quay. They stood in the door, and one of them looked around the room to see if there was anyone he knew. When his gaze fell on Freya, he nudged his mate. The mate looked over and, on seeing Freya, turned around and immediately left, taking his friend with him. It was only a small moment in a crowded bar, but it wasn't lost on everyone. One of the men at the next table saw it, and looked with curiosity at the olive-skinned, short-haired young woman sitting with the flabby young man. Five saw their looks, and he saw Freya notice them too. The man at the table whispered to his friend. The friend looked too, craning over, and on seeing Freya he nudged another friend at the same table. The other friend glanced at her, and did a double take, peering as if he wasn't sure whether or not he knew her. But he clearly felt that he did. He leaned over, staring at Freya as if trying to get her attention. She ignored him, sipping her weak beer and letting her eyes rove across the crowd. Abruptly, she got up and went outside to the inn's garden, to take the air. *** Outside it was warm and the trees in the garden smelled herbal and refreshing, taking the edge of the sharp smell of the city streets. Freya looked up at the stars and let her mind be cleared by the night. The buzz and din of the inn faded. She liked looking at the stars. It pleased her to know that those patterns were fixed; that the Apothecary would always be doling out his medicine, that the Anchor was always chained to the Ship, that the Hare would always be just a few steps ahead of the Fox. In real life, she thought, I will always kill you, Hare; but in the stars, at least, you always get away. Good luck to you. She looked over to the eastern sky and saw, out of the corner of her eye, a figure appearing in the doorway. She pretended not to have seen it and turned her face away, but she felt rather than heard the man walking slowly up to her. A voice said discreetly, "Good evening, lady." She looked over her shoulder at him and nodded curtly. "It seems to me a shame that one so beautiful should be so alone," he said. Oh, hell-on-earth, Freya thought. She looked at him again, a hard stare, this time, for a long moment, and then resumed her study of the night sky. "You are interested in the stars?" he said. "It's in the stars that we should meet this night. It can only be fate that would bring one so lovely as you to the side of one, such as I, who can appreciate such beauty as yours." Freya ignored him. "And," he added after a careful pause, "such glory." Freya turned slowly to face him, wary. "You think you can go unrecognised in a city like this forever, Freya Aelfrethe?" the man said. "I had heard rumours of you being killed in a mission up north. Killed by a worm, I believe. But I see with my eyes that it is not true. Tell me of your adventures. I have long admired you, and would delight to hear how you escaped." Freya said nothing, but kept watching him. The man was young, well-dressed, fair-spoken, with an accent of the Northern nobility, but Freya could not place him. He looked at her, his handsome face smiling, well-fed, clean, confident. Freya said nothing, and did not move. The young man's smile began to fade slightly. "Well?" he said. "What happened?" Freya was silent. "You do not speak," he said. "Have I offended you?" After a long moment, Freya shook her head no. "Good," he said. "Then, if you would, please tell me how you escaped from this worm." Freya felt very calm, very still. She knew that if she did nothing, gave the man nothing, he would eventually go away. "Did nothing befall you?" he said, in an innocent tone. "Is it possible you escaped unscathed?" Freya said nothing. "Because the rumour that I heard," said the young man, his rising anger making his cheeks flush, although he kept smiling, "is that you did not get away unscathed. Do you want to know what I heard?" Freya waited a moment, then nodded slowly yes. "The rumour that I heard," said the young man, walking up to her and looking her in the eye, very close to her, "is that the worm had its way with you." Freya made an effort to calm her breathing, but at such closeness, she could tell that he perceived her pounding heart, the clench of her jaw. "Ah," he said. "So do you deny it?" Freya stayed rigidly still, staring back at him, unblinking. "You don't deny it," he said. "I am fascinated. One hears stories, of course. I wonder what it was like. How you felt, when that creature burgled the treasure-house of your chastity. To lose one's maidenhead to an unthinking beast ... it must have been quite a sight to see, I would think." Freya stared back at him for a long moment, and then lowered her gaze. "Fallen indeed," said the man. "So at long last, there is room at the top for a new champion. Now that Freya Aelfrethe's virtue is gone like the snows of winter. And snow is very pretty, but in warmer weather, it must melt." He reached out and grabbed her crotch and she flinched and stepped quickly back, out of his reach. He There are six possible attacks from here, at this range, she thought. His groin. His throat. His stomach. His face. His neck. His kidney. I could kill him before he had time to move. "So you will spread your legs for a worm, but not for a fellow kinsman?" said the man, cocking his head. "Do you not know me, Freya Aelfrethe?" Freya stood, avoiding his eye, her fists clenched. He stared back, his face red, twitching with anger. "I see why you have not gone back to Hargest," he said. "You can hardly go back now, with your virtue taken by a beast. Look at you. If you were yourself, if that worm had not taken your skill as well as your maidenhead, you would be punishing me for speaking as I speak. Yet you let me talk." Freya did nothing. "Well," he said, his jaw twitching with frustration, "the time will come, Freya Aelfrethe, when those who you rejected will come to take you, whether you will have us or no. And I will be the first in line. Think on it." He stared at her, and then he stepped forward and grabbed her by the neck and planted a kiss on her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Freya let him do it, and did nothing. Then he let go, and, almost weeping with frustration, he turned on her and stomped back into the inn. Freya hawked and spat, and wiped her mouth slowly. She waited a moment, to let herself calm down. Then she went back inside. *** Five had seen Freya go out, then he saw the young rich bloke going out after her. He had wanted to go and check that she was all right, but if anyone in this room wasn't at risk from a young rich bloke who looked like he didn't know one end of a knife from the other, it was her. He got another drink and sat nursing it. After a while, the young rich bloke came back in, looking pissed off, and he sat back at his table and took a long pull at his wine. A few minutes later, Freya re-entered, looking sombre. "All well?" Five asked. Freya nodded, but Five kept an eye on her, and as her eyes surveyed the crowd, he saw her absently chew at her thumbnail. All's not well, he thought. *** Freya watched the crowd, her two beers making her brooding and thoughtful. I have made a grave error. Showing Marten Beka my sigils. Going to his room. Letting him know what had befallen me. Lying with him. Proving myself to him. He is at heart a good man. Yet I had to do all that before he was bold enough to offer me his service. Before, I would have demanded, and a man like him would have given, based on nothing but my name. No longer. When any man finds that I am alive, and knows me to be no longer a virgin, no matter what esteem he held me in before, he will not hold me in so much now, unless ... Must I then fuck, fight and defeat every man whose loyalty I need, in order to prove myself to him? No. A thousand times no. No man need do that; why need I, who am better than any man? It took this for me to finally share the fate of all women. The gutter of fucking, Bunafashazir called it. Gutter indeed. Djineba was higher than me, not just a general but a queen and a mother, and yet the minute our men laid hands on her she was nothing but a body for them to violate. My name. Freya Aelfrethe. How sweet it was to be recognised by Marten Beka, and to be treated as I was. But now, with that fool in the garden. How much I thought my honour depended on my skill. I have been blind and stupid, once again. All that goes with being Freya, everything I have earned, is now a burden to me. Someone behind her said loudly "Freya Aelfrethe?" Freya turned in her seat and regarded the speaker. He was a warrior, clearly, still in the lighter parts of his gear, a northman, weatherbeaten and scarred but young, younger than Freya. He had a red face and his eyes were watering and he was drunk. The other men at his table looked to be in the same state, but they were all watching him, and looking at Freya and Five. "You Freya Aelfrethe?" said the man. "You look like her." His neck was tattooed; four men slain, house of Angrim, and some battle sigils, all ones she had herself. She looked at him carefully. "You've got her sigils," he said. "But you look different. What are you doing here? We heard you'd been killed up north by some worm, or something." Freya looked at the other men, all of them watching her with a certain wary respect, just in case she was herself. "It is her," said one of the men. "Definitely." "Why've you cut your hair?" said the first man, smiling but looking perplexed. "And who's this? Why didn't you go back to Hargest?" Wait. Freya remained still, watching them all, her gaze going from one to the other. Wait. "What, are you struck dumb, lady?" he said. "She's taken a vow of silence," said Five. "A vow of silence?" the man said. "But Freya Aelfrethe wouldn't take a vow of fucking silence. What about her voice? What happened?" "Maybe it was the worm," said one of the men. "Maybe it robbed her tongue." "We heard stories," said the first man. "We heard you were killed, but ..." Freya sat and looked back at him, waiting. The smile slowly faded from his face. "What would you be doing here?" he said. "It dunt make any sense. You'd be back in Hargest." "Maybe it's not her," said another man. "If it's not her," said the first man, "why's she got her sigils?" "This is her," said Five, "and I'm telling you, she's taken a vow of silence." "Not what I heard," said a third man. "I heard she was definitely killed." "Not true," said Five. "It didn't kill her." "Who are you?" said the first man. "I'm her squire," said Five. "Freya doesn't have a squire," said the man. "I know. I fought with her. Remember me, do you?" he said to her, his red-rimmed eyes focusing on Freya again. His face hardened with anger. Little man. If you only knew how many I have fought near, and do not remember. She shook her head no. "I fought alongside you," he said. "I had your back on the windward side of Sour Hill. I saved you from those southland spearmen. You telling me you don't remember Tom Gerdby?" Freya stared at him. Sour Hill, two years ago. A side action at Narfelsdorf. It was a warm day with spots of rain and a light wind. At some time after noon I was working my away around the windward side and there was a group of seven or eight spearmen making for the summit. I had three good men with me and there were a couple at the foot of the hill, too far away to be of any use. My men and I had bows drawn and notched and we were drawing close to the spearmen, and just before we were within range to stop and shoot, someone at the foot of the hill gave a shout like 'Defend the maiden' or 'Help the maiden', I do not recall exactly, and began to charge up the hill towards us, and thus alerted, the spearmen turned and saw us, and one of them threw his spear and wounded one of my men, not badly, but surprise was lost. I was still not within range but had to take cover, and what should have been an easy kill became a brawl. We won, but at the end of it the imbecile who had shouted was coming towards me to greet me, and my anger was so hot that I turned and went to a different part of the field rather than face him. So that was you, was it, Tom Gerdby. I do remember you. If I had known your name I would have had you flogged for breaking rank. And if I had had you flogged for breaking rank, you would have remembered Freya Aelfrethe very differently. You would not have hailed me like an old comrade. You would have feared the attention of the general who punished you for being the fool and the braggart that you are. *** "You telling me you don't remember Tom Gerdby?" said the man. Freya paused for a long moment, and slowly shook her head no again. The man blinked. "You know what, lads?" he said to one of the men at his table. "I'm not so bloody sure, now. Freya Aelfrethe wouldn't treat an old comrade like that. She'd have a bit more respect." "She's got the sigils," one of the men said. "Anybody can paint sigils on herself," said Tom Gerdby. Five glanced at Freya and saw her start with indignation. "Oh," said Tom Gerdby, "sorry, have I offended you? Scuse me, miss, but Freya is a warrior. A true warrior. And she wouldn't sit there like you do, all cold and haughty. She'd remember me. I had her back. I saved her from them southland spearmen." Freya didn't move, but kept on looking at the man. Five saw the indignant look fade from her face, and she became impassive, unreadable as an inscription in a foreign language. "Freya wouldn't be sitting in a pub keeping herself to herself," said Tom Gerdby. "She'd buy a drink for the man who looked out for her." Freya reached into her pocket and held out a coin, enough to buy a round for his whole table. He knocked it flying out of her hand. "I don't want your money," he said. "Cause you're not her." The whole bar fell silent. "Look, I promise," Five began. "Shut the fuck up, girlboy," said Tom Gerdby. "I'm talking to Miss Liar here. Tarting herself up as someone she's not and stealing a dead woman's glory. If you're real northerners you'd know that back home we hang people for that." "You need to sit down," said Five, terrified that Freya was going to explode and cause mayhem, but she was curiously still, and when Five looked at her, he was astonished to see that she looked chillingly unlike herself. She normally sat very upright and stared at people directly, but she was sitting oddly hunched, and looking up at the man, and her face was pale, and her eyes darted from him to others and back to him. "If you're her," said Tom Gerdby, "if you're Freya fucking Aelfrethe, you'd have killed me for saying that. Stand up. Go on." Freya shook her head no, a tiny furtive movement as if she wanted only him to see it, but everyone saw it. The rich bloke at his table saw it, and he was frowning, as if puzzled. "Stand up, bitch," said Tom Gerdby. Slowly, Freya rose to her feet, her chair scraping backwards across the stone with a hollow noise. Five looked around the room. The people were looking at her. People who'd regarded her with interest, or thrown her looks, earlier in the evening, intrigued by her handsomeness and air of calm dignity, were now looking at her with distaste. She didn't look so handsome now that she was so clearly uncomfortable with all this attention, and with the particular attention of Tom Gerdby, who walked right up to her. "Fight me," said Tom Gerdby. "Fight me, bitch. If you're Freya, you could take me with one stroke. Go on." Freya stared at him, her eyes wide, and slowly shook her head no, but this time ... it was abject. Five was horrified. What was the matter with her? Had she been possessed? Was she experiencing the worm again? Was he wrong? Was she not Freya? No, that was impossible - it was insane to think that somehow the real Freya had been replaced by her double. It was Freya, but why in god's name didn't she make a move to show the man who she was? Five was sitting behind and to the left of Freya as she faced Tom Gerdby, and he put a hand on her back to give her courage. Come on, he thought. Stand up for yourself. Do something. "You should be fuckin' ashamed," said Tom Gerdby, staring at the hunched, nervous woman in front of him. "Swanning in here and letting on that you're the greatest fucking hero of the age. Who are you? An actor? A whore? A thief?" "Go on," shouted a voice. "If you're her, fucking prove it," came another. Freya glanced around the room, clearly terrified. "You're not her," said Tom, grinning bleakly. "I fucking knew it. The world is full of liars, lads. And this bitch is one of the worst of them." He turned his back on her and walked towards the table. Now's the time, Five thought, she's going to show him, she's going to put such a beating on him. But she didn't move. She folded her arms around herself and hugged herself, and averted everyone's eye. Tom Gerdby picked up his mug of beer, spun around and flung the contents in her face. She gasped with shock and stood there, the beer dripping off her, soaking her shirt. The room erupted in hostile laughter. "That's Freya Aelfrethe!" he said. "I'd know her any day!" His mates roared with laughter. He grabbed Freya and slapped her face hard, once, then twice. She made a hoarse scream that turned into a sob. He slapped her on her arse through her breeches and she stood there and hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Freyas Saga Ch. 10 "You fucking liar!" he roared. "How dare you! How dare you tart yourself up like one whose arse you're not fit to wipe! If Freya Aelfrethe were alive, she'd have your head on a fucking stick!" "Tell the bitch!" someone shouted. Freya stumbled blindly towards the door, and Tom Gerdby grabbed her by the hair and dragged her the rest of the way. Five grabbed their stuff and followed, feeling sick. The rich bloke wasn't even paying attention. He was eyeing up a serving wench. Freya made another hoarse, pitiful scream but she didn't resist as he hurled her out the door and she sprawled face down in the gutter. She rolled onto her back, her hands over her face, sobbing uncontrollably. Five pushed through the crowd and then felt a boot colliding with his own arse and he, too, went down in the mud. Freya scrambled clumsily to her feet and stumbled off into the darkness. "If you fucking posers come round here again, we'll make you scream!" Tom Gerdby bellowed at them, and he got a clap on the back. As Five gathered their muddy gear up, he heard the door shut and someone propose a toast to the memory of Freya Aelfrethe, and a hundred drunken men shouted their assent. *** Tom drained his beer and somebody ordered another round. He was patted on the back and told that he'd told that bitch what to do with herself and it felt good to have done something right, showing up that con-woman, or whatever she was. The beer was put in front of him and he drank. Funny, though. She hadn't half looked like her - but appearances could deceive, obviously. It wasn't her. It couldn't have been her. Freya Aelfrethe was dead, and he'd never get to drink with her and remember that time at Sour Hill, when he'd once shared her glory, just for a moment. He looked at the lads, who were still celebrating showing up the con artist and her lapdog boy. Your friends were what was real. He'd been right to be suspicious. Sending her off in disgrace fixed the balance of the world. One of those stupid things goes on in cities. It wasn't her. No. It wasn't her, he told himself, and, satisfied, he had another drink and turned to what the others were saying. *** Five scrambled in the direction he'd seen Freya going off in. "Lady!" he called. "Lady! Wait!" She had turned down a dark alley. He went after her, but he could see nothing and stopped. It smelled of piss and rotting seaweed. He turned around in the darkness, and then someone grabbed him and pulled him into a doorway. "Lady?" he gasped. "Is that you? What the fuck happened? Are you all right?" As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he made her out, standing there, wiping the mud and crap off herself. "Sssshh," she said. "What the fuck was that all about?" he said. "What happened to you? Why didn't you tell him?" "Sssshh," she said again, softer. "I don't understand how you can let them treat you like that!" he said, feeling near to tears with frustration. "You're the greatest bloody warrior of the age! Get a grip on yourself! You need to go back there and show them who you are!" She shook her head no. "What?" he cried. She angrily laid a finger to his lips and he forced himself to be quiet. She pulled him further down the alleyway, into the darkness, and went back to wiping the mud off herself. "Lady," he hissed, almost weeping, "what the hell? What the bloody hell? I thought you wanted to raise a company. How could you let him do that? You've just made a whole room of people think that you're some stupid woman going round pretending to be Freya Aelfrethe!" She stared at him, and clouted him on the side of the head, not too hard but hard enough to sting, and gestured: Think. "Why can't you just tell me?" he whined. She shook her head no, and clouted him again, and grabbed his shoulders and manoeuvred them into some dim light from the street, and he blinked and saw her better. That was when he realised that she wasn't upset or scared as she had been in the inn. Not at all. If anything she was eerily calm, staring at him with her wide eyes, urging him silently to figure out what she was doing. So there was a point to this. She had been ... acting. But why act that, why pretend to be a liar, why let herself be hit and jeered at and humiliated? He thought hard. The guy called her name and she looked at him, then he went on as if she was herself, and she gave him nothing back. He said that he'd saved her once at some battle. She didn't remember him. Five thought it a bit unlikely that that idiot had even got near her at any battle, but. He said she wasn't her, and rather than stand up for herself she buckled, so now he thinks she's a liar, and she didn't fight back, so he humiliated her and beat her, and now he thinks he's scared her, so now ... And then, at last, he got it, and her plan was laid out neatly before him. It was a trick, of the kind Five had never known her to pull before. She'd made herself vanish. "I get it," he said. "You've just made a whole room of people think that you're just some stupid woman going round who will never again pretend that she's Freya Aelfrethe." He couldn't see her face properly in the darkness, but she rewarded him with a kiss on the forehead. He smiled. "Why?" he whispered. "Freya needs to be dead for a while," she breathed in his ear. He nodded. She pulled back from him and gave him another look, that you're-with-me-are-you-not look that always buoyed him up, and he nodded again. She hugged him briefly, then let go and pulled her shirt close around her neck. "Jacket," she whispered. He nodded obediently, and opened the pack and found a dark linen tunic for her. She took it, held it up and put it on. It had a hood, and she raised the hood up over her head and turned and gave him a look, to say, Are we going? "Lady," he said. Freya looked momentarily impatient. "You're wearing something on your head," he said quietly, wanting to jump up and down and shout it from the roofs. She paused, and it was as if she had just then realised it. She touched the hood with her fingers, and then looked at him, and she gave him a look like, Well, what, people do that all the time, and she set off down the dark alleyway in the direction of the quay. Five followed her. They walked quickly through the dark streets, Freya threading her way through the celebrating crowds, Five hurrying behind her. Secrecy, Freya thought. I need silence and darkness, not to walk in daylight pretending that I can be who I was. To be who I was asks more strength or time than I have to give. Damn! Damn my stupidity! I should have thought of it before, but my mind is still fogged. Bunafashazir would say that it is because I am not yet healed, but how am I to know when I am healed? When I am as swift in decision and his sure of myself as I was before? What if that day never comes? The only path is to keep moving, and to be ever watchful of what I do and say, and to have those about me who will do likewise. Friends. Freya stopped and waited for Five to catch up, and when he reached her, puffing and red-faced under the burden of his bag, she clicked her fingers and pointed to it. "What?" he said. She pointed to the bag and to herself. "Do you want something in the bag?" he said. She shook her head no and pointed more clearly, she thought, to the bag itself. "Is there something wrong?" he said. Give me the bag, she mouthed. "Why?" he said. "To share," she whispered in his ear, so that he'd hear it over the din of the street party still going on. "What you mean, share?" he said. "I'm the squire. I carry your stuff." She pointed to herself again, more emphatically. To her surprise, Five looked indignant. "Oh no, lady," he said. "No no no. You don't go taking heavy weights off me 'cos you think I can't carry them. This is about duty. I'm sorry, no. I'll carry this, thanks." But, Freya mouthed, and gestured helplessly. "I know I'm behind, I know I'm not as fit as you," he said, "but I'm not gonna start 'aving you do my job as well as yours. You do the fighting, I do the 'eavy lifting. When I get good enough at fighting to stand beside you in a battle, then you can carry a bag. Not before." She regarded him: he was sweaty, red-faced and breathless, but also proud and stubborn. "So we're going in disguise now," he said. Freya nodded. "Even if we're in disguise," he said, "no-one's going to take you for my servant. It won't look real." She rolled her eyes and gave in, and went back to walking. He walked harder, keeping a pace with her, and she glanced down at him to make sure he wasn't working himself into a faint. "Won't I need a disguise too?" he said. "Loads of people have seen me with you." She glanced at him and nodded. "Have you decided what we're going to do?" he said. She laid a finger on his lips and he nodded. *** They walked and walked until they arrived outside the library. When Moyra came out, Freya went up to her. Moyra watched her approach. Freya took her arm and steered her into the nearest inn. Freya went into the darkest corner and they sat at the table. "Tell him," she whispered to Moyra. Moyra glanced at Freya, and turned to Five. "Your lady and I," she said, "have been looking up everything we can find on worms." "I'd got that," said Five. "A lot is said about them," said Moyra. "Very little is known for sure. The only thing that everyone agrees on is that they are dangerous. They come in a lot of shapes and sizes, from a large dog to the sort of creature that attacked your lady here." Freya involuntarily touched her hand to her throat. "Some are said to be able to fly," Moyra went on. "Some are said to be able to breathe fire, or if not actual fire then some corrosive liquid that can maim. They are predatory, meaning they kill for food. They are not all that fussy about what they eat, but they seem to have a preference for humans. The one that attacked your lady was ... unusual. I have never heard of a worm that wanted to behave in such a way towards a human. It's possible that that's why lady Freya survived, because there are no records of anyone ever surviving an attack from a worm before her." Five glanced at Freya, who was staring at the table, grim-faced. "Why?" Five said. "Are they such good fighters?" "They're fast, and they're vicious, but that's not all," said Moyra. "The story goes that anyone who fights a worm for long enough loses the will to win. They are said to feed on the spirit as well as on flesh, which is why slowly eating its victim alive is a worm's favourite death for its prey. How this should be, or whether it is even so, I cannot say. All I can say is that in the innumerable stories of people fighting with worms, the people invariably submit and are eaten. Swords, arrows, all are useless. No weapon has ever pierced a worm's flesh." "Until now," said Five. "Until now," Moyra agreed. "Whatever about your lady, she was more than the worm could swallow." "So how do people get rid of them?" said Five. "They don't," said Moyra. "Sometimes they come to an arrangement with a worm and throw it some livestock from time to time. Sometimes the worm just dies. They are creatures of flesh, not immortal." "Right," said Five. "So ... why are you telling me all this?" Moyra turned to Freya, with an expectant look on her face. Freya paused, still staring at the table, and then looked up at Five, and her eyes were dark and gleaming, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the look on her face. "We are going to hunt them," Freya whispered, "and we are going to eradicate them." "Or die trying," said Five. Freya shook her head. "If fighting them makes you lose to them," said Moyra, "then you will simply have to not fight them, and find some other way of destroying them. I am no warrior. I can't tell you what that is." Freya patted Moyra affectionately on the shoulder. "It looks like that's our problem," said Five to Moyra. "Well," he said to Freya, feeling helpless but strangely exhilarated, "do we at least have a map?" Freya took out a large folded map. "Great," said Five, "how about a plan?" Freya shook her head no. "Are we going to get one?" Five said. Freya nodded. "Right," said Five. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. When are we off?" "Now," said Freya, not whispering, in a firm but dry and hoarse voice, and stood up. "Now?" said Five. "It's the middle of the night." Freya nodded. "I suppose it would be more secret," Five said. Freya reached over, squeezed the back of Five's neck and pulled them together so that their foreheads touched. They stood like that for a moment, Five slightly embarrassed at the intimacy of it, wondering what Moyra thought of it. Five was excited, scared, his skin tingling, thinking about it. A journey into the wild, in the middle of the night, to find dragons and think up new ways of slaying them. Well, this was what being with Freya Aelfrethe was supposed to be about. It was more interesting than sitting around this city eating funny stew and waiting for the lady to decide what to do. Freya drew apart slightly from Five and looked into his eyes, that expectant, challenging look he'd come to love and also to dread. "We'll do this," he said. Freya nodded. "We're going to do something that no-one's ever done before." Freya kept staring at him. He could feel her willing him to have courage, to feel in his bones that it could be done. The feel of her strong hand on the back of his neck, the wide-eyed sharpness of her look, the slight smile on her mouth as she stared at him, the closeness of her tall frame, were more rousing than any bugle he'd ever known. He took a deep breath. "I'm in," he said. "Let's go." She abruptly breathed out, and he realised to his surprise that she'd been holding her breath. She pulled him in and gave him a quick, fierce kiss on the mouth, then she let go of him and turned to Moyra and embraced her. "I think you're mad," said Moyra matter-of-factly. "But if you can do this, you'll have earned yourself a name forever." Freya chuckled softly and squeezed Moyra, then let go of her. "Thanks, miss," said Five. "I don't know if this'll work, but it looks like we've got our purpose back." "I would go with you," said Moyra, "but my work is here, and also, I want to live." "That's fair," Five admitted, hauling his pack onto his back. Freya let out a hoarse chuckle and helped Five square the pack. Then they went out once more, into the street. Moyra looked at them both, and her grey eyes narrowed with compassion. "Good luck be with you both," she said. "And with you, miss," said Five. Freya bowed to Moyra, who inclined her head. Then Freya set off, and Five followed after. *** They stopped outside a barber shop that also offered tattoos, and Freya peered in through the open door. Perfect. She grabbed him by the arm and led him in. He managed to squeeze through the door and left his pack down on the floor. The barber, who had been sitting in his own chair drinking some kind of spiced tea, drained his mug and stood up. Freya nodded politely and the barber nodded back, and indicated the chair. Five went over and sat down. He hadn't had a haircut since the army had given him one months earlier and his brown hair was a shaggy mop. Yet another of the things about him that was shapeless and unformed. "So," he said to Freya, "you're paying, what were you thinking?" Freya looked at Five's head critically, and then pointed to her own. "Do it like hers," Five told the barber, and he set to work. In a little while, Five's hair had been drastically trimmed back to the same severe, princely style as Freya's. Freya nodded and indicated to Five to get up. The barber stood back and Five got up out of the chair. Freya sat down, and Five peered at his reflection in the little bit of polished metal that served the barber as a hand mirror. I look like her fat younger brother, he thought, then noticed that he wasn't as fat as he had been; his face wasn't so potato-shaped, and his jaw had an actual line to it. Well, he thought, almost handsome. Sort of. He didn't like looking at himself in the mirror, he'd never liked it, and he put the mirror down with a sense of relief. The barber looked down at Freya, who pulled open her shirt and revealed her sigils. If the barber recognised them, he made no sign of it. Freya sat for a moment, composing what she wanted to say into the quickest way of saying it. "Make it so none could read it," she whispered, "who did not know it were there." The barber looked puzzled. Five got the point. "She means, cover them up with something," he said, "so that it just looks like a picture, but if you know what they were, you could decipher them." "Ah," said the barber, his sallow face clearing. "You want me to hide them in the forest." Freya nodded emphatically. "It will take time," he said. "Three hours, maybe." "We'll need to talk to people," said Five. "I could find Marten Beka while you're here." Freya nodded, clasped his hand and squeezed, than sat back and watched as the barber wiped her chest with a spirit-soaked rag, and then took his needle and set to work. Five put down his pack and went off to do some explaining. *** Marten Beka sidled out into the night and stood against the wall. He adjusted his clothing and, after a moment, stood there listening with pleasure to the sound of his own piss running out of the courtyard into the gutter. "Scuse me," came a soft voice from a dark corner. Marten gave a start and was annoyed with himself. "Who's there?" he said. "Like spying on blokes having a whizz, do you?" "Not spying," said the voice. "Came to give you a message." The figure emerged from the darkness; an average-sized sort in dark clothes with short hair. There was something familiar about the voice, though. Marten squinted. "It's from Freya Aelfrethe," said the youth, and Marten remembered the curiously high-pitched voice. The youth looked different, though, with a new haircut; harder, less young. "Oh right," said Marten. "You're the youth what beat the shit out of that squire of mine." "Sorry about that," said the youth, not sounding very sorry. "He did beat it out of me." "Fair's fair," said Marten. "It's over now. He's still angry but he'll get over it." "He may not have to," said the youth. "I came to tell you we're leaving the city." "Right," said Marten. "But you've just got here." "The lady's decided that she wants to do things in secret for now," said the youth, "and she can't do that in this city." "Right," said Marten, nodding. "I heard some rumour that there's a woman going around pretending to be her, or was. Got found out, slapped in the face and sent off with a flea in her ear, by all accounts." "Yeah," said the youth, "and if anyone asks, she had you fooled as well, all right?" "What?" said Marten. "You want me to pretend that I got taken in by some conwoman?" "Yeah," said the youth. "But I'll look like an idiot." "Can't help that," said the youth. "Watch your tongue, sonny," said Marten, stepping towards the youth, and Marten could see him grow pale, but not move. "I was fighting for my people when you were sucking on your mother's tit." "I never sucked my mother's tit," said the youth. "She died." Freyas Saga Ch. 10 Marten paused. "That's not my fault," he said. "I never said it was," said the youth. "Look, sir, I'm just here to give a message. I don't want to give cheek." "You should be a bit more respectful to those above you," Marten said. "All due respect, sir, you're not above me," said the youth. "The only person I answer to is Freya Aelfrethe." Marten rubbed his chin. "I offered my service to her," he said. "Does this mean she doesn't want it?" "No, not at all," said the youth. "She hopes that one day she may rely on your hospitality." "You're just trusting to my good word, then," Marten said. "You don't want any collateral." "Let's just say that, until she says different, if you break your word, and tell anyone that you know her to be walking the earth, and not an impostor, she'll be disappointed," said the youth. "And that would be regrettable, would it?" said Marten, mimicking the lad's suave tone. "The last time she was disappointed," the youth said, "she broke my fucking nose." Marten was silent, inspecting the boy's nose. It had a slight tilt to one side. "Ah," he said at last. The youth looked defensive. "Well, she fixed it," he said. "Mostly." "So I see," said Marten. "In that case, tell her she can trust me." "All right, sir," said the youth, and he inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you. Sorry to have interrupted you." "I was having a piss," said Marten. "It wasn't something I needed to work hard at." "Good fortune to you and yours, sir," said the youth, and once again Marten remembered how good the lad was at remembering form. "And to you and yours, son," he said. "You're all right." The youth backed away, and started to turn. "Here," said Marten, "wait a moment." The youth - what was his fucking name again? - stopped and turned. "There used to be a custom," Marten said, "when I was a lad, for older warriors to give, sort of, gifts, to younger ones beginning their careers, as a sort of, way of, you know. Passing down what had been passed to them. They don't do it no more, not sure why. Anyway, when I was your age, I knew a bloke name of Jem Granius. Good fighter, smart man. He was kind to me and showed me a few things. Got me out of trouble more than once. He gave me this. You should have it." Marten unhooked from his belt an implement of metal and bone, and handed it to the youth. Five looked at it. He had no idea what it was. It was dented and scratched, but the bone handle shone from being worn smooth over years of use. "It does this," said Marten, and pulling at various bits of it, he unfolded a chisel-like tool, a sharp pointed metal spike and an iron tool with a piece of polished quartz set into it like a window. "On a sunny day," said Marten, "you can light a fire with that thing." "I already know how to light a fire," said Five, and catching Marten's look, he added, "Sorry, I mean, yes, sir, that's very useful." "That's not the good bit," said Marten. "This is the good bit." He folded them all back, then squeezed the tool in a certain way and a sharp, polished blade the length of half a hand flicked out of it in an instant. "It locks," said Marten, "so it won't collapse on your hand. Saved my arse more than once, that." "Thank you, sir," said Five. "I'll keep it safe." "Use it, though," said Marten. "I will, " said Five. "What happened to the man gave it to you?" "He died," said Marten. "Years ago, at Festeburg." Festeburg. The worst disaster of the war. Five had only heard of it; he'd been a twelve-year-old junior squire at the time, after the relatively cushy battle of Gamply Forest. The stories told about Festeburg had the power to rob you of your lunch and your sleep. A pocket knife, however handy, wouldn't have been any use at Festeburg. "Were you there too?" he said. Marten nodded, and to stop all that catching up with him, he quickly said "Well, anyway, look after it. Useful bit of kit." "I will," said the youth. "Thank you." He pressed the catch, folded the blade back into the knife and slipped it into his pocket. "Farewell, lad," said Marten. The youth nodded, and he opened the courtyard door and slipped out quietly. *** Five returned to the barber's shop, laden with supplies he'd dashed around buying. Freya was still in the chair, pale and exhausted, a wad of bloody cloth shoved between her shirt and her breast to soak up the blood trickling from the tattoo. Five walked over and caught his breath with shock. The tattoo spread over the entire left side of her chest, from her collarbone down to the nipple on her left breast, and from her left armpit to the breastbone. The tattooist was gently sponging the blood off and dabbing it with clear liquid from a bottle that Five guessed was some kind of spirit. The tattoo depicted a forest, writhing with life, the trees more involved with each other than trees had a right to be, leaves and limbs and roots running and growing over each other. The forest was lurking with figures that you could hardly make out; an army, it seemed, but a battle was either about to start, or was in progress, or had finished, depending on where you looked. The various sigils of the different battles Freya had fought in were interwoven with the undergrowth, some of them disguised as flowers, others as ruined buildings among the trees, others as spirits moving among the dead. The sigil of Hargest, a mailed fist clutching a sword, was now attached to the arm of a skeleton who was trampling the bodies; Death himself, but perhaps not, because Death was usually shown as looking dead pleased with himself, while this Death looked anxious, like he were keen to get his work done before time ran out. The sigil for the southlands, a sun and moon embracing each other, was on a sheet held wrapped around herself by a dark-haired woman who glared out of the picture, apparently oblivious of the carnage going around her; she stared accusingly at the viewer with such ferocity that Five had to drag his eyes away from her. The most conspicuous feature of Freya's original tattoos had been the seventy-six little stick figures representing the men she'd killed, but now that the figures were immersed in the depths of this forest, each of the seventy-six men had been touched up in some way, given some individual quirk, so that they no longer looked like a bare enumeration of bodies, which was the style of the northern heralds, but like men with stories of their own: one was weeping, another looked eager, another was green with illness, another was carrying his dog on his shoulder, another was waving a mug of ale and singing, clearly drunk out of his mind; another stared blankly at the blood gushing from his own stomach. All of them were marching towards that anxious figure of Death, roving back and forth at their front line, mowing them down as they reached him, turning them into blank-eyed skeletons at his feet. Further down the picture, as the forest thinned out, the tattooist had added further touches. The most conspicuous was a swirling, angry, red-and-gold serpent menacing a lone female figure standing with her back to the viewer, and a complex, abstract knotwork design on Freya's left breast which centred on her nipple. The knotwork spilled down from the tip of her breast like a river of colour and order flowing into the wood, and the female figure trailed her hand in the varicoloured flow of the design, as if drawing strength from it. The serpent seemed to emerge from the forest as if it had been created by the combined effect of all the agony and chaos of the battle. Five noted that the female figure, although clad in armour, had a broken sword, and stood with her head hanging and her shoulders hunched, as if at the last extremity of her strength, whereas the serpent was rearing up before her, its eyes and mouth blazing with power and greed. Five looked at Freya, who had briefly closed her eyes. She opened them again and smiled at him wearily. "Bloody hell," Five said. "I thought you just wanted to disguise it." Freya gave him an inquiring look. "Oh. I found Marten Beka. He'll say that he was taken in," said Five. "At least, he said he would." Freya went "Hm," and gave her chest a last dab with the cloth before gingerly closing her shirt. She levered herself upright and got off the chair and stood for a moment. She's lost blood, he thought, and he reached into his pocket where he always carried something and handed her a dried sausage wrapped in paper. She took it and bit into it and breathed deeply, chewing. Then she stood aside and gestured to the chair and looked at him. "What?" he said. "You want me to get one too?" She nodded her head. "Oh come on," he said. "It'll take hours." "Not the same one," said the tattooist irritably. "I never do same one." "What would you do?" said Five. "You are young," said the tattooist. "You have few stories. I do small one." "Please, said Five to Freya. "We haven't time." She nodded implacably, still chewing. "All right, then," said Five and climbed slowly into the chair. The tattooist opened Five's shirt, examined the few sigils on Five's chest - just routine battle honours, none of them signifying any kind of achievement. He absently dabbed at Five's chest with the spirit-soaked cloth, then bent over Five and started to work. Five didn't like the sight of blood being drawn, and stared at the ceiling, biting his lip, as the tattooist worked swiftly and decisively. He never liked getting tattooed but at least the guy's skills were everything that reputation had said. The first few cuts, for the outline, were the most painful. After that, the quick in-and-out of the needle was easier. By the time Freya had finished eating and gone outside to check the weather and come back and inspected the designs on the walls, the tattooist was done. He poured spirit on the rag and wiped carefully and Five gasped as it stung. "Finish," said the tattooist, and Freya came back and looked at it and nodded approval. Five looked down at his chest. There were two figures, lightly drawn, each armoured, one taller than the other, standing with their bodies turned to each other but their faces looking defiantly outwards, confronting the viewer. Five was impressed to see the skill with which the tattooist had rendered Freya's basic face and his own, in just a few lines. Also, the smaller one was the only one with weapon drawn, standing in a slightly protective attitude of the taller one, a calming hand on the taller one's shoulder: Don't worry, I've got this, was the meaning of the smaller one's entire attitude. Then Five noticed something about the smaller one. "Hang on," he said. "You've done me as a bloody girl." It was true. The smaller one had breasts, noticeable under the tunic, and Five's whole body had been subtly feminised, with a narrower waist and a more defined face. Not such a bad-looking girl, but still, a girl. "You've done me as a girl!" Five said again, feeling hot and indignant. The tattooist peered at the tattoo, peered at Five, paused. "Oh," he said. "Right." There was an uncomfortable silence, and Five stared at the bloke, astonished that he didn't seem to be too keen on fixing his error. The tattooist just looked at him for a long moment. "Sorry," said the tattooist. "Well, fix it!" said Five. "Can't fix tattoo," shrugged the tattooist. "For good now." "You fixed hers!" "Cover it up," suggested the tattooist. It was almost too much, yet another fucking humiliation. Five looked at Freya, who to be fair looked greatly displeased. She counted out the money and handed it to the tattooist, who looked through it. "Hey," he said. "We agreed fifteen." Freya shook her head firmly and pointed to Five, who was red in the face partly from humiliation and partly from the shame of being so humiliated. Freya gave a What the fuck happened there? gesture with her arms. The tattooist pursed his mouth. "Yes," he said. "Fair enough. Twelve." So much for the fucking skill of the fucking tattooists of fucking Memike, Five thought as he slid down from the chair, feeling the stupid bloody tattoo smarting under his shirt. He buttoned it up to the neck. Load of fucking crap. "Won't be coming back here again," he muttered as he picked up his stuff. Freya led the way to the door and they went out into the pre-dawn light. Freya led them back to the House of Healing, and on the way they whispered to each other about the last thing they had to do before leaving. Nobody paid attention to the two dark-clad figures walking through the streets, in quiet conference with each other. Arriving at the House, Freya knocked on the door. It was opened by one of the young women, who looked at them for a moment before recognising that the two hooded strangers were familiar visitors. She stepped by to let them in. "May we see your mistress?" Five said. "She is attending to your friend," said the young woman. "That's all right," said Five, "we want to see her too." The young woman raised her eyebrows, but gestured at the chairs in the hall, turned and walked off. Freya and Five sat and waited. After a moment, she came back and gestured to them. They followed her through the maze of corridors that made Five reflect the he'd hate to have to sack this place; the doors were just too similar and it would be the easiest thing in the world to got around in circles. Finally, they were ushered in through a door and Freya smelled the lingering scent of bath oil. They walked through, and found Djineba, robed in clean linen, lying on the bed and Sophy sitting on the bed next to her. Both looked serious and not entirely delighted to have been woken at such an ungodly hour. "Sorry to wake you," said Five. "This is new garb for you, Aelfrethe," said Sophy. "I see you have covered your tattoos, and made yourself generally less martial." Five looked at Freya, who glanced at her and indicated them with her head, signifying Go on, tell them. "You want me to tell them?" he said. Freya nodded. Five cleared this throat and hurriedly put his thoughts in order. "Right," he said. "Well, I'll tell you quickly what happened. We were in an inn, and some northern soldiers recognised the lady. They wanted to know what had happened to her." She looked to Freya for approval of the story so far; Freya nodded encouragingly. Sophy translated quietly for Djineba's benefit. "What we're thinking," Five hazarded, "is that it's not good for the lady to be known to be living." Five glanced at Freya again, who affirmed this with a nod. He went on. "If it's known what happened to her, that ... that the worm, well, nearly killed her," he said, blushing despite himself at the awful memory of it, "we think that people will believe too easily that the lady has been overpowered. People will believe a lot if they don't have the plain facts drummed into them. We want it to be thought for now that the lady really did perish up north. She and I will take on new names and dress no more as soldiers, and we leave the city tonight." "To do what?" Sophy said. "We aim to find the worms that are wrecking the land," Five said, "and devise a means to destroy them." "This is sudden," said Sophy. "Not to mention insane. Freya, I see the wisdom of disguise, but I implore you to stay and be properly healed." Freya shook her head no. She whispered into Five's ear. "She wants with all her heart to stay," said Five, "but she feels that healing completely will take too long, and none of us have forever." "Then who will look to your welfare, Freya?" said Sophy. "Who will make sure that you do not act foolishly, but are mindful of preserving yourself?" "I will," said Five. "That's my job." Djineba looked at Five with amusement, but Sophy didn't. "That is a life's work," she said. "I do not envy you." "Yeah, well, I've not been doing too bad so far," he said. "And she's going to teach me to fight. She can't be the only one who can defend us." "No, indeed," said Sophy. "I will see that you are supplied with medicines." "[So you are leaving,]" said Djineba, "[before I am well enough to go with you? Where are your promises of glory now, shorthair?]" She did not say it with anger, more with cool unsurprise, as if she had never expected Freya to come through. Freya sat on the bed and took out her money bag, and emptied it onto the bed. Quickly she divided the sizable pile of gold coins into two equal amounts. "This," she said to Djineba and Sophy, "is all I have. I give it to you." She repeated it in Djineba's tongue. The two women stared at her in shock. "Your half is for all the healing you've done, and may yet have to do," said Five to Sophy, and turned to Djineba. "Yours is to live on and outfit yourself, or do anything else with. There are no conditions. It's to help you find your way." Sophy translated for Djineba's benefit. "What will you do without it?" said Sophy. "Now that your name is ruined, you have only your skill and your money to rely on." Freya looked at them all and smiled wryly. "Money is a cushion," she whispered. "I require a goad." Sophy eyed them both. Then she turned to Five. "What about you, young one?" she said. "You are signing up to almost certain death. Do you go willingly? Or does something compel you?" Five thought for a moment, to no very good effect; just thinking about things didn't make them clearer. Only having to fix things forced you to think about what was important about them. "Lady," he said, avoiding her eye, "all my life I've been a waste of food, a waste of a bed, a waste of kit, just ... you get the idea. So I've been told, anyway." Sophy nodded and murmured into Djineba's ear. Five glanced at Djineba and saw comprehension spread over her face. "Then the one time I do something that I've not been told to do," he said, "I do it for her." He glanced at Freya, who was watching him, her face unreadable. "And it turns out," he went on, "that it was something righteous. At least, everyone seems to think so. And now I've got a bit of respect and a bit of skill and a job to do and a quest to go on, and I'm squire to the greatest warrior of the age. So, I reckon, if coming to her aid brings me luck, I'd be a fucking fool to abandon her when she could really use some help." He avoided Freya's gaze, but felt it, boring into him, and couldn't help blushing, much to his mortification. "I take it all back, Aelfrethe," said Sophy quietly. "This one's a jewel." She got off the bed, walked up to Five, took his face in her hands and kissed him, deeply. Five felt dizzy and shut his eyes. It was better than any sex he'd ever had. She let go, and smiled down at him, and said to Freya "You've not totally lost your senses, then. I will see that the princess is healed and when you are ready, you will come back for her, yes?" Freya nodded, and spoke to Djineba, who looked sombre, and nodded back. Freya went over and embraced the dark-skinned young woman, and murmured more words in her ear, and Djineba patted her on the shoulder and nodded. Then Freya stood up and looked at them all, and beckoned to Five with her head. "Wait," said Sophy, and she embraced both Freya and Five. "Go and do great things," she said, "and return in triumph. We will wait." Freya nodded, and clapped Sophy on the back, and then they disengaged and left the room and went out to the street. They stood outside, in the chilly grey dawn. "Lady," Five said, his tiredness and annoyance overcoming his sense of mission, "you know I am at your service, but I'm so tired, I don't think I've got the fire in my belly to leave the city now. Couldn't we get a bit of sleep and leave later this morning?" Freyas Saga Ch. 10 Freya stood there, swaying slightly, pale and evidently as exhausted as she was. Nevertheless, she drew her hood about her head and shook her head no. "We go," she whispered. "Now. Or never." She coughed, and spat. "All right," he said, and they started to walk until they found the road to the North, and they took that road and kept on walking until they reached the city walls. As the sun rose, they found themselves leaving the city, and as it climbed higher in the sky they passed through the districts outside the walls, and as the morning grew strong they reached the countryside, and then, only then, did Freya halt and place a hand on Five's shoulder and nod yes, they could stop now. They quickly made a bivouac in a glade by a brook, and they didn't even bother to eat, but rolled themselves in their blankets and slept like nothing else mattered. Freyas Saga Ch. 11 Five woke up to find it late afternoon. There was a good smell coming from a couple of rabbits, which were roasting over a fire. Freya was standing nearby doing exercises with her sword in hand. Five got up out of his bedroll, feeling guilty that he hadn't woken first and trapped something and got it cooking. "Sorry," he muttered, opening his pack and getting out the salt and pepper and herbs. He also produced a bundle wrapped in paper, and opened it to reveal cakes and sweet breads, studded with candied fruit and glistening with syrup. "Lifted these from the House of Healing," he said. "Didn't suppose mistress Sophy would mind." Freya grinned and took one and munched on it while she trained. "Shouldn't I be doing that?" he said. "These rabbits won't be good for another while yet." Freya nodded, and Five got out his small sword and did his best to follow her movements. "Good to be on the road again," he said, glancing at her. Freya swung her sword, bit into her cake and nodded. "But we're not exactly fully prepared," said Five. "I'm not half-trained. Mistress Sophy thinks you need more healing and we're supposed to be in disguise, but we haven't figured out who we should pretend to be." Freya beckoned to him, and he faced her, and they circled each other. He swung and she parried, easily. They continued to circle each other. "I mean," said Five, "I know we had to get moving, but I think we set off with not all the bales lashed to the cart, if you get my meaning." Freya nodded and took another bite of her cake. Five swung again and Freya effortlessly deflected it while licking a crumb off one of her fingers. "I just don't feel prepared," Five added. Freya shook her head no. "What, you neither?" said Five. Freya shook her head no again, popped the rest of the cake into her mouth and beckoned to him: come on, attack me. Five feinted, as he'd been taught, and swung. Freya wasn't deceived by the feint, she paused while he did it, on her guard, and then she knocked back his swing as easily as ever, but she raised her eyebrows and gave him a faint nod of approval. "Well, if we're not prepared," Five said, increasingly out of breath, "should we not go back and prepare ourselves a bit more?" Freya frowned and shook her head no. "But we're not ready," said Five. Freya beckoned again, impatiently. Five feinted again and then gave a second feint, and then went for a stab. Freya seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it; she was still while he feinted, and then swivelled herself to avoid the stab. Five recovered, turned on her and swung, and this time she put up her sword hard, and she knocked it out of his hands with a clang. He yelped as the shock ran down his arms and the sword went flying to the grass a few feet away. Freya turned the motion into a stab of her own and the tip of her sword halted just inches from his throat. Five stood there, Freya ready to thrust the sword into his throat, and her cool, dark eyes looked at him with dispassion. "No one is ever ready," she whispered. "You think you can take on the thing that beat me? You want it to take you and fuck you and swallow you? And then will you fight your way out of its gut? Then will you think you are ready?" She slowly lowered the sword and stared at him. "No," Five said, horrified. "Of course not." "Then do not talk of being ready," she said, and hawked, and spat pink phlegm onto the ground, and pointed to the sword lying in the grass. Five went over and picked it up and returned to her. He looked at her shamefacedly, but she was back in the alertness pose, looking at him, her face open and calm. She'd rebuked him and he'd accepted it and it was done. He felt a bit better. He hefted the sword and paused. "If we can never be ready, what's the point in practising?" he said. "We are not idiots," she said, with the hint of a smile. He nodded, took a deep breath and went at her again. *** They travelled. They fed on wild herbs and rabbits and birds and nuts and fruit, and the occasional vegetable when Five could find them; he had a knack for spotting the tops of wild roots and he could tell a lot of different kinds of mushroom from another. For all that, they were often hungry and Five sometimes felt a bit dizzy with it, but he told himself that it was helping him get fitter. Freya and Five sparred, Freya teaching Five a style of combat that was less precise than her own but almost as effective. Freya's mastery of the sword was derived from thousands of hours of carrying one on campaigns, so that there was nothing she didn't know about how a weapon handled itself at different parts of a strike, and how to parry an opponent with as little effort as necessary while in the same moment setting up the next strike. At eighteen, with no experience of war fighting, Five was already too old to acquire the same level of experience as her, so she concentrated on getting him to use his own power and momentum to inflict damage. She encouraged him to be imaginative, to do whatever he had to do to make her opponent suffer, and as time went she started to get increasingly bruised and scratched in their bouts. He was apologetic at first, until she clouted him for it. Five found training tiring but also exhilarating, although there were times when Freya was a strict taskmistress, insisting that he spend hours repeating some drill which seemed to him completely pointless. Eventually he asked why he was doing what he was doing and she showed him the point of the drills; building up muscle where before there had just been flab. The flab was coming off, all right. Their sparse diet and constant exercise saw to that. But there was another thing about training that made Five look forward to it. It had to do with the silence and closeness they had when they were working at it, for Freya spoke as little as possible, preferring to demonstrate rather than talk to him. Archery was the only field of combat at which Five had a whisker of natural talent. It made itself known on the first day they trained, when Freya spotted a rabbit and instructed him to shoot it. He notched the arrow, let fly and missed. Freya, watching, shook her head in amused disgust, came over and fitted herself behind him. She made him get another arrow and then she laid her hands on his arms and shifted them into the correct stance and then touched his hips and swivelled them into what he suddenly realised was a far more relaxed, alert position than the way he'd been standing. But he found it hard to be relaxed with her tall body up against his; her breath on the back of his neck, her breasts touching his back through their dark shirts, the smell in his nose of her sweat. He thought: No, no, don't think about that, that's not right, she's not interested in that. But it was all very well thinking that. Couldn't do anything about how it felt. He forced himself to concentrate and he aimed again at the rabbit, which had not been seriously disturbed by his first wide miss - and then she reached around him and placed the palm of her hand on his chest and pressed lightly. "Relax," she murmured in his ear. "Breathe out. Shoot. Breathe in." He nodded, his heart pounding. Her right hand was on his chest, her left on his stomach, and behind him, he felt her turn her head slightly and glance at his face as he squinted at the rabbit. "When you are calm," she whispered, "take the shot." Easier said than done, Five thought, and he forced himself to think of rabbit stew. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her gaze move from him to the rabbit. They were both staring at it, both willing him to hit it. The rabbit twitched, as if wary of staying still too long, and shifted a few hops to the right. He didn't swear or lose patience but gently followed the animal with the tip of the arrow. There was nothing, just the arrow and the rabbit, and he was in charge of it all. The arrow wanted to go where it would go. As soon as the rabbit stopped moving and started to nibble a weed, Five let fly. The arrow whisked across the grass and sank into the rabbit, which made a faint squeak and fell on its side and twitched. "Good," Freya whispered, and took her hands off him and clasped him by the upper arms and squeezed, encouragingly. His heart swelled and he lowered the bow and ran forward and picked up the rabbit. It looked up at him fearfully and he felt too happy to be sorry for it. "Thanks," he murmured to the creature, and avoiding the rabbit's teeth he grasped it by the head and quickly wrung its neck. Then he carried it back to Freya. "I owe you this," he said. She smiled, then clicked her tongue and they went back to practice. But never again did she need to stand behind him and show him how to place himself; his body had already learned precisely how to stand, and the crucial trick of breathing out before shooting was not lost on him. Soon, she officially handed over to Five the task of shooting for their pot. It wasn't all drilling and shooting and sparring. She taught him other disciplines, such as the ability to relax himself so much that he could fall asleep with only a few minutes' notice; highly useful, as he soon understood, when you could never be sure if you were guaranteed a night's rest. When his limbs ached after a tough day's sparring, she massaged him, and he returned the favour. He knew more than her about certain woodcraft skills such as trapping, fishing and lighting a fire; as a senior commander and a knight in all but title, she hadn't had to do anything like that in a long time. And so, the days went by and they went so deep into the countryside that they emerged the other side and started to encounter farms and mills and hamlets. And slowly, as they filled out some of the clear patches on the map, they began to see the traces of a worm. *** A blasted patch of blackened earth in a field. A gutted hovel, which you didn't want to look too closely at, for fear you'd get a good look at its former inhabitants, a family by the look of it, although there wasn't much left of them. They were drawing ever nearer to a town, and as they approached they could see a column of smoke rising from one part of it. There was also a steady trickle of people leaving the town, taking their belongings with them, too, or so it seemed. Freya motioned to a cart laden with furniture, driven by a man with his wife and baby sitting next to him. "Health and prosperity to you and yours, sir," said Five. The man glanced at them and shook his head no. "There is no health and prosperity for us," he said. "Why?" said Five. "There is a worm in the city," said the man. "It eats what it wants, it burns what it wants, and man after man steps up and says he will put an end to it, and one by one, they are all chewed up by the thing. We are getting out." "A worm, you say?" said Five. "What's it look like?" "I have only glimpsed it," said the man. "They say it has a power of striking fear into a man. It may well be, but it don't look so terrible. But since no-one has the guts to stop it, we're leaving before it burns down the damn city." "A very sensible precaution," said Five. "Who are you, that are going into our blighted city?" said the man. "Only the very foolish would venture in there." Five looked at Freya, who considered for a moment and then nodded. "We have come to get rid of your worm," said Five. "You think a boy and a woman can succeed where a dozen good men have failed?" said the man, and shrugged. "Maybe you're right. You couldn't do any worse than the damn fools who've failed already. Good luck to you. If you succeed, you'll have my gratitude." "What's your name, sir?" said Five. "Jaranc Horneth," the man said. "I run a provisions shop in Blue Horse Alley. At least, I do at the moment. Pray god the worm doesn't burn the place down. If you succeed, and the city is saved, and you call by my shop, you'll not want for food, nor hay for your horses." Five glanced at the woman, who held her baby to herself and looked at them both with distrust. He couldn't blame her. The baby swivelled its big head around and looked at them too, as if nothing was worrying it more than where the next feed was coming from, which, Five thought, was very likely the case. Freya stepped past him and went around to the woman's side of the cart. The woman watched this strange, tall, hooded female figure approach and drew back, clutching her baby to herself. But Freya held up her hands and fixed the woman with her gaze. When she spoke, it wasn't a whisper but aloud, in her scratchy dry voice that always made Five wince. "Do not fear," she said. "If we win, you will owe us nothing. Your husband is generous to strangers but we would take nothing from you that you would not give freely." "Good," said the woman, "cause we can't afford to hand out free food to strange folk." Five saw Freya blink, as if she were somewhat surprised by this ready acceptance of her refusal of the man's generosity. The man looked guilty and hunched in his seat, but when Five glanced at him, he didn't offer any sort of don't-mind-her wink, but looked down at his horse in a preoccupied way as if the matter was already out of his hands. "We will do our utmost to save your city from this scourge," said Freya. "Good for you," said the woman, and nudged her husband. "We'll be on our way, though. We're not waitin' around to see you get et. Seen enough of that already." "We do not intend ..." Freya began, but the man, looking suitably sheepish, gave the bridle a jerk and their cart set off again. He nodded to Freya and gave a rather apologetic look to Five, and the cart went by them. Five looked at Freya, who watched them go with a nonplussed look on her face, then almost absently hawked and spat the familiar pink phlegm on the ground. Every time Freya spoke and the effort made her throat bleed, Five looked to see if the bleeding grew less in any way, if the underlying wound was healing at all. He fancied that it was a little better, maybe. It was next to impossible to tell for sure, and he was aware that he wanted too much to see some improvement, and so was looking for signs of health that maybe the lady didn't have it in her to show. Freya turned and looked at Five, and to Five's surprise a look of amusement came over the lady's face. Freya raised her eyebrows and held out her hands, as if to say, Well, what do we have to do to earn respect from these people? Five, for his part, had had more than enough times of being extra-kind to some girl in the hope that she'd notice him, only to find himself junked for someone more manly, more of a cunt. "Can't always expect folk to be grateful for noble talk," he said. Freya watched the cart trundle off into the distance and nodded, conceding the point. Then Five was seized by an inspiration. "Maybe, lady," Five said, "and it's just a thought, but as long as we have no name and no reputation, why not leave the talking to me? Think about it. If I make a promise and you fulfil it, it's a lovely surprise, but if you make a promise, you being so fine-spoken and all and yet no-one knowing who you are, they might think it knavery or worse. You're the hero, not me, and your deeds will speak louder than anything you or I could say. I know that you're used to rallying folk with words, but now that we're doing things all different, maybe try being the strong and silent one." Freya stared meditatively into the middle distance, then swivelled her gaze to meet his. *** The youth looked back at her, a little timid, but emboldened by his own suggestion; anxious, yet keen to have her agreement. You have come a long way, little one. You would tell a general of troops to curb her tongue, because a general out of uniform and with no army is no general at all. You are right. With each step I take forward, I take another back, sometimes more than one. I can no longer expect folk to heed me just because I have spoken. I have to prove myself anew, with each meeting. And it is better to place little hope in the word of a beardless youth, than to place none in the high-sounding promises of an unknown woman. There it is again. It is my sex that undoes everything about me. I did it right, before; Freya Aelfrethe worked without rest to make a name for herself, and I had one, and I had all that went with it. And now it is as if I had done none of it. Freya sighed, laughed briefly, clapped Five on the shoulder and nodded. I am glad that it is you whom fate has appointed to teach me this lesson, young one. Others might have rubbed it in with more delight. *** Five saw Freya smile ruefully, and she patted him on the shoulder. Fuck, he thought, ever since the worm, near everything she's done has been a chain of one humiliation after another. Better have a victory soon. "Shall we go in and see if we can do aught about this bloody worm, then?" he said. She nodded. They sat their faces to the city and walked into it. *** Within the city, it was almost but not quite chaos. The worm was making havoc within a relatively small zone, and around that zone had formed a sort of cordon of city watch, anxious council members, hopeful adventurers, angry men with weapons and lookers-on. Freya and Five found this cordon and joined it, watching the worm do its mischief. Five was surprised to see that it really wasn't all that big, maybe the length of three horses together, and hardly a majestic dragon but a scaly thing with tiny wings that barely beat hard enough to lift the thing high enough to set fire to a house. Nevertheless, that was what the thing seemed to delight in doing. Every so often it would flap its small wings hard enough to raise it up to the point that it could spit liquid fire at a building, whereupon it would sink to the ground again and glare at the onlookers with its golden eyes and hiss and gnash its teeth. Scattered on the ground around the worm were sundry bits of armour and gear. Five didn't like to think too much of what this meant, but as he and Freya approached, the two of them similarly garbed and hooded, they saw a burly man in heavy armour contracting with the council that he would be the one to take the worm down. Nearby, Five saw a trio of youths whom he guessed were squires to this knight. The man arrived at some sort of deal that he was satisfied with, and then he strode into the zone, his armour gleaming, brandishing his sword. The worm spied him and hopped over a few houses to meet him, on a patch of waste ground. The man cried about how he had come to rid the city of this abomination. The worm hissed. Five felt Freya's hand on his shoulder and he glanced at her to see her watching the impending combat with intense concentration. The man strode forward and the worm hopped backwards away from him, as if frightened. This seemed to embolden him, and he followed it, waving his sword and swearing to avenge the city. Then the worm paused, and hung there, its wings beating furiously to keep it stable, balancing on the tip of its tail. The knight approached it and commanded it to die in the name of all that was good and holy. The worm swung its head back and forth, at the end of its long, thick, flexible neck. The knight got close enough to swing, and he swung. The worm danced backwards. The knight swung again. The worm dodged the blow, and it lashed out with its foreclaw, snagging the knight's armour and lifting him off the ground. Freyas Saga Ch. 11 There was a groan of woe from the crowd. The knight thrashed. The worm lifted its other foreclaw and delicately picked the armour off the man, until he was in his leather jerkin and breeches. It knocked the sword out of his hand. He struggled and yelled for help. The worm's golden eyes narrowed, and it stared at the man and grinned horribly. He tried to tear himself free of its grip. The worm lifted a claw and, with immense delicacy and power, ripped the man's jerkin and breeches until they fell off him, and he was squirming naked in the worm's grip, fighting desperately and uselessly to get away from it. The worm lifted the knight to its mouth and, ignoring his terrified screams, it fastened its jaws over the front of his head. His screams, although muffled, became frantic as the worm squeezed with its jaws, and blood started to run down the man's neck. He thrashed and grabbed the worm's muzzle and thrust backwards, trying to tear his head out of the worm's grip, but he couldn't. He was kicking frantically and Five suddenly noticed the liquid spraying from between his legs, and also, from behind, he was ... Oh god. The man was pissing and shitting himself with terror. The worm's eyes gleamed and the man's muffled screams grew louder and more agonised as its teeth began to crush the front of his head, and then it bit off the front half of it. Five felt Freya clasp his shoulder with instinctive sympathy. The crowd groaned. The man's body twitched. The worm gleefully munched on its mouthful and then stuffed the rest of the man's head into its mouth down to his shoulder, and had another bite. The pale, ragged body hung limply in the worm's claw as it feasted, biting off more of him until there wasn't much left of him above the waist, then it just threw the rest aside and belched fire at the onlookers, as if to say, Fuck you and your stupid knight, and it scampered off and started to set fire to another building. Five felt ill. More than that, he felt disgusted. It was like the worm wasn't a real animal; it wasn't like it was preying on people, it wasn't even hungry. It was just doing evil because it could. He glanced at Freya. She looked grim and sad. "Poor bastard," Five muttered. Freya nodded, squeezed his shoulder and looked at him. "We're going up against that?" Five said. Freya nodded. "You're not gonna go in there and wave your sword at it and tell it to roll over and die, are you?" said Five. Freya shook her head. "If it goes for you, you'll run?" Freya looked at him levelly. "All right," he said, "all right, you do the fighting, I do the talking. But, please, lady, don't die here. Please, don't." Freya looked annoyed and gave his face a mild slap, but he didn't take it personally. It was part of training. It had to be. On the other hand, that worm had just tortured and eaten a man the size of Freya and half of her again. They walked up to the sorrowful-looking group of men with long beards, who were viewing the worm with consternation. One of them turned and saw them approach, and gestured to a soldier. The soldier intercepted them. "No city folk allowed," he said. "Only challengers." "We're a challenger," said Five. The soldier looked at them, and took a second look at Freya, who was taller than him and with broader shoulders. He was a youth, clearly scared, but proud of his position. "Who can vouch for you?" said the youth. Five looked to Freya, who looked momentarily taken aback. "We're not from round here," said Five. "We've been slaying worms down south." "They have worms down south?" said the soldier. "Aye," said Five, "vicious bastards, too. My lady has form at worm-slaying." The soldier looked at them. He looked tired and hopeless. "Go on," he said. "Speak to the elders. They will make you sign a contract." Freya nodded her head respectfully, and Five followed her as she strode up to the greybeards. They turned and watched as she approached, and as she reached them she dramatically lowered her hood and bowed low. Five had to hand it to her for the pageantry. With her height, cropped hair and handsome face, she was the most impressive-looking person in the square. "What is this?" said an elder. "My lady has come to slay your worm for you," said Five. "I know of no woman who has slain a worm," said the man. "It's a wide world indeed," said Five, "and there's room for all manner of surprises." "I would not see a woman taken by this thing," said one of the men. "It has already shown a taste for defiling and disgracing men." "The lady would kill herself, sooner than let herself be taken by a worm," said Five, in a gamble. "What use is that to us?" said one of the men, and Freya turned and looked at Five with an expression of, What were you trying with that, exactly? "I mean," said Five hastily, "if, in extremis, having already lost beyond a shadow of doubt, she knows arcane ways to end her own life, sooner than have a worm defile her." Freya's unimpressed stare flickered, with a certain degree of: Well, better than nothing. "I like this not," said another of the men, younger-looking than the rest. "This worm is too powerful for us. We have already let too many brave men sacrifice themselves for its pleasure. It is naught but waste and spoil and we must face the fact that it is come to our city." "What do you say, Bertrand?" said another of the men. "I say that this worm is a sign that the city is doomed," said Bertrand. "I see no healing from this thing. It is an abomination. Its coming is a sign that our city is abominated by god." "Sir," said Five, "may I speak?" "Say what you would, adventurer," said the councilman. Several pairs of eyes turned on him. Not Freya's. She kept her back to him, watching the faces of the others. He stared at them, and realised that he had spoken too soon. He had nothing. He could think of no clever argument. He thought that the councilman was full of shit, but to say so would cost them ... what? "Speak," said the councilman impatiently. "What terms do you demand. How much gold do you want. Tell us how you would cost us less than the beast that despoils us." That was it. That was the way in. Thank you. "We'll do it for nothing," Five said. They stared at him, baffled. "We don't want your money," he said. The younger councilman, the one who had talked about god, laughed bitterly. "There is some catch to this," he said. "You say so now, but you will want your gold soon enough." "Begging your pardon, sir," said Five, "but no." "I have seen your kind before," said the councilman. "You always want your money. Do not lie to us." "We fight for honour," said Five, "not for gold." "You are mercenaries like any others," said the councilman. "You want your fucking worm killed or don't you," said Five in a level voice. There was a shocked pause. Five took a few steps forward so that he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Freya. As if they did this all the time, a thousand times before. He didn't need to look to her for reassurance. From the fact that she wasn't looking at him, he knew this was the right tack. "Do you realise who you are speaking to," said the councilman. "Yes, sir, I do," said Five. "You're standing there saying nothing will work and it's all god's will and meantime that thing is killing people and wrecking your homes and livings. With all due respect, you are wasting words. Leave the city to ruin, or shut the fuck up and let us do our job." Freya did not move. Five saw the looks on the other councilmen's faces as they looked at them; when they looked at him it was with outrage at his insolence, but when they looked at her, something stopped them from ordering him to be whipped out of town. "You would do this for nothing," said the councilman. "Let yourself get killed for nothing." "Nobody's going to get killed," said Five. "This ends now." "Stop lying to us," said the young councilman. "You will demand gold sooner or later." "I'm not talking to you," said Five. "You've given up." "Be silent, Bertrand," said an older man. "We have nothing to lose. Let them try." "Aye," said another man. "If you truly want nothing then we can only ask you to try, if you would." "Wait," said yet another man, older, white-haired, not so easily fooled. "We cannot ask you to do this deed and receive no recompense." "Why not?" said Five. "It would set a dangerous precedent," said the man. "The city might start to ask all men to do deeds for nothing but glory, and where might that end?" It sounded wonderful to Five, but as he opened his mouth to say so, he felt a nudge from Freya and she was nodding seriously. She glanced down at him and he caught her eye, and he saw her glance pointedly towards a small group of people huddled at the side zone. The knight's squires. "All right," said Five. "If you must pay, don't give it to us. Give it to them." The councilmen were silent. "Their man lost," said Bertrand. "Exactly," said Five. "So being out of a job, they need the money." "Does this satisfy you, Bertrand?" said one of the men. They could hear the crackle of burning thatch and a rumble as another building collapsed. "Very well," said Bertrand. "Thank you," said Five. Freya looked at the men in turn and nodded to them, then turned and strode rapidly across the square to the three young squires. Five didn't follow. He knew the sort of thing she would be saying to them, and he saw their sad faces grow serious and then grateful. Then Freya returned to where they stood and murmured "Sword." He took out her sword, which she hadn't wielded since that day in the village, and she buckled it on and concealed it under her coat. Then she looked up at him, one quick searching glance, and he nodded to her, and she nodded back, and he turned and she started to walk towards the worm. *** So. So. What do you want, worm. Are you like your cousin. I think not. That one had but one purpose and they kept it for that. You are free and have your own mind. The closer Freya grew to the worm, as it dance and thrashed amid the smoke and flame of the burning buildings, the slower she walked. The worm did not seem to notice her at first, and then as she drew nearer and nearer, it flicked its head in her direction and presently it turned its full attention to her, walking out on its four legs to meet her, its rudimentary wings twitching, its golden eyes gleaming, its fanged mouth parted in a huge, delighted grin. Freya walked slower and slower and finally stopped, letting the worm come and meet her. It walked with a high-stepping gait, smoke coming out of its nostrils, and it occasionally snorted a little puff of fire. Freya did not move. The worm stared at her. Its inner eyelid blinked. Freya smiled at it. Hello. What are you doing? What do you want from me? You are a beautiful thing, worm. It gave her the most human of looks, a kind of Well, well, what have we here?, and it circled her. She didn't turn around, let it inspect her from all angles, tall and hooded in her coat, apparently unarmed. What are you doing? Are you ... Then she felt it. A familiar sort of tug, like an itch that insisted on being scratched. When had she had it before? Not since a long time, not since she had been small and she'd fought bigger boys and she had sensed something about the way some of them had wanted to win. A subtle and devilish sense of mastery. An impulse to tell her: no, little girl, you lose, and you do not walk away feeling that you will have your revenge; you will lose, and you will understand that this is how it has to be. That you never had any chance. That it is sweet to lose to one such as I. Ah. Yes. There had been one another time. With your cousin, in the village. She eyed the worm, as it tugged at her courage. You can read my mind, can't you, my beautiful thing. Or, not quite. You do not read my thoughts the way a wise man reads a book. You see them the way a child sees a picture, or one who is starving sees things that might be edible. Oh, you are subtle as well as handsome. When it got around in front of her, it leaned down and sniffed the air before her. Having done so it withdrew back a pace, apparently less certain of itself, and it looked at her with interest. Freya bowed to it. Mmmmm. You want me so very, very much, don't you. You wish to feed, but you do not starve. What is that you long for. It grinned at her, and leaned down to sniff her again. She flinched backwards, and felt a sudden clammy grip on her heart, and she stepped back and it faded. So that is it, is it? That explains so much. Thank you. She had been carrying a mouthful of bloody phlegm in her mouth since she had spoken to the squires. She spat it at the worm's muzzle. It landed there, and the worm reared back and looked disgusted, and gave a shriek, and then it blasted fire at her. The onlookers saw Freya dodge even before the worm breathed fire at her, but the flames caught the tail of her coat and it ignited. Freya quickly pulled the burning coat off and threw it on the ground, and stood there in her shirt and breeches, her head uncovered, staring at the worm, her eyes gleaming. The worm glared at her, and Freya looked up at it, and then she raised her hands to waist level and slowly beckoned to it. Come on. Come on, then. "What is she doing?" exclaimed one of the counselors, astonished by Freya's insolence. The worm breathed fire again, and Freya knew which way to jump. Then it followed her, she backing away in a circle, always seeming to anticipate the way the worm was going to spit fire, and then the worm's eyes were blazing and it belched fire after fire, scorching the dust, and every time Freya dodged it and grinned at it and teased it, and it seemed to glow hotter and hotter with each burst of fire. Once or twice she only just twisted away in time and would make a gasp as the fire brushed her but after several minutes of this, the worm was steaming and Freya was sweating and her clothing was scorched, but save for a redness on one arm and a small patch of burnt hair she was still unhurt, and she leaned forward and grinned at the worm. The worm recoiled from her, and then it coiled forward, shrieking, and made to grab her with one claw, but Freya leaped back. Not quite soon enough to stop the worm's claw from raking across her face. She felt the claw tearing her flesh before she felt the pain, but even before it had begun to hurt she had dropped and rolled, quicker than the worm could respond, and she got to a crouch, her hand to her face. She saw her blood dripping on the scorched earth, and then the pain hit, and it forced a cry out of her. She took her hand away from her face. It was covered in blood and her face was hot and throbbing. She looked up at the worm. Oh. You. Dare. *** Freya took away her hand and looked at the blood and looked up at the worm, and Five felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck because her face went dark, and she opened her mouth and Five thought she'd been sick, or something, because of the noise that came from her, but then he realised it was speech in some tongue he had never heard before, some lethal curse, vile-sounding and guttural, and the worm grinned down at her and then Freya barked it again, louder. The worm blinked and stopped grinning, and took a step backwards. Looking down at her. She stepped forward and, astonishingly, the worm backed away from her. Then, almost without pause, it happened before anyone seemed to realise that it was happening; she had drawn in one stroke her sword, and with a raw, tearing scream she ran at the worm and leaped at it, swinging her sword around as she passed through the air so that it half-severed the worm's neck, and the force of her jump carried her past the worm and landed her on the worm's back, and she pulled the sword out of the worm's neck and jumped off from there to the ground. The worm shrieked, and it was terrible. It was a high-pitched thing like water boiling in the biggest vessel and the steam escaping through the smallest hole you could think of. It made you feel ill. Five didn't tear his eyes away from the fight, but he thought he could hear a couple of the councilmen actually getting sick. The worm tottered then, on its hind legs, its neck half-severed, purple blood spraying from the wound, and Freya was walking away and around it, backwards, glaring up at it, avoiding the spray, and Five could see her working herself up, talking to herself, and she seemed to grow taller and darker, and then she took her hand away from her face and grasped her sword in both hands, and gave another harsh cry and went into her true rage, and charged the worm. Five felt his nose starting to bleed from the worm's terrified screaming, but he made himself watch. He hated the worm, he loved his mistress, but even so, what she was doing was terrible to see. He had once been in a howling gale and had seen a great tree being whipped by the wind. You had thought that such a tree could stand against anything, but it was not so. The wind tore at it and worried it and grabbed it and shook it and the tree could not get out of the wind, could not take shelter, but had to stand there and be torn, bit by bit, to pieces. So it was with Freya and the worm. Her sword slashed again and again, and the worm's supposedly invulnerable hide gave under the assault, and it kept rising up and trying to master itself but she kept slashing at it in her fury, and it slowly swayed and sank to the ground, and Freya kept hacking at it until its entire skull and the end of its neck were just bloody shreds. Five begged her with his mind to stop, it was over, the worm was dead, but Freya's rage took its course, and she did not stop until the worm's head and neck were a gory smear in the dust. Then she looked up, her face masked with her own blood, and she breathed deeply, and looked at the worm for a long moment. Its corpse did not move. She walked around to the worm's belly and drove her sword into it, tip-first, and sliced, eviscerating the worm. Its guts spilled outwards into the dust, including the chewed-up top half of the knight, and she stepped back and picked up her discarded, still-smouldering jacket, and carefully wiped her sword with it, then walked back to the councilmen, her hand at her face. They stared at her in horror. Five thought, fucking hell. Freya's face was badly slashed, but she came straight up to him, avoiding the eyes of the councilmen. She looked, Five thought, oddly ashamed. When she was close enough, she took her hand away and whispered in a thick voice "Is it bad?" He looked at it, and saw that the damage all came from a single gash from the bridge of her nose down her left cheek, through her left upper lip and down through her lower lip to her jaw. Close up, it wasn't as deep as he'd feared. It was just very nasty-looking. And there was no way it was going to disappear. "Lady," he said, "I'm not gonna lie. You move like a fly under a swat. I dunno 'ow you did it, that thing should've had your face off, but it don't. Mistress Sophy gave me some ointment and we can pack it with that before I bandage you. But you will 'ave a scar. No question." Freya nodded, and to his astonishment, she smiled to herself before turning to the council. "Burn that," she said, pointing to the corpse of the worm. "Now." The young councilman, the one called Bertrand, nodded hastily and scurried off to organise people. Freyas Saga Ch. 11 "Lady," said the oldest councilman, "your valour and your skill have saved our city." "You'll pay those lads," said Five, indicating the three squires. "They shall be paid." "Now," Five said. Freya put her arm around Five's shoulders. "Now," agreed the councilman, and another councilman ran over to the squires and beckoned a servant, who came with a bag of gold, and Five watched as the squires stared with astonishment at Freya as the gold was counted over to them. "Lady," said the old man, "who are you?" "I am done," Freya said, turning away from him and dismissing him with a wave of her hand. She grasped Five's shoulder and sagged for a moment, then he led her over to their gear and she sat down on the ground. He took water from his flask, still fresh, and she shut her eyes and he washed her face. Then, she sat patiently while he took the precious salve Sophy had given him and rubbed it gently into the wound. Freya sat there and he could only imagine the pain she would have been feeling as he applied the ointment to the fresh wound, but although her eyes streamed, she glanced up at him and smiled grimly. "Woe upon the Hargest name," she whispered, "for none now shall husband me." He recognised the meter of the old song and couldn't help giggling. "Marred is your beauty now," he said, "and precious few shall find you fair." "What say you, Snorri's Five," she whispered, "for any chance of mine to wed?" She was smirking. He felt it was worth being bold. "Lucky you will be indeed," he said, "to suck the cock of a night-soil man." Freya laughed silently, so much that he had to urge her not to, because it was messing up his dressing of her wound. But presently she had a bandage in place, tied across her face with a bandage around her head, and he felt he had to say something. "Lady," he said, "if no-one can see that a wound like that is a badge of honour, well, I mean ..." She looked up at him inquiringly. "I'll marry you," he said lightly. Her shoulders shook for a moment, and she stared into the middle distance, then looked up at him again. "You will need to talk to my father," she whispered, her voice muffled by the bandage on her lip. He blinked, and looked at her to see if she was joking, and she looked back at him, all innocence. "Do you," he began. "I mean ... did you ..." "You were mocking me?" she whispered, giving him a cool stare. "No," he said hastily, "but, I mean, you're you, and I'm me, and I know we're joined in blood an' all, but I mean, obviously, I'd marry you, like a shot, I mean, o' course, but ..." He was sweating. Had she really been joking? She looked up at him, her face still darkened with soot and dried blood, the thick bandage over her nose and cheek and half her mouth. "Talk to my father," she said, and rose to her feet, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and went over to their horses. *** The squires came over to them, a trio of adoring lads, none of them much younger than Five, but compared to them he felt like a craggy veteran of many combats. They wanted to pledge themselves to her, but she smilingly shook her head no. "But who will we say did this deed?" said one of them. "We're not going by a name," said Five. "But you must be someone." "Aye," said Five, feeling fantastically mysterious. "Reckon we must." "But otherwise this glory goes to no-one!" burst out the youngest-looking one. "Up to you to see that it doesn't, wouldn't you say?" said Five. By the time they were on their horses and ambling out of the city, the people were coming back in again. The only smoke rising from the city now came from the burning corpse of the worm. As they left the city gates, they encountered Jaranc Horneth and his wife and baby on their wagon, trundling back in. Five saw the look on Jaranc's face as he looked at Freya and saw how scorched and wounded she was. Freya lifted a nonchalant finger to her brow and saluted them. Jaranc's wife just stared at them, looking partly horrified, partly as though she still couldn't shake off the notion that it had all been some trick they'd played. The baby beamed and waved at them. Five waved back. They rode out of the city and soon left the road and hooked around to the east. *** When they set camp, Freya seemed preoccupied and sombre. Refusing any official payment for the slaying of the worm had not stopped the news of what they had done from reaching the people, and they had been showered with gifts and provisions, some of which were more useful than others. Five was very happy to fry up some salt pork and serve it with fresh greens and good bread and some excellent ale that a publican had thrust upon them. Freya ate well, but he could tell she wasn't happy. Why? he thought. We won, didn't we? We said we'd beat it and we did. Yeah, came the answer, but look at her. She is burned and scarred. "You're not happy," Five said, putting his plate down. She looked up at him vacantly, and then seemed to see him properly, and for a moment he thought she was about to pretend that it had all been fine, but then she sagged and put her hand to her face and shook her head. "We won," he said quietly. She looked up at him and nodded wearily, but he could see how the fight had taken it out of her. "I cannot fight every fight thus," she mouthed. "No," he said, "so how can we make it easier?" She picked up a piece of salt pork and put it in her mouth and chewed, and then looked at him briefly, pointed to her plate and nodded appreciatively. Then she thought again, and after a long moment, she shrugged. "Well," he said, "we will work it out, lady." She nodded and went back to eating. She ate ravenously, but as she finished her food and drank back her ale, he saw her beginning to sag, and it dawned on him just how much the rage cost her, and how it was not something that they could rely upon. She took a long pull on her flask and then as she took it away he could see that food, drink and tiredness were sending her to sleep for she was keeling over. He quickly gathered her in his arms and wrapped her bedroll around her and guided a rolled blanket under her head, and only when he had ensured that her scorched, gashed body was fast asleep, did he wash the cooking tools and make his own bed and roll himself up and sleep. Freyas Saga Ch. 12 They took it easy for a few days, to give Freya's wound time to heal, and Five could tell that as soon as a night's sleep had given Freya her strength back, she hated every minute of her recuperation. She couldn't stay still, constantly stalking off with a bow to find something to cook until Five had to ask her not to because he had too many animal corpses to lug around. She found eating difficult as chewing messed up her bandage, so she was forced to eat nothing but soft things and drink broth until five days had gone by and Five decreed that enough was enough and the bandage could come off. In any case, he was exasperated by Freya's sulking and silence. On the morning of the sixth day, he turned to her after breakfast and said "Maybe it's time to take that bandage off," and she looked up at him immediately with a hopeful smile. There was also the matter of the wound; whether or not it really would leave a major scar, or whether Sophy's supposedly wonderful salve had any power at all. Five boiled water to clean the bandage, and poured a little into a crock of cool water to wash Freya's face. Freya sat down and Five knelt behind her, and carefully he untied the bandage from the back of her head and began to unwind it. He was glad to be doing it with her facing away. Freya was very still, but from the way the bandage stuck to her skin he could tell that removing it had to be painful. Finally he got the bottom layer and very carefully peeled the blood-matted dressing from her skin. The only sign Freya made of the pain it must have caused her was that her breathing grew slightly louder. He took the blackened, crusted dressing off her and dropped it into the herb-infused water to boil it, and then cleared his throat and said "Right, let's have a look at you then," and got up and sat down in front of her. She looked back at him, her face serious. Five's first thought was, well, could be worse. The scab - it was really a broken line of scabs, not a solid one - began in the centre of her forehead, grew thinner, curled around a half-circle and then ran down between her eyebrows and stopped. It picked up on the bridge of her nose and went down the left side of her face, then stopped again, resuming on her left cheek, curving downwards and scything into her lips on that side of her mouth, taking a notch out of them, before tapering off as it ran down her left jaw. It was black and crusty but dry, with no yellow ooze. Her face wasn't red or swollen. Sophy's liniment had power after all, it seemed. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad. I mean, it's there." Freya reached up tentatively and ran her finger down it, tracing it. "What shape is it?" she whispered. "Well," he said, "it's ..." He stared at it. If you filled in the broken bits with your imagination, well, that bit up there was almost like ... He glanced at her. She was smiling broadly, full of mischief. "The shape," she mused, "of a snake?" He grinned back at her and nodded. "The shape of a snake," he agreed. "Heh," she smirked and stood up. Five stood up too. Freya's good humour had returned entirely, and soon they were on the road again. Five eyed her as they rode. It seemed somehow right that an injury that would have made most young woman lament their ill fortune made Freya happy. But then, she now seemed to want to be other than herself, and her beauty had been one of the things that she'd been famous for. Five thought her still beautiful; she just had a bloody great scar on her face where there hadn't been one before. Even Freya with a scar was better looking than Five without one, came the gloomy thought. But then Five's body always let him down. It was always wrong, no matter how much he exercised or ate less; it was always the wrong shape, it didn't behave the way other bloke's bodies behaved, it had things about it that he hated to show and hated anyone to see. It was the curse of being him. Nothing to do about it but eat what was in front of you, put up with the regular problems and get on with it. *** Freya consulted her map and they struck out eastwards, and it got slowly and steadily hotter. The tall trees got shorter and you started to see more gnarled and stunted things with fruit you couldn't eat. There was more dust, and fewer chances to take a break by water, so they had to ride farther each day, which was tiring. But then, one evening, as they were skirting around the edge of a forest in hill country, they rounded a bend to find a grove with a stream and some excellent sheltered ground for setting up a camp. The only problem was that someone had already done so. A good deal of people, in fact; there were tents, an enclosure for the horses, campfires being lit and the smell of food being cooked. Freya stared at it with some suspicion, but Five was delighted. He'd never seen a real carwan before and this was a fine specimen. Any hope they might have had of making it away unseen was dashed when they heard a shout, and a man on the near edge of the camp waved at them. He was walking a large dog on a lead. "Strangers!" he shouted. "Stop and take some rest with us!" Five glanced at Freya, who just looked resigned. They nudged the horses forward and the man waited for them to draw closer. He was a good-looking bloke, about thirty, tanned, wearing dusty travelling clothes and an earring in one ear. Wearing an earring was not something you ever saw a northern man do. Or a northern woman, for that matter. Five never normally much enjoyed the company of blokes, feeling as he did inadequate before them, but the man's warm smile and general air made him feel a little bit ... odd, in a good way. He wanted this bloke to be his friend. "Welcome, travellers," he said. "Will you stop and dine with us? If you have food to share, so much the better, but if not, we can make room for two more, if you'll tell us your news." Freya looked down at the man, doing her best unreadable face, as Five now regarded it, although her face told its own story. The scab had come off and now it was a series of red scars that would lose their redness eventually but keep their shape. "What news would that be?" said Five. "Whatever news you have of where you've been," said the man. "We generally like to know what's going on where we're going. It makes trade easier." "We're not traders," said Five. "Just travellers." "I'm sure you have tales to tell," said the man. "Does your lady speak? Or did whatever cut her face also take her voice?" "She speaks," said Five. "But she's taken a vow of silence." "A pity," said the man. "I would have given much to hear why such a beautiful woman would put herself in so much peril as to earn a wound like that." Freya almost imperceptibly cocked one eyebrow at the man, and Five knew that while she was hardly delighted to have met the carwan, she was at least satisfied that he'd not said some stupid shit about silence in a woman being golden. "Well now," said Five conversationally, "there's a bit of a story to that." "Then we must hear it," said the man. "Come and eat with us." Freya inclined her head, and the man grinned and beckoned them to follow him. *** The carwan was everything Five had expected, but weirder. It was full of handsome, dark-skinned folk who wanted to sell them things. Every time, Five would explain that they had no money and were simple travellers, and each time the sellers would bow and smile to show that they weren't offended. They were taken to a campfire, which had a few of the carwan people but mostly other travellers as well, and Five laid out the food he had with them. After a bit of bartering an arrangement was arrived at and it seemed that their place at the campfire was established. Five was handed a cup of wine and a piece of flat bread, scorched on the outside but fluffy in the middle, folded around a generous portion of succulent grilled meat and sweet onion and bitter leaves, flavoured with heady, fragrant spices and a sauce that left his mouth burning but wanting more. Mostly they sat and listened. Freya, too, accepted wine and food but she barely touched the wine and ate sparingly. After a few neighbours asked her what she was doing there, and Five had had to repeat four or five times the vow-of-silence explanation, it was as if a little pocket of silence formed around them and Five had to get his entertainment from overhearing other people's conversations. There was a girl at their campfire, a bonny, long-legged, smooth-bosomed daughter of a western trader, with long straight reddish-blonde hair and a round, laughing face and peach-coloured skin touched pink by the sun, who was being wooed alternately by a slim, handsome youth about her age with long black hair, and a slightly older bloke who was engaged in a comic battle of wits with the youth, to the enormous entertainment of the girl, who was laughing at them both and visibly pleased with the attention. As they battled to offer her the greatest compliment on her beauty, she laughed and her boobs shook within her loose white blouse. At one point her gaze, which wasn't fixed on either of them, roamed around the campfire and fell for a moment on Five. He stared back at her, dumbly, and just when it occurred to him that he ought to smile or bow, her attention drifted away from him and went back to her two suitors. I'll never be able to compete with that, Five thought. After an hour or so, as the music and dancing started up, the man who'd greeted them in the first place sat down beside them. "Are they feeding you?" he said. "Are they refilling your cup? Sometimes the quieter guests can get forgotten about. I hope everyone is treating you well." "It's lovely," said Five, who was on his second of those big grilled meat sandwiches. He was so used to eating tough rabbit and squirrel that the succulent moisture and crisp fat of whole roast lamb came as a luxury. Freya inclined her head again, in her most regal manner. "So where have you come from, strangers?" said the man, sipping from his own cup and looking at them. Five was silent, waiting for Freya to make a move. She made none. "We're just travelling," said Five. "Nobody's just travelling," said the man. "The war's over," said Five. "The land is safe now that the king's peace has domain." "Maybe up north," said the man. "Not everyone welcomes your king's peace." "He's not just our king," said Five. "He's everyone's." "What about those whose lands he took?" said the man. He was still smiling, still friendly, his voice still warm and welcoming. "Those whose husbands and brothers and sons were slaughtered by his army? They are not too happy with the king's peace." "They'll come round," said Five, taking another bite. The man looked at them, grinning. Five looked at Freya who was returning the man's gaze with a cool stare. "No doubt they will," he said finally, and clapped Five on the shoulder. "May I borrow your lady for a moment? There is someone I wish her to meet." Five gave Freya a look and Freya thought for a moment, then nodded once. The man stood up and extended a hand, and Freya rose to her feet without it, and they went off to another campfire. Five sat for a while, finishing his food and taking another cup of wine as the wineskin was passed around, but then, sure enough, it was as if he was forgotten about. If he looked at the other campfire he saw Freya sitting there, being talked to by two men and a women that he didn't recognise; she listened as if she knew them, and with a pang of jealousy he saw her smile and then rock back and laugh silently. Five got up, and wandered away from the fire. *** Down by the edge of the brook, it was peaceful. The noise of the carwan was behind him. The night sky was heavy with stars. It was everything he'd expected, all right, in that it was just like every feast he attended. Nobody talked to him, and the person he came with had a better time as soon as she'd dropped him. He couldn't even bask in the glory of being Freya Aelfrethe's only squire, because Freya was no longer being Freya. Five pulled off his boots and sat paddling his feet. It was a while before he realised that there was someone else there by the water. He was irritated. If he was going to feel sorry for himself he preferred to do it on his own. "Nice evening," said a voice - a boy's voice. The figure came out of the shadow and sat on the grass. It was the boy from earlier, who'd been trying to chat up the blonde girl. He was around Five's age, slender, handsome, shirtless, with longish black hair that flowed off his head, tied at the back in a ponytail. "Very nice," said Five. "You're not enjoying it?" said the boy. "Just tired, that's all." "Riding far?" "Very far." "You're from the north." "Anyone can tell that." "What's your name?" "Five." "I'm Marco. Five like the number?" "Yeah." "Is there a story behind that?" "I don't have any good stories," said Five. "I bet that's not true," said Marco. "You'd lose your money." "Why are you so sad," said Marco. "What do you want from me?" said Five, turning to look at him, and giving a start when he realised that at some point in the conversation Marco had soundlessly glid across the grass and was sitting right next to him. "Company," said Marco. He had dark eyes and a smooth face and long eyelashes and he was smiling at Five. "What you want my company for?" said Five. "I think you're interesting," said Marco. "I'm not," said Five, thoroughly confused. "You're from the north, you're travelling with a tall woman with a scarred face, you won't tell anyone what you're doing down here, you've both got weapons," said Marco. "There's a story there somewhere." "I'm not telling," said Five, feeling hot and uncomfortable. "So what's interesting about me is the company I keep, then." "No," said Marco. "You're interesting." "How so?" "You look strong." Five looked down at himself, at his shirt and breeches. He wasn't flabby any more. But beyond that, it was bloody hard to see what the boy was getting at. "Are you some sort of soldier?" said Marco. "Yes," said Five, then added "although I don't do fighting. I do cooking, mostly." "Of course," said Marco. "What you mean, 'of course'?" said Five, annoyed. "Well," said Marco and shrugged. He looked Five up and down some more. "I do carrying too," said Five. "And I'm learning to fight. My mistress is teaching me." "Good for you," said Marco. "I reckon I could take you in a fight," said Five. "I'd enjoy that," Marco grinned. "No you wouldn't," Five said. "Last bloke fought me, I fucking took him down." Marco grinned. "Nice," he said. "What?" said Five, more baffled than ever. "Also," said Marco, looking Five up and down, "you look kind of like a boy. I think that's sexy." It took Five a moment to absorb this. "Oh," he sighed at last. "For fuck's sake. I am a boy." Marco looked at him curiously. "Really?" Five closed his eyes and put his face in his hands for a moment. Then he took them away. Marco was still there, looking at him. "Yes," he said sourly, "I am. So, sorry." Marco looked at him for another long moment, then reached down, and to Five's outraged astonishment he grabbed Five's crotch. "What the fuck!" Five said, rolling away and standing up, panting in outrage. "Very well," said Marco calmly. "Maybe you are." "I am!" said Five, heart pounding in chest. "You fucking grabbed my ..." Marco looked Five in the eye for a long moment, then shrugged. "Well," he said quietly, "anyway," and he patted the ground next to him and kept staring at Five. Five gaped at him. "What?!" "So you're a boy," Marco said, and shrugged again, paused, and beckoned with his head. Five sat down again, next to him, and stared at him. Marco was smaller than Five, slimmer, with narrow shoulders and a slim waist but sinewy arms, and breeches made of some soft, smooth dark material that looked like silk. He smelled of damp earth and sawdust. He looked at Five appraisingly and reached up and stroked Five's face. "Are you fucking with me?" said Five, and then felt like some big lumbering crass northern brute for asking. "Do you want to?" said Marco. "I didn't mean it like that," said Five, flustered. "I know," said Marco. "Are you playing a joke on me, is what I meant," said Five. "I know," said Marco. "No, I'm not." He reached around the back of Five's neck and stroked it. "What are you doing?" said Five softly. "Are you a bit simple?" said Marco, smiling. "Lot of people say so," said Five. "People say a lot of things," said Marco, leaning towards Five. Five's eyes closed, and their lips touched, and their tongues met. After a long moment, Marco put his other arm around Five and they came together and Five lay down and Marco lay on top, and they kissed some more. Five's palms were flat on the grass. After a long time, they gently disengaged from each other and Marco looked down at Five and smiled. "No?" he said softly. "Oh, god," said Five, trembling. "You ... I would. I really would. You're gorgeous. It's just ..." "Saving yourself for your lady?" Marco said. "Ah, no," said Five. "She's ... I mean ... oh, fuck." He put a hand to his face and shook his head. "It's all right, young one," said Marco, stroking Five's face. "There's no wrong here." "I'm sorry," muttered Five. "Don't be," said Marco. "I think I just prefer girls," said Five. "Who wouldn't?" said Marco. "I'm not offended." "Thanks," said Five, and Marco nodded, and then leaned in and kissed Five again, and Five returned it hungrily, unable to help it; but they parted quicker and Five laughed, embarrassed, and blushed, and Marco grinned. "Sorry," said Marco. "Do you really think I'm interesting?" said Five. "Oh, you're definitely interesting," said Marco. Five looked down, and looked up again. "I wouldn't know what to do," he said. "With a bloke." "No-one ever does, the first time," said Marco, and got off Five and stood up. "Thanks, though," said Five, looking up at him. "It was lovely of you." "You're welcome," said Marco. "The offer's still open." He smiled at Five, turned and sauntered back to the fires. Five stared up at the sky, head spinning. Well. That happened. *** Freya got up from the fire and walked off into the bushes to make water. The company was good, there was fellow-feeling, no-one was asking questions about her silence or her garb or her scar. It was fine to be among lively folk who were taking ease from their serious business. It suited her mood, which was to maintain the mystery about herself and the young one until the time suited her to reveal herself. She found a secluded spot, loosened her breeches and stepped out of them, hanging them on a bush, then crouched and pissed. She had seen too many men caught shitting with their breeches round their ankles, unable to move fast and get to their weapons, killed with ignominy in a way that forced their fellows to lie to their kin about their manner of death. She crouched, letting the wine out of her, listening to the night sounds of the birds, the wind, the stream of her piss trickling over the grass. Then she sprang backwards, pulling her knife from her sleeve and thudding into the man who had been spying on her. He gasped, winded, and she was astride him in a moment with her knife to his throat, her piss still flowing out of her but now soaking into his shirt. She paid it no mind but glared down at him. Freyas Saga Ch. 12 "Your pardon, lady," he panted, "I did not mean to startle you, I just wished to speak with you. Please, be at your ease. I am unarmed." She stared down at him and with her other hand, quickly searched him for weapons and found nothing. Carefully, she got off him and stood up. He got up, clutching his winded belly, and stood doubled over, panting for breath, looking at the tall woman standing naked from the waist down and staring coldly down at him. "I apologise," he said. "I wished to speak with you in private, and I did not realise you had gone to, ahm, relieve yourself." He held up his hands. He was a Marcan who Freya had been introduced to at the campfire earlier. She hadn't caught his name. He was about thirty, handsome, possibly dangerous. He was averting his eyes from her naked lower half. Freya made a twirling gesture with her finger and he turned his back. Still watching him, she leaned over and grabbed a fistful of grass and wiped herself, then took her breeches and put them back on and quickly laced them up. Then she gave a quick, low whistle, and he turned again. He looked relieved to see her decent. "That is much better," he said. "Lady, I was told at the fire that you recently slew a worm in the city of Torina." Freya paused, and nodded. "I know that this is more than rumour," said the man, "for a cousin of mine was passing through there, and he told me of a hooded, silent young woman, travelling with a youth, who after many men had been taken and foully slain by the creature, engaged it in single combat and slew it and refused all payment, but was wounded in the face. Behold, a few weeks pass, and I meet a silent young woman with a scarred face travelling with a youth, and she has the speed of a rattlesnake and the coolness of a falcon, and she will tell no tale regarding her doings. And I believe in coincidence, lady, but this is no coincidence, is it." Now that they were talking, and he'd got his wind back, he'd lost his nervous, bumbling manner but was standing tall and confident. Freya shook her head no. "You are her?" he said. She nodded. She put her knife back in her sleeve and rolled it up, to reveal her reddened, blistered arm, which was healing, but slowly. She displayed it to him, her face grim but calm, and then rolled down her sleeve again. "You fought a worm and defeated it," he said, his eyes wide with respect. "Lady, that is some sorcery." Freya shook her head. "Then what?" said the man. "You have domain over the worms?" Freya smiled. The man smiled back. "The Serpent Queen, then," he said. "You are keeping your subjects in line." Freya smiled. It will serve for the moment as a title. "Then, Serpent Queen," he said, turning on the charm, "will you drink some wine with me? I would give much to spend an hour in the company of one so fair and so valorous." Freya raised her eyebrows. "You got that scar in your combat with the worm?" he said. She nodded. "Then it is worn with honour," he said. "Your name," Freya whispered. The man paused. "Then you do speak? When you have to?" She nodded. He paused, and bowed. "My name is Asad Mansur," he said. Freya narrowed her eyes, pointed at the man's shirt and tugged at her own collar. He bowed again, smiling, and opened the top two buttons of his shirt, and showed her the single tattoo he'd earned fighting as a mercenary in the ranks of the king. *** Asad Mansur. The Lion of Victory. A boastful name if you had not earned it, but earned it you have. Mercenaries were not initiated into the language of the sigils but were given a simple one, the badge of the house that had hired them, together with a motif indicating the capacity in which they had served. Beyond that, their name alone was expected to be enough to identify them to anyone who had heard of them. So it is you. I would not have thought you resemble the legend, unless you are deceiving me, but of that, we shall see. Yes, Asad Mansur, let us have wine together, and see what you have to tell me. *** She eyed him, then took a step back and bowed in return to him, with respect. "You will tell no-one your name?" he said. She shook her head. "Then you intrigue as well as entice. You will join me for a while?" He held out his arm. She graciously took it, as if she had not just knocked him flat on his back and made his shirt wet with her urine. They went back to the fire. At the fire, the conversation was humming as ever. Freya made herself at ease while he went off to change his shirt, and when he returned he poured wine from the big decanter into the bowl, and Freya watered it in the southern manner, and he smiled at her and lifted his goblet. She raised hers in return and they drank. "I am not sure how to make conversation with one who will not speak," he said. You will learn, I am sure, her smile said. "Why do you not speak?" he said, and then immediately checked himself. "No, that won't work, will it? You are a tough one, Serpent Queen. You dress after the manner of a northerner, but you clearly have in you the blood of my people." Freya sipped her wine. "You would not be able to defeat a worm without experience of combat," he said, "but it is not the custom to have women fight. I have heard of few women warriors, most of them long dead, the others recently dead. Among them some of the finest." Freya cocked an eyebrow curiously. He looked solemn. "Alas, yes," he said. "So the news goes. One of the king's finest, she who was called Freya Aelfrethe, was killed some weeks ago by some cult in the east." Freya nodded seriously. "I do not know many details," he said. "It was a mission, one of the clean-ups to settle accounts and help make the peace, and the story is that she blundered into a trap without waiting for her men to support her, and was slaughtered." Freya shook her head sadly. "A sad and strange death," he said, "for one so famed for her wisdom and generalship." "You knew her?" Freya whispered. Let us test you. "No," he said. "By name only. I never had the honour of meeting or fighting with her." Freya had another sip of wine. Honourable of you not to lie of your exploits to a strange woman you wish to impress, Asad Mansur. "But even the wisest amongst us must blunder," he said. "Perfect wisdom belongs only to god." He eyed her. "You wanted to see my tattoo," he said. "You are familiar with these, then?" She nodded. "So you have fought in the king's army?" There was no sense in lying. She nodded. "Intriguing," he said. "As a kinsman, or as a mercenary?" Freya smiled and laid a finger on her lips. He smiled. "I ask too many questions," he said. "Anyway, my fighting days are over. I have laid down my sword for quieter work." Freya raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I am a tattooist," he said. "I served some time as a herald, and I found I liked the work. It is good to feel that one is putting something back into the world after one has taken so much out of it." So that is why you were noisy and slow in the bushes. Had you been in training, you would have tried to fight me off. "Might I see your tattoos?" he said. "No, surely that is too much?" She looked at him, thoughtful. "I need a new one," she said. "Ah," he said. She pointed to the scar. "A serpent," she said. He examined the scar, and grinned. "That is well within my powers," he said. "But it will cost you." She beckoned and he leaned forward. "I have no coin," she breathed in his ear, "But I will show you myself, in private. And then we will know each other." She sat back. He stared at her, wide-eyed with wonder and open lust. "I will do it," he said. She looked at him expectantly. He quickly stood up. "Come," he said. "To my tent." *** In the tent, which was very comfortable, Asad poured more wine and Freya sat in a high-backed chair, and he prepared his inks and needles. "This is not the first time I have adorned a scar," he said. "It will not be painless." Freya smiled. He prepared water and spirits and washed her face, then he cleaned the scar with spirits and inked his needles, and she sat and let herself become very still, and as he leaned in, Freya closed her eyes and submitted to it. She knew, now, that physical pain in itself was not the most unendurable thing. She had invited this to happen and while the still-tender scar blazed and throbbed, so that she felt that her face must have expanded to the size of a globe, she knew that it would be over soon. Asad was quick with his needles and he kept dabbing at her face to soak up the blood. She felt the snake taking its form and soon the pain had concentrated itself to an undulating line from her forehead to her jaw. Her eyes watered and he dabbed that away too, so it wouldn't mix with the ink. After a time he sat back, sweating in the heat of the night, and looked at her. "That is the limit of my skill," he said."I hope you will not be disappointed." He picked up a polished silver mirror and held it up in front of her. Her face, too, had a sheen of sweat, and it was red from the blood that had flushed to it, but the red scar was hidden beneath subtle colouration; flesh colour to match her skin, but tinged with gold, so that it was something you had to look at twice before you realised it was there: a golden snake with underlying red spots, angrily whipping across her face, its eyes - grey, like hers, shot through with gold - glaring out, its small red tongue hissing. It was perfect. Freya smiled, looked at him and bowed her head with respect. He grinned back, relieved, and put down the mirror. "And now," he said, "I will not force you to keep your side of the bargain, if only you will tell anyone who asks, who did this work." Freya frowned and shook her head no. She held up her hand, palm outwards, to signify that she needed a moment's privacy. He nodded, and left the tent. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then had a drink of wine and took from her breeches pocket a small ivory case. She opened it. Inside were a dozen or so small, shiny, red and blue pellets. Gifts from Sophy. Freya took a red one and put it in Asad's goblet and swirled it around until it dissolved into the wine. Then she poured more wine into both, and sat, and collected herself. And now. What do folk do when they wish to be beautiful. Sophy spoke of this. They. Yes. Less light. She went to the couch, snuffing all but one candle on the way with a pinch of her spit-moistened finger and thumb. Now. I suppose I must be naked. He will expect it. So. She quickly disrobed, then lay on her back on the couch. No. Sophy said that the sight of a woman's sex was for those that already knew her; for those that did not, when a woman wishes to pull a man in, it is best to be seen from behind. She rolled onto her belly and propped herself up on her elbows and watched the entrance to the tent. There was a discreet cough from outside. Freya eyed her clothes, an arm's length away, her knife in her sleeve. She cleared her throat in return. Asad entered and halted in the doorway, looking at her. "By god who is all-powerful," he said, "you are beautiful, Serpent Queen." She smiled, and rolled onto one side, drawing up her right knee ('Tease them, Aelfrethe, tease them, make them think that they're almost there'), half-displaying herself to him. He came forward. She raised her goblet in salute. He raised his, and they touched them together and drank, the clothed man looking down at the naked woman. She looked into his eyes as they swallowed the wine. He looked down at her, and his gaze went to the tattoo on the left side of her chest. He caught his breath. "That is magnificent," he said. "Is that the work of a Memikan?" She nodded. He looked at it in awe, and reached out. Then he looked at her. "May I touch?" he said. Freya nodded. He touched her left nipple and traced the knotwork down to where it swirled into the rest of the picture, the female knight putting her hand in it to gain strength, the serpent rearing up before her in its evil majesty. Freya lifted her cup to her lips and he did so too, and drank, still staring at the tattoo. She swallowed, but put her cup down again without having drunk anything. He did not notice. "This has a tale to tell," he said, looking harder into the picture. Yes, Lion of Victory. See if you can learn it. "I cannot read sigils," he said, "but from these ... these are yours?" She shook her head levelly. "Then, what," he said, looking befuddled and a little dizzy, "they belonged to some other? I cannot tell this story, but I perceive that it would be long in the telling. If I am not mistaken, you have achieved much glory in the field. Then why do I not know you? Or do I know you?" "I am no one," she whispered. "But then," he said, "this picture ... it lies?" She shook her head. "You slew a worm," he said. "That is uncommon skill. I ..." He paused, blinked, wiped the sweat from his face. Sophy's medicine worked as well as her salve. ('Drunk men forget, Aelfrethe. This will make them feel drunk, but they won't forget. Very useful for when you want to teach someone a lesson.') "I do not know what you want from me," he confessed. "Who shall I say is going about the country slaying worms? If I do not know who you are, I can make no report." "I am no one," she repeated. He frowned. "Serpent Queen," he said, "I tire of your riddles. Are you famed or are you not?" She grabbed him by the throat and flung him on his back on the floor, and sat astride him. He stared up at her, his disbelieving eyes bulging, choking as she sat astride him and looked down at him. "You will know me," she said. "Not tonight. Not here. But you will. All will." He was thrashing beneath her. She squeezed his throat harder until the panic entered his face and he shook his terrified head no. She got off him, and reached down to help him up. He lay there for a moment, getting his breath back. The anger showed in his face and he reached up to take her hand and he saw the muscles in his shoulder bunching as he prepared to pull her down. At the last minute she pulled her hand back and he jerked his arm but fumbled at nothing, and fell back on his arse. He looked angry again for a moment - and then he looked up into her face. She looked down at him, without anger, without fear, just calmly conscious of her own power. She smiled at him. Abruptly, he felt like an idiot. It was ridiculous to be annoyed when you had been so outmastered. You just had to accept it. Only losers cannot bear to lose once in a while. He blushed and laughed. "Very well," he said, grinning. "I concede. Fuck you, Serpent Queen. Whoever you are, or were, I am content to say that you have known me, rather than the other way around." She bowed, and picked up her breeches and began to get dressed again. He watched. She did it without shame or any attempt to hide herself, just as if she were dressing after a bathe with a fellow soldier. "A lesser man than myself would be offended by your style of combat," he said. "I don't even get a kiss?" She gave him a regretful look. He shrugged. "One thing I learned as a sword for hire," he said, "do not get too attached to anyone's cause but one's own. And not too deeply to that. I will give you any report you wish. You have but to say what you want me to say." She paused from buttoning her shirt and mimed buttoning her lips. "Ah," he said, after a pause. "I think I see. In that case, know that you will not hear slander from the mouth of Asad Mansur. I hope you'll give me credit for the tattoo, at least." She looked at him seriously and placed a hand on her heart for a moment, in gratitude. "Then, if we must part," he said, "think of me as a friend, and I trust you will not tell of what else passed between us. But then, you don't tell anyone anything, do you?" She finished dressing, came up to him, looked him in the eye, and took his head in her hands. She felt him tense. She lowered his head and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips smarted from the fresh tattoo. When she let go and he straightened up, her blood was on his brow. "If we meet again," he said, "I hope I can be of service to you once more." She smiled, and slipped out of his tent. He paused, and then when he went out to see which direction she had gone, there was no sign of her. *** Five lay in his bedroll and his heart was thumping. His body was yearning. He could feel it like a pain, a physical pain in his loins. An offer. Marco had offered him. And to say no to something like that was something that you didn't do lightly. But the offer was still open, Marco had said. What? A boy, a girl, did it really matter as long as you had a good time? Beggars can't be choosers and I'm one of life's beggars, all right. 'Interesting', he called me. That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me. So what if he's a boy? He was bloody gorgeous. What did you get up to, with a boy? (You know.) No. (Yes.) No. (You know very well what he wanted to do. Or wanted you to do.) Shut up Fuck it, Five thought. No-one's gonna know except me and him. Five breathed deeply, then slid out of the bedroll and crept off into the darkness. The fires were still glowing, people were still talking and drinking and making merry. Not so much the real carwan folk, who knew how early they had to be up the next day, but the travellers like them. Five walked lightly from campfire to campfire, his body tingling, looking for Marco, but there was no sign. Their own campfire was down to a couple of blokes drinking and talking intently. Five went off towards the river and stood in the darkness, thinking of the chance that was lost. Then he heard the noise, coming from within a little grove of trees. The mingled sounds of two people breathing heavily. Five was good at moving quietly. Lifting his feet with care he crept towards the trees and slid on his belly into the bushes. There he saw them, the two naked bodies together, pale in the moonlight. Marco was on all fours, and beneath him, flat on her back on the grass, with her legs where his head was, was the trader's daughter, pale and smooth as a peeled pear. Their clothes were scattered on the ground a few feet away. Marco had his face between her thighs and one hand under her rear end, and he was making snorting noises as he did something that looked like, what was he doing? Eating her? Sucking her juices? There was no doubt about what she was doing, because Five could clearly see Marco's cock sliding in and out of her mouth; her eyes shut, her back arched, her face glistening with sweat, she was making muffled whimpers. Her left hand was placed on Marco's slender flank, but her right hand was over the cleft of Marco's bum, and it took Five a minute to realise that her middle finger on that hand was ... Oh. So that was another reason why he was making those noises. Marco lifted his face from the girl and gasped something, and she must not have heard him, in her rapture, because he repeated it louder, and she moaned and nodded. He pulled out of her mouth and got off her, she rolled onto her belly and swivelled so that she was prone beneath him, placing her hands flat on the grass, and she looked urgently over her shoulder at him, impatient. He spat on his cock and mounted her bare behind, and she swivelled her hips backwards, and he rubbed himself and carefully pushed his cock where he wanted it to go. Freyas Saga Ch. 12 The girl shut her eyes and grimaced with pain and then opened her mouth in an O and let out a whimper, and he eased himself into her and she made a deep, guttural grunt. "Oh," she moaned with bliss, "you fucking peasant." Marco laughed quietly and pushed deep into the girl, and she whimpered again, lowered her head and whinnied softly. Marco grasped her by her hips and pumped her, and she made a series of low, thick moans and hung her head in mingled shame and pleasure. Five watched, wide-eyed, unable to decide which of them was to be envied more. Marco was the man, all right, doing the man's job, but the girl was almost delirious and it looked like she was beyond enjoying herself. She looked like she was having some sort of visitation. Five looked up at Marco and felt the back-of-neck hair stand on end because Marco was staring right into the bushes. Marco and Five stared at each other, and after a long moment, Marco jerked his head backwards: come, join us. Five's nerve failed. He slid backwards, as quietly as he could, and when he was out of the bushes he went as quickly and quietly as he could back to his camp and his bed. Lying in bed, Five felt the familiar sensation that always came when sex reared up; a terrible confusion, like somebody had his head in a vice and was tightening it and he couldn't see and couldn't think and just wanted the grip on his brain to be eased, just wanted to see and feel clearly. But the ache, the ache was still there. His body wanted it. He reached down into his breeches and touched himself and he could feel it, he was actually wet down there. Unless. Wait. He drew his fingers out and squinted at them in the darkness. His fingertips were shiny but not dark. Thank fuck. That would've been all I need. Dannel's fucking curse. Dannel. Fucking Dannel. Don't think about him. That's not a good place to go to. Five rolled onto his back and closed his eyes and fought the wave of self-pity that wanted to roll over him. Think of the lady. Think of all that shit that's been thrown on her since you've known her. And you've seen her weep when, but once? When she'd just got rid of those things inside her and was as shamed and broken and fucked-up as you've ever seen anyone. So shut up. Do what she would do. Take it. Be a man. Five lay still, eyes closed, and ignored the tears that rolled down out of the corners of his eyes. Next chapter: Five learns a shocking truth. Freyas Saga Ch. 13 Okay, well, here it is. The bombshell. This chapter contains a major development that might upset some people. Although it may please some people no end. It's been foreshadowed for a while now, and it's been part of the whole idea since the very beginning, and I couldn't put it off any longer. It's been hard to write. The only chapter thus far that's gone through more drafts than this one, is the next one. But what happens here is essential to the whole story. I hope you'll go with it and, as always, thanks for reading. "That smells good," said the mercenary. Carfryn ignored him. It was the first thing anyone had said since they had stopped for the night, but she was in no mood to be the gracious lady. Dovid, the bookman, sat and stirred the pot, then dipped the spoon in it and tasted the liquor. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached for the salt and sprinkled a little in. "Good to eat something," said the mercenary. "Keeps body and soul together." Carfryn kept her eyes on Dovid as he stirred the meal. Carfryn knew how to cook, but was damned if she were going to cook for the man who had violated her. Dovid, however, had no such reservations and seemed to know what he was doing, if the smells coming from the pot were anything to go by. The mercenary had gone off as soon as they'd secured the horses and returned with a freshly killed chicken. They had sat and stared at it and each other, until the bookman had quietly said, "I will cook," and had set about plucking it. Carfryn was exhausted. It was exhausting to be continually in the presence of one whom you hated so much, but could not walk away from. The mercenary sat on the other side of the fire from them, meditatively polishing and sharpening his sword. The impulse to wound him, to scream at him, to kick fire at him, was almost unbearable but she knew, all too painfully, that they needed him - at least, the bookman certainly needed him. She, Carfryn, might have been able to survive on her wits and a stolen knife, but she couldn't abandon the bookman, and the lesson the mercenary had taught her about her own inability to handle herself in a fight had been well-learned, if piercingly humiliating. She still couldn't look at the man without thinking of the merchant lying on her naked back and grinding his manhood into her as she screamed and struggled, the mercenary standing by and giving her his little pearls of advice as if he were coaching her in combat. Perhaps he was, she thought bitterly, hugging her legs to herself. I ignored him and fought back, and now I have the bruises to show for it. Had I given in and spread my legs, might it have been easier? No. The merchant had wanted to hurt her. The mercenary had, idiotically, wanted her to enjoy it. He knows nothing of what it was like, but the best that can be said for him is that he did not take pleasure in my suffering. She shook her head angrily, disgusted with herself that she was making excuses for the man, instead of thinking of ways that she could get revenge on him. But her brain was fuzzy with tiredness and she was cold and hungry. "It's ready," said Dovid, and he took the tin bowls and poured some stew into each one. They sat and ate in silence. It was hardly the most full-flavoured stew Carfryn had ever had, having been cooked for too little time and without fat and herbs, but on her empty stomach it was like a feast. She ate ravenously. When she finished her bowl ahead of the others, Dovid simply stopped eating, put his own bowl down and gave her a second helping. She briefly touched his arm in gratitude and started on the second bowl. When the mercenary finished, he put his own bowl down with a sigh and reached into his pack and took out a flask. He had a pull from it, swallowed and offered it to Dovid, who shook his head no, and to Carfryn, who ignored him. Unabashed, he laid the flask beside him. "Bloody good, that," he said. "We'll do all right if you're doing the cooking, bookman. I can cook the odd thing but not like that." He glanced at Carfryn. "It's all right," he said, "I'm not expecting you to cook for me." She briefly looked up and glared at him, then went back to staring at the ground. There was a long pause. "Look," the mercenary said at last, "there's no point pretending I'm not here. We're going to 'ave to face it sooner or later." "Face what," said Carfryn. "I did you wrong," said the mercenary. "I know that." "Is that what you call it?" she said. "So let's just 'ave it out in the open," he said. "If we've got to travel together, we can't not talk to each other." "You'll be surprised," she said. "I know you've got a wicked tongue on you," he said. "That's what got that twat's back up, at the inn. You and your sharp tongue." "You are blaming me," she said stonily, "for speaking less than respectfully to the men who raped me." "I'm just saying," he said, "where you come from, you must 'ave been very high and mighty, because out here in the real world, you 'ave to pretend to be nice to people like him." "Where I come from," she said, "I was a valued member of my lord's household. I was the hostess at many feasts. I could outfight my brother at sparring." "Your brother?" said the mercenary, looking uneasy. "You needn't fear," she said, the bitterness making her throat tight. "He will not be seeking revenge for the loss of my honour." "Why?" said the mercenary. "What happened to him?" "He is dead," she said, and it struck her that it was the first time she had told anyone else about Siegfa. "Killed in battle, was he?" said the mercenary with what, had he been anyone else, she would have appreciated as sympathy. "He took his own life," she said. "He, too, was dishonoured. The same way as I." She could no longer look at them and stared into the fire, feeling Dovid's horrified eyes on her, and the mercenary's curious, sympathetic stare. "Fucking hell," said the mercenary after a long pause. "He could not live with the shame," said Carfryn. "I don't blame him," said the mercenary with feeling. "Fuck. Who ... who'd do that?" "I do not know," said Carfryn. "But my brother was ... very beautiful, and someone, or some group of men, forced themselves upon him. I found him soon afterwards and he cut his own throat sooner than accept help from me." "Shit," said the mercenary. "To do that to a young fella ... that's a bloody outrage, that is." She was silent for a moment, considering this, and then she slowly looked up at him. "So raping a young man is a bloody outrage, but what you did to me is no more than what anyone would have done?" She was staring at him, or rather staring at the blur of him through the tears in her eyes. "Well," he said, "no. Um. But ... you're a woman." "I am a gentlewoman," she said. "That's nothing out here," he said. "This is the wild, love. Men are men and women are women, and whatever you were back where you came from, out here it's whose strongest that rules. Men are stronger than women. That's nature. And it's the nature of men to want women." She stared at him. He nodded, as if he was only repeating what everyone knew. "And what I'm saying," he said, "is that, keeping that in mind, there's a load of fucking difference between what I did to you, and what them cunts did to your brother. Look," he added, seeing her open her mouth, and raising a warning finger to shut her up, "I'm not saying what I did was nice, I'm not saying that, all things considered, I maybe wish I 'adn't done it, but whatever else, it was natural. That's the difference." "The only difference between me and my brother is that I live with my shame!" she burst out. "I have not the courage to join him! I sought death, after he had died, and I could not embrace it! I went to the inn to numb myself with ale and try to forget him, and instead the same dishonour was visited on me as happened to him! And now I have to go on living with the one who violated me sitting across the fire from me, and telling me that my own brother's death was an outrage, when if he had any self-respect he would GELD himself sooner than look me in the FACE!" She was shaking with anger. She wiped her eyes and blinked and stared at him. He shifted, glancing at them both. "Lady," he said, "sorry, but I'm not gonna cut off me own cock." "I know you are not," she spat. "That is why you are no man of honour." "I never pretended to be," he said. "Then what sort of man are you?" "I'm just ... a man," he said. "A normal man. A natural man. It's what we do, if we can get away with it." She couldn't take it any more, raised her face to the night sky and lifted her arms and screamed in wordless frustration. Then, ashamed of herself, she stared back into the fire and forced herself to calm down. "Bloody 'ell," muttered the mercenary. He glanced at Dovid. "I'm right, 'enn I?" he said. "Men want women. It's bleeding natural." Dovid had been very carefully and precisely picking every last morsel of food from his bowl. He glanced up at the mercenary and put the bowl down and took a kerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his extremely bushy beard. "In my people's book," he said finally, "it is stated very clearly that for a man to engage in intercourse with a woman without her consent is against the law, just as it is against the law for a woman to engage in intercourse with a man without his consent." "I bet that comes up a lot," said the mercenary, grinning, and when nobody else saw the joke he grimaced and scowled and said "Yeah, well, anyway. My point is, it may be against the law, but it's natural." "The book makes no mention of nature on this point," said Dovid. The mercenary swore under his breath and stared at them both, Dovid watching him quietly with his book next to him, the girl sitting with her knees drawn up staring into the fire, pale and furious. "Fucking hell," he said. "So it's I'm A Wanker Day, is it? I'm A Wanker Week? I'm just, there's just nothing I can say?" There was a silence. "I said I was fucking sorry," he said, the unease making his skin crawl. "And I told you I am not interested in your apologies," the girl said, with self-control he couldn't help admiring. "Do your job and protect us until your contract runs out. Then our relationship will be on a different footing, and I assure you, I will seek redress for the harm you did to me." This was different. This was a new note. He eyed her. She was still staring into the fire, but he could tell that she knew she'd just issued a threat. "Ah," he said. "So as soon as you reckon yourself safe, you'll just cut my bollocks off and shove 'em in my mouth, or something?" She was silent. He turned his eyes on the bookman, who looked nervous. "What," he said, "you gonna hold me down while she does it?" The bookman, very wisely, said nothing. "I should let you both know," Owyn said, "that I am a very light sleeper. An' people 'ave tried to surprise me before, and it hasn't worked." He watched them both, but neither of them looked at him. "Don't try to be a hero, bookman," he said. "You 'aven't got the bottle. None of your sort do." He had a swig from his flask and when he put it down he realised that the bookman had stood up. "You may call me weak," said the bookman, clenching his fists to keep himself steady. "And it would be no less than truth, for I am. But you will not ascribe to my people the weaknesses that are mine alone. In short, sir, you will take that back." Owyn stared up at the lad, trying to figure this out, and eventually gave up. "... What?" he said. "I am weak of frame," said the bookman, "and I am personally a coward, and I have no skill in combat, it is true, but with all my faults I do not stand for all my people, and I will not have them slandered, however you menace my own person. Take back what you said." "Or what?" said Owyn. "Or you'll let me beat you up?" The girl looked at them both with a combination of exasperation and weariness. Owyn stood up too, and he saw the bookman flinch, but the lad remained where he was and even attempted to square his jaw underneath that big beard. "If necessary," said the bookman, "yes." "No, no, no," Owyn said, "fair's fair, that's ..." He grinned at the bookman. He was pleased. "You're all right, mate," he said. "You're all right. I take it all back. I'm sorry what I said about your people. I let me mouth run off, all right? I was wrong." He glanced down at the girl, and saw that she was looking up at the skinny, pale bookman with a glimmer of respect. "You withdraw it?" said the bookman. "I withdraw it," said Owyn. "Shake my hand." He held his hand out, over the fire. The bookman took it and they shook hands briefly. Then the bookman sat down again. "What a crew," Owyn said. "The angriest girl in the world, a bookman who'll get himself get beaten up to defend his people's name, and a wanker." "We are not a 'crew'," said the girl. "I know we're not," said Owyn, "and that's the problem." She shook her head in disgusted disbelief. He drummed his fingers on his knees for a moment. "Here's what we should do," he said. She ignored him. "You hate me," he said, "and you don't trust me. Normally I'd be all right with that, but in this case it's making my job a pain in the arse. So, I will teach you both to defend yourselves against me. Then we can get on with it. All right?" The girl stared at him, and he was secretly delighted to see that he'd at last managed to surprise her. "How will we know that you're teaching us properly?" she said. "You'll know," he said. "No extra cost, a little bit of schooling in self-defence. Look at it this way; if you learn what I teach you, then if you still hate me when we're finished you can get the drop on me whenever you want, and if you change your mind about me, then when this job is over we can all walk away without shame. But I guarantee you, by the time I've finished teaching you, nobody will ever be able to take you down the way I took you down." "You defeated me because you are bigger and stronger," she said. "Bollocks," he said. "Total bollocks. You 'ad plenty of chances to take me out before I came at you, and you didn't take 'em because you're trained to fight lovely and courtly. I waded in 'cause you let me wade in. You opened yourself right up." "I assumed a defensive posture!" she said. "After some fine speeches about 'ow fucking wonderful you are," said the mercenary. "That's not 'ow it works in the wild, love. You get your move in early and you make the other bloke hurt before he even realises 'e's fighting." "But those are the tactics of a bully!" she said. He nodded, simply. Carfryn stared at him. My god, she thought. He is absolutely right. It is all very well learning the dance used on a battlefield, between peers. It was no use whatever to me at the inn. It will be no use whatever to me out here. "So what would you have done?" she said. "If you had been in my position?" "The three most vulnerable places," he said, "are throat, belly, groin. With a woman you can add tits. Anybody who came into my room looking to 'ave his way with me? First of all, go for the groin, 'cos that should discourage him a good deal from closing the deed. And take the initiative. The whole point is to end the fight as soon as possible, with him lost. Not to ponce up and down the room banging swords off each other." "I have no sword," she said, scowling. "You broke it." "That's true," he said. "We'll 'ave to get you a new one." They sat looking at each other for a moment. "So do we 'ave a deal?" he said. "I'll teach you how to defeat me, and in return, you, uh ..." "We are not making any kind of a deal," she said. "You already made me pay more than I owe." "I suppose that's true," he said. "But if I do teach you, will you stop fucking arguing with me all the time?" "I am not promising you anything, swordsman," she said in a quiet, weary voice, and she took her bedroll and moved away to the edge of the light and rolled herself up in it, with her back to them. Owyn waited for a moment, then looked at the bookman and rolled his eyes. "Bloody women," he said, "eh?" The bookman glanced over his shoulder at the frail body of the girl wrapped in her blanket, and then went back to methodically washing his bowl. "You talk a great deal, swordsman," he said after a long moment. "Only way I can get a bit of company," Owyn said. "I would advise you to be silent for a while," the bookman said, "and think on what you have done, and think on why she does not trust you." "I knew it," said Owyn. "Here it comes. My list of sins." "I am not going to preach at you," said the bookman in a quiet, mild voice. "You are not like the other men at the inn. You knew it was wrong. You still know it. You pretend to believe what you say about the right of the strong to pray on the weak. But you don't believe it." "Don't tell me what I believe," said Owyn. "You knew it was wrong," said the bookman. "It depends on what you mean by wrong," said Owyn. "You knew it was wrong," said the bookman, and this time there was unexpected iron in his voice, and in the look he gave Owyn. Owyn blinked. Hang on. No fucking bookman is going to tell me what ... "Think on it," said the bookman, fixing Owyn with his gaze. "Think on what you did." Owyn stared back at him for a moment. "But, out here," he began. "Yours is no way to live," said the bookman, and he got up, stowed his bowl away, took his bedroll, sat down and wrapped himself in it, then lay on one side with his back to the mercenary. Owyn sat and stared at the sleeping girl, absently chewing his thumbnail. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. *** "You stupid shit. This'd be a lot easier if you just let me put it in there." Earth tasted bitter. Tears of rage tasted salty. He struggled but Dannel hit him in the kidneys and he whimpered. Dannel pumped harder. "Fuck off," Five said, but face down in the grass it came out as Fck mff. "Shouldna fought me, fat boy. I told you. I told you what would happen. And now you're ..." Dannel groaned and Five felt the wetness squirting between the tops of his thighs. "Oh, fuck," Dannel sighed, and got off him. He rolled onto his back. Dannel looked down at him. "See you again soon, beautiful," he said, and pouted a big fake kiss at him, which Five thought unfair, seeing as it was Dannel who wanted to do this, Dannel who tortured him into submission. "No telling," Dannel said, "or you know what happens." Five staggered to his feet and wiped his dirty face and stared at Dannel. "You love it really," Dannel said with a smug smirk. Five lashed out with his foot and Dannel had to jump back to evade it. The effort made Dannel put his weight on his lame leg and he fell on his scrawny arse in the dirt and the shock and pain made him yelp, tears coming to his eyes. Five blinked. Dannel was crying with pain and staring at Five. Staring at his man bits. He looked up at Five's face with disgust. "You'll pay for that, you fuck," he sobbed. "What?" said Five. "I'll put a curse on you, you fucking freak," said Dannel. "You're gonna bleed. Your whole life. From there. You wouldn't let me, well, you'll fucking bleed from there and no one will want to with you, ever." Freyas Saga Ch. 13 "What are you talking about?" said Five, scared. "You'll find out, you fucking ..." said Dannel, and he tried to find the word and couldn't, and instead he just struggled to his feet and came up to Five and slapped him in the face and then turned and limped off, crying. Five stood there, feeling scared and guilty and miserable, and bent down and started to put on his breeches. *** Three days after they left the carwan, they forded a river which swept in a broad bend southwards, leaving a large, shallow pool which had made the land around it bloom enough for a handy glade of trees to have grown there. It had been a difficult morning, one of those strange ones when nothing seemed quite right. Freya was in a bad mood and so was Five. They'd been hungry but the cold meat from last night had been dry and tasteless and Freya had got impatient when Five took too long trying to wash the pots and pans. They'd saddled up and ridden in hostile silence. But as they came within sight of the pool, Freya looked behind her at Five and gestured, a twisting-hand motion she'd evolved to signify 'wash', and then stepped off the road and headed down the slope towards the glade. Five was reluctant. He felt terrible, one of his times when he just didn't want to do anything and was impatient with the lady's silence and with travelling and with everything else. It was a hot day, and at any other time Five would have been glad of the chance for a cooling swim, but not today. Freya dismounted and put down her pack and started to undress, unashamed as ever, and when she was naked she walked swiftly into the river and dived forward, surfacing sleekly a little further on and gasping. Five secured the horses and reluctantly undressed and stepped across the muddy river's edge into the chilly water. But once he was in, he felt immediately better and after he'd ducked beneath the surface and come up, shivering, and was washing the road dirt out of his short hair and off his skin, he looked at Freya and she was standing ten yards away, up to her waist, sleek and wet and clean, and she turned and looked at him and smiled. He smiled back and ducked under again, and then came up and shivered. Then he looked down and saw it. The blood on his thighs. Oh god, of all the fucking times. Dannel's curse. He should have known. He had all the signs, feeling crap, bad mood, short temper. But it had to come now, of all times, when he was naked in the water with the lady. Five quickly swirled the water to try and dilute the blood but it was bad today. He sloshed water on his crotch but it wasn't easy to disguise it. He turned his back on Freya and desperately tried to wash it off himself, but then he heard her approaching. She tapped him on the shoulder. She had the cloth and the almond oil and she wanted him to wash her back. He very reluctantly turned and handed it to her and she turned her back and he poured some on her shoulders and back and rubbed her. In the meantime he looked down and saw that the water was at least washing some of the blood away. He was all set to believe that he'd gotten away with it when she turned around and looked down absently and took the cloth and oil off him, and was just about to anoint herself when she paused, staring down, and then slowly lifted her head and looked at him. He looked down and saw the fresh blood coming away from him, a dark slick on the water. "Oh," he said, "that." She looked at him, frowning. Don't make me explain it, he begged her with his thoughts. It's embarrassing enough. "It's just this thing that happened to me," he said. "It's nothing, I swear." Freya's brows knitted together and, to his mortification, she crouched down in the water and stared hard at his misshapen, stunted cock and balls. "Yeah," he said, crimson with embarrassment. "They're small, I know. They've always been that way. I'm a bit ... I don't like showing them off, normally." To his increasing hideous embarrassment, she reached out and looked up at him questioningly. "What?" he said. She gestured in the direction of his wound. He guessed that she wanted a closer look at it. "It's just a ... sort of a wound," he said. "It don't heal. This kid gave it to me, long time ago. He said it would never heal and he was right. It just bleeds a bit now and then. It don't mean anything." She very gently lifted his stump of a cock between thumb and forefinger and examined the wound. It occurred to him that maybe she would be able to get a cure, and he felt a bit better, a bit less of a freak. Her grey eyes narrowed as she looked at him, inspecting the most private and shameful bit of his body, the reason why he hated to undress in front of people. To have a beautiful naked woman in front of him, looking at him there, was just about as humiliating as it could get, but she'd seen it now, so there was no pretending she hadn't. He hoped that she'd stop frowning and lose interest, but she didn't. She kept looking at it, and finally she let him go, stood up, frowning, folded her arms over her chest and indicated with her head for him to go on. "What," he said, "how I got it?" She nodded. Oh, god. He thought. Here goes. "Well," he said, "like I said, this bloke, when I was a squire, he used to ... he used to be, uh, well, he was a right cunt." He swallowed. Just thinking about it made him know for sure that he'd have nightmares about it tonight. He deliberately didn't think about it most of the time because it was just bloody horrible and shameful and private, but if he was going to tell anyone, it may as well be her. He was pretty sure she wouldn't mock him for it. "He was always trying to get me to ... play with him, you know. Do things with him. And I always said no. Didn't want to. And he was a bit puny and I was quite strong, so I could, you know. Fight him off, up to a point. But then he got mean and, um, and he made me do what he wanted." Five felt his throat tightening and controlled himself with a great effort. "Anyway, one time, I dunno what happened, but he got dead fucked off with me, and he said he were gonna curse me. He said that cause I didn't want it from him, as punishment I'd always bleed there." Freya knelt and looked at him again, and Five flushed crimson with the shame of it, and she looked up at him with the most piercing, questioning look. "And he was right," said Five miserably. "I have. To this day." Freya stared up at him, locking his gaze. Five was blazing with shame, but he made himself look back at her. "So, you know," he said, "I've learned to not trust meself. I shouldn't have got upset. Or maybe I should have given 'im what he wanted." Freya was staring at him with an expression he'd never seen on anyone's face before; a complicated mixture of wonder and pity and consternation. "Look, I don't want pity," he said angrily. "It was my fault and I'm paying for it. When I've finished paying for it, it'll close up and I'll be normal again." Freya rubbed her forehead with her hand and closed her eyes. She opened them again, stood up, stepped back and looked him up and down. He stood there, his whole body red with shame. He wanted to be invisible, to die. Anything rather than have his ridiculous body looked at like this. "What?" he said. She reached out and touched his chin, pushing up, looking at his throat. He raised his face, mystified. She let go and he lowered his face. "What is it?" he said, beginning to get anxious in case she'd seen something wrong with him. She put her hands over her mouth, shaking her head slowly, and she looked down, as if actually unable to look him in the eye. Then she took her hands away and cleared her throat. "Who told you," she whispered, "that you were a boy?" He looked at her for a long moment. His ears were filling up with the sound of the blood rushing in his head. "What you mean?" he said. "I've always known." She looked at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head no. "What?" he said, mystified. "Of course I'm a boy. How could I not be a boy? I've got a cock." Freya shook her head no again. "Wait," he said, with a sense of approaching dread. "How do you know? What are you talking about? What makes you think I'm not a boy?" Freya pointed to the blood in the water, the bumps on Five's chest that he'd always thought were just him not being very fit; then to Five's throat. Five felt his own throat. There wasn't anything unusual about it; it was smooth like everyone else's. No, that wasn't right. Not everyone's throat was smooth. Freya reached out and gently stroked Five's cheek. Five felt her hand on her smooth, faintly downy face. I don't have a beard. Well, not every man has a beard. No. No. It can't be. It can't bloody be true. I'm not. "I've got a fucking cock," he said, and his own voice sounded stupidly shrill in his ears. "What about that?" She shrugged, as if it made no difference, and indicated his body. The body he'd always thought was flabby and lacking in tone. But he couldn't say that now. He had walked a lot of miles since he started being her squire, and carried a lot of bags, and done a lot of training that she had made him take, that had never been offered him while he was a soldier of the king, and he had had fewer and smaller meals, and all the flab had melted off him. Apart from his chest. He looked down at himself, the twin bumps, the stubby mound between his legs, his smooth skin. His body which made no sense. Unless you saw it another way. Not the body of an awkward, misshapen boy but that of a strong, sturdy but flat-chested ... Fuck, no, it wasn't true. It just fucking wasn't. It was fucking ridiculous. His heart pounding, his stomach churning, Five backed away from Freya. He was in a cold sweat. "Oh, no, no," he said, his voice quavering. "No. No. I'm not." I can't be. I just can't be. I like girls, don't I? But ... Oh, god. Oh, god, help me. Freya followed as Five turned and splashed out of the pool and stumbled across the muddy verge and ran out through the trees. The sun shone. Five felt the sunshine on damp skin and didn't care about being naked, just wanted to run away from the terrifying sense that it must be true, that all these years, all this time. Five sank to the grass, on hands and knees, and puked up. A body came up behind and Five knelt back on heels, weeping, looking up shamefacedly to see her standing there. "Oh god," Five sobbed, the taste of vomit still sharp, staring around helplessly. Spit. Get rid of it. Because girls bled but weren't they supposed to bleed with the moon? He bled seldom and irregular. When people saw him naked they joked about his tiny cock. It was a cock, surely, he pissed out of it, of course, what else was it? But then, thinking of nights with the lads, and they'd play with themselves and the others would all spurt out of their cocks and Five would have the feeling, all right, it felt great, but nothing came out. He would just get damp and sticky. Another sign of how fucked up he was, they all said, and he laughed but he felt ashamed, and he agreed with them, and felt like a bloody freak. And the one or two times he'd been with a girl and he'd loved it but before he could get anywhere the girls had made it clear how much they wanted to be out of there. He'd just thought: I'm ugly, I'm a freak. No. They knew. They maybe didn't know for real because nobody had ever said it before. But they had a feel for how wrong it was. It had taken her to point out what should have been blindingly fucking obvious. Because he was stupid. Stupid and worthless, like everyone had always said. That's how he could have missed it. Only an idiot. It wasn't his body. It wasn't that that he was ashamed of. Not that at all. It was the iron crown of stupid on his head. The feeling of wrongness, of having been so wrong, having been so stupid, such an idiot, that he could spend his life thinking he was one thing when he was something else. That he could spend his life listening to his body tell him one thing, and everyone around him tell him the opposite, and he could be so weak and pathetic as to not believe his own body. He got up again and ran, ran from the look he knew she was going to have of disappointment, the way he'd fucked up like he always fucked up, only now it was the fuck-up of all fuck-ups, to show her just how fucking stupid he could be, how wrong. I am sorry, little one. I cannot place my trust in one so foolish. I have erred. *** Freya started after the youth, but their gear, the horses, all were still there, unguarded, they were both naked, it was foolish. She hesitated. Damn. Damn it. She stood for a moment, watching him fleeing, torn between the urge to run after him and the need to stay and secure the camp, feeling helpless. And then she saw him fleeing, and she obscurely felt it, the rage and panic building in her heart, and the black mist descended over her sight and the anger of war took her and she screamed. GET BACK HERE! GET BACK HERE NOW, YOUNG ONE! GET BACK HERE! COME BACK! There was a shattering noise of wings, as her voice caused the birds in the trees to take to flight in terror. *** Five ran across the field, running for the trees and the hillside to hide his shame, but then he heard Freya's shout, and it terrified him, as it had terrified entire armies before him, and it had on him the effect it had had on many men before; it filled him with fear and compelled him to flee even harder. No, no, please, lady, please, let me go, don't come after me ... *** Freya watched him running, her heart blazing with wrath, her body preparing itself to fight, and she started to run after him, ready to find him and punish him for leaving her, like everyone always left her, and as she ran, she opened her mouth to scream again. But she felt something break in her throat, and started to cough. She stopped and fell to her knees and coughed and coughed and doubled up and put her hand to her mouth and saw the flecks of blood. He had reached the trees and was lost to sight. In the time it would take her to dress and secure their gear, he could be fields away. She doubled up, her throat in agony, and waited for the coughing fit to pass, and finally just as she thought her lungs were truly about to burst, it ended, and she was weak and breathless. She straightened up. She stared at the treeline for a long moment, then sank to the grass. *** Sooner or later it would have happened, Five thought, somebody would have noticed, as he ran terrified through the trees, ignoring the sharp twigs stabbing his bare feet, the underbrush scratching his flesh, but that's fate; fate lies in wait until you've just got yourself where things are good for you, and then it comes down on your head, and somebody turns to you with that look of, You bloody fool, what have you done, and the game's up and there's nothing for it but to slink back into your corner and admit that you should never have come out of it, never, ever, never, ever ... The sound of blood was a roaring pounding din. Five ran up the hill, eyes blinded by tears, and didn't see the tree root at ankle level, and tripped and went headlong. Everything went black. *** Five woke up with a pain in the right side of the head. Someone was cradling it. Five opened eyes and looked up and saw Freya's face looking down. "Sorry," Five muttered. Freya stroked Five's cheek. "Did I pass out?" Freya nodded, her face serious. Five lay in the grass, feeling the prickly blades on naked flesh, Freya's bare thighs a pillow, Freya's own strong body leaning over, protective. "You must think I'm so fucking stupid," Five said quietly. Freya shook her head no. Five looked down at the body that had been a lifetime's burden. Tallish, boyish, broad hips, flat chest, and what was that between her legs? It wasn't a cock and balls. Just looked like them. Just bigger than usual, more sticking-out than usual. There was a strange sensation of ... lightness. As if the iron crown of stupidity had been loosened and removed. You look at a cloud one way, it's a sort of blobby thing and then it just takes someone to point out how it looks like a duckling and you wonder how you didn't see it before. Five sat up, gingerly, wincing. A hand to the brow came away with a bit of blood. "You'll 'ave to find a new squire." Freya looked puzzled. "What?" Five said. "Squires are men. I'll go and work in an inn or something and you can get someone who can be a proper squire." Freya shook her head no. "Lady," said Five, "come on. I'm not a boy, whatever I am. I've never been a girl. I don't feel like a girl. What am I gonna do?" Freya took Five's hand and held it up next to her own. There were the matching scars on their palms. Freya held them up in front of Five's face and pressed them together. A blood oath. You don't break a blood oath. "Wait," said Five, stomach fluttering, the hairs standing up on the neck. "You don't care." Freya stared into Five's eyes and shook her head no. "Whatever I am," said Five, voice shaking, "I'm more girl than boy. You really want someone like me tagging along after you?" Freya's eyes burned into Five's soul. She grabbed Five by the neck and pulled her in. Five made a startled "MMMM!" as they kissed. It wasn't exactly a friendly peck, or even a lover's smooch. It was a fierce gesture of ownership. Five gave in to it, dizzy as Freya held her tight. After a long moment they separated. Freya stared at her, her dark eyes gleaming. Five was breathless. "Lady," Five gasped, "before you do that again, something you should know." Freya waited. "I prefer girls to boys," Five said. "Always have." Freya put her arms around Five and kissed her again, this time deeply and lovingly, and Five yielded, feeling Freya's arms around her, holding her tight, her hands on Five's naked body. It was so lovely that when Freya detached herself and said something, Five didn't mind that Freya's voice was a bird calling, but just held Freya tighter, until it was all fading, and then with a start she woke up properly, this time, and found herself lying naked and cold and with a pounding headache at the foot of a tall tree in the middle of the forest. Entirely alone. Oh fuck, Five thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Freyas Saga Ch. 14 The forest floor was prickly and rough. There was a taste of blood from a bitten lip. The breeze was cold on her skin. Head pulsing with pain. I could stay like this for a while, Five thought. Just lie here. Starve to death, or let the forest animals eat me. Turn into bleached bones under the trees. Then in a few years, somebody comes along, finds the bones and says, hey, someone died. Can you tell from the bones if it's a bloke or a woman? I don't think so. People couldn't tell from looking at my face if I was a bloke or a woman. People couldn't tell from looking at my girl bits if I was a bloke or a woman. People couldn't tell from living with me if I was a bloke or a woman. I've bathed with blokes many times, and if any of them noticed that I wasn't a boy, they never said. But the jokes. Jokes and jokes about me being fat and girly. My boobs, lost in the fat on my chest and arms and neck and face and belly. If they looked at my bits, it was easier and funnier to believe I had a tiny cock than that I had a big ... whatever that bit's called. They may not have known it, they may not have all got together in a corner and agreed not to tell me, maybe they really thought I was a boy. But they felt something was wrong. They always let me know it. Why? Because I put the wind up them, with my wrong body and my high voice. I was like one of them girls who disguises herself as a boy to join the army, like in the songs, except I fooled meself as well. What did she ask me? Who told you that you were a boy? Straight away, she saw that somebody must have started it all. Somebody else disguised me as a boy so I wouldn't suspect a thing. Useful, when you think about it. I'm not weak like some girls. I can lift and carry. Bit of a waste of space having a big strong plain girl lumping around the place; got more than enough of them. More sensible to tell her she's a useless boy who has to work extra hard to make up for being useless. All worked fine, until there stopped being anyone to order me about and tell me I was a useless piece of shit every hour of the day. Back then I was happy, sort of. Knew me place in life. Then the army betrayed the lady and betrayed me, and I had to make me own place. And it all turned to shit. Because the lady made me think I was someone. And with her, I was. And then she found out the truth, and showed me, and I couldn't handle it. Acted like a stupid girl. No. Like a stupid person. I must be a stupid person, then. Five clutched the leaf litter on the forest floor and let it crumble in her fingers. "Be a man," they've always told me. I tried. I really tried. Don't think anyone could've tried harder. But it's one thing trying to be a man when you're a boy. A man is something a boy could be. Bit different when you're not a boy to begin with. Five rolled onto her back and looked at the trees towering overhead. I don't want to be a man. I suppose it would be one thing if you could change into one. Like in the legends, when people are always changing from men to women, who's that seer bloke, I can't remember now. Best of both worlds. But everyone's always told me to be a man. Even the lady said that to me, once. They were more keen that I be a man than that I have a proper fucking name. They can all fuck off, Five thought, and the anger made tears spring to her eyes. Even the lady. They can all just fucking fuck off. Pack of fucking wankers. All my life I've been pushed around and shouted at and mocked and bullied and ... And that. And Dannel. They always say it's just boys mucking about. Don't pay no mind, don't take it so seriously, it's just mucking about. But he and I weren't boys mucking about. He saw that. He must have. He understood. He knew me, the way a man knows a woman. And I'll probably never meet him again. I wonder what happened to him. What would I think now, if I met him? He was only in the school because his dad was rich. He'd no chance of being a real squire, what with that leg. He was just getting an education. Probably a trader now, or working for the baron. The fucking vindictive little shitty little lame fucking ... No. Five pressed her fists into her eyes and forced herself not to give in to it. She took her fists away and looked at her arms, looked at the scars on her upper arms from, when was it, two, three years ago? When she'd lie in bed at night, sleepless, and take out her knife and mae the blood come because it made everything seem less trouble for a while. Until she, or rather he, had to explain it and made up some stupid story about making a mess of butchering a carcass. Thinking about Dannel would bring all that back. That wasn't going to do any good. The question is, if I'm alone now, what the shit am I going to do. Five stood up on shaky legs, aching in head and hip and chest, and leaned against the tree for a moment. What a stupid dream. That she was ever going to just be all lovely about it. Why, Five, all this time I thought you were a fat boy and now I see you are a byootiful leddee. Come to my arms! You fucking idiot. She doesn't think of you like that at all. Now, she thinks you're useless, but before, she ... Well. To be fair. Let's not get completely down about it. She made that blood oath. That's not nothing. Course, I've just fucking broken it by leaving her, but it was her idea. So I'm more to her than just the only person to come along. She's had plenty of chances to find someone better, and not taken them. I dragged her for miles to get her away from that village, and I looked after her and tried to get her to come out of her despair, and it sort of worked, cause she did. She's always been straight up with me, I think. Think she even likes me, a bit, in her way. Or liked me. Has she come after me? Five looked around, but there was no heap of her gear left by a disgusted Freya. No. If she'd chased me, she would've found me and let's be realistic about this, likely killed me. So she didn't chase me. She might have just gone. But ... She's got enough trouble for herself, what with being wounded inside herself and not able to talk without spitting blood everybloodywhere. She needs someone. But more than likely, she can see she needs someone better than me. A proper young bloke who can do all the things a squire does. Not a sort-of girl who runs off into forests. Not someone who'll abandon her when things get a bit confusing. "Shit," Five said aloud, and leaned her forehead against the tree and gave in to a brief fit of self-pitying tears. All right, stop that. Don't be such a big girl's blouse. There is one more possibility. Is she waiting for me? To give me the mother and father of all bollockings, before beating the shit out of me and dismissing me from her service forever, as the last Hargest soldier to have abandoned her? That is in truth the likeliest thing. But I'm not going to go down. I can't now. I've burned that bridge and let the ash fall in the river and watched it flow out to sea. I've fucked it up with Freya Aelfrethe, like I fuck everything up. No. No. Got to stop doing that. I don't fuck everything up. Just a lot of things. She sat down and hugged her bare legs to herself and shut her eyes and shivered. Of all the bloody times to panic and run off, when you're stark naked has to be stupidest. So now what. Do I wait for someone to come and find me? I've no clothes and no weapons. Might as well tie meself up and hand meself over to the nearest bandit crew with a sign on me saying Help Yourself. Not that I'm such a catch that they'd fight each other to get to me, but bandits aren't fussy. On top of which, who knows what's in these bloody woods. Wolves? Apes? Apes that ride wolves? Maybe one of them bloody worms that took the lady. That would be justice, I suppose, if what happened to her happened to me. Of course, she mocked me about that cause she thought it never could happen to me. Seems I'm fair game after all. I might have been taken by a worm. I might still be. What was that thing she said about the worm, I always wanted to ask her what it had been like inside it, and the closest she ever came was the afternoon after we left Memika and I was moaning that we were unprepared, and what did she say? You want it to take you and fuck you and swallow you, and then will you fight your way out of its gut? Five opened her eyes and stared into the middle distance. Never thought about it at the time. I always thought the thing just spat her out. But it didn't. She made it spit her out. She fought her way out of a fucking worm. That's who I served. That's how bloody strong she is. And that's the difference between her and me. I've never fought me way out of anything. I've always just put up with it. But no wonder she's so wounded. That thing had her, and she fought it all off, and got it all out of her, and it bloody nearly killed her. If she talks she bleeds. I think her guts are all right but I can only imagine what the rest of her feels like. Is she permanently hurt? How long will it last? How long has she got? Stop it. These aren't your problems any more. Your problems are what to do with yourself now that you've disgraced yourself with her. I can't think about it, I can't, it's too big, it's crushing me. Five buried her face on her bare arms and closed her eyes and tried to think of something worth wishing for, and couldn't. She sat like that a while, her shoulders shaking, then she was still and the cold wind chilled her body and she shut it out and tried to think. Then she heard a growl. She lifted her head slowly and waited, tense. Another growl. From her right. Very slowly, she turned her head. It was a wolf. It was thin and hungry-looking and it was standing about twenty feet away and it was staring at her with angry, dark little eyes. Five looked at it and it bared its teeth at her and growled again, and she quickly looked away from it so as not to make it think she was trying to be stroppy. Now. Let's see. She slowly raised her eyes to look at the surrounding trees. They were all tall trunks that went straight up for a good twenty feet before sprouting branches. Too thick to clamber up. Nothing to grab onto. So that was out. She thought of teeth sinking into her bare flesh and it made her heart start to thump and her skin to go cold and clammy. "Good doggy," she said aloud, but in a soft voice, to nothing in particular. "Good lad." In the corner of her eye, the wolf walked forward a few paces, slowly enough to make her think it was under the impression that it thought she hadn't noticed it doing it, and was about to pounce. Running off? Don't fancy running through this forest again. Didn't work before. "Let's just be calm," she said aloud, then wondered who she'd said it to. The wolf growled again and walked another few paces. She sat very still, her hands resting on the forest floor, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face slightly turned away from it. "You don't want to eat me," she said. "I'm not tasty. I'm all gristle and bone. What are you doing away from your pack, eh? Did they kick you out for being useless?" The wolf padded around her in a wide circle, as if it were trying to get back into her line of sight. She had heard somewhere that the best thing to do if you were being menaced by a wolf was to curl up into a ball and do nothing, but something about the idea of curling up as she was gave her the willies: naked and vulnerable, not resisting in any way. More than likely the beast only wanted food, but who knew what it wanted. In any case, she had no desire to find out if it wanted to make her its bitch. "Nice doggy," Five said, her eyes swivelling from left to right, trying to see if there was anything at all that a person could use as a weapon. Nothing. The root she'd tripped over was firmly attached to its tree and there was nothing in the leaf litter but the odd pebble. She picked up a pebble in her right hand anyway, not that it would do anything but momentarily irritate a wolf. "What's your name, boy?" she said. "I know you don't 'ave one, just making conversation. Do you prefer men or women? Gonna eat me, are you? Sooner you didn't, if that's all right." The wolf stopped moving and snarled. "Well," she said, "this clears things up a bit." She had no more desire to lie on the forest floor and let whatever happen, happen. The urge to flee, or to fight, was making her heart race, and her bowels seemed to have gone liquid. She thought, will shitting myself make me any less attractive to a hungry wolf, and decided, probably not. She rose, very slowly, to her feet, and turned and faced the wolf and spread her arms. "All right," she said in a clear and strong voice that shook only a bit. "Stay. Stay. Good boy." The wolf barked. "Good girl, then," she said. The wolf growled and moved closer. "All right," she said, "do what you want," and she turned and ran. It was a stupid idea, she knew, but it wasn't like before. She wasn't running in a blind panic but with her eyes wide open for snares, trips, traps and holes. She vaulted over fallen logs and kept herself moving as fast as possible, but the wolf was bounding behind her, hard on her heels, snapping and snarling as it pursued her. The forest grabbed at her as she ran, trying to slow her, trying to cut her, the sharp branches and twigs dragging at her body as she ran. She put up with it. She couldn't let it stop her. Five kept running, breathing steadily, her legs pumping, ignoring the sharp stabs in the bare soles of her feet and the branches and twigs and thorns that raked at her body, concentrating on putting as much space as possible between the wolf and herself. The space ahead grew lighter and she saw that she was coming to a more open bit and it only took a moment for her to recognise that it was because she was coming up hard on a ravine that ran down the middle of the forest, some stream that had cut a deep channel through the forest floor, and the ground was about to fall away and she had to decide whether to clamber down and climb up or just risk everything in a mighty jump, and there was no time to decide, and she gasped and ran as hard as she could and took a deep breath and, with a desperate scream, vaulted into the clear air above the ravine. She landed on the other side, thudding on her feet and falling to all fours, a hidden rock cutting into her knee and making her gasp with pain. But thanks to the stream the slope was covered in thick grass, and she started to scramble upwards to the top. Behind her she heard a wolfish yelp, a thump and a yowl, followed by an agonised scrabbling sound and a whimper. Five straightened up at the top of the slope and looked down. The wolf was on its side in the dry stream-bed, one of its forelegs clearly broken, paddling uselessly, trying to right itself. Its eyes were bulging as it tried to understand what had happened. It had not been able to see the ravine and had kept running, run out of ground and fallen and landed badly. Five looked at it, her chest heaving, relief flooding through her. The wolf twisted its head and stared up at her. "Sorry," she panted. "You lose." The wolf whined in pain. "Oh, fuck off," she said. "You wanted to kill me. Not my fault you didn't see that coming." The wolf thrashed briefly and shivered. Oh god, she thought, am I supposed to take pity on every bastard wolf that tries to eat me and fails? She looked down at the helpless animal. "What?" she said. "What you want me to do?" It glared at her and snarled and whimpered again. She looked at the blood trickling down her leg from her cut knee. She was bleeding from other cuts, on her hip and her right side, and her left breast, and her face was smarting where a branch had whipped into it. "Thanks to you," she said to the wolf. "Thanks to you, shithead." I can let him lie there until he learns to run on three legs and come after me, she thought, or I can finish this now. Five sighed, looked around and found a thick branch lying on the forest floor. She picked it up and bugs and worms fell off its under surface. She gingerly walked down the slope, towards where the wounded wolf lay, and hefted the branch in her hands. The wolf stared at her, panting. It looked almost trustful. She carefully edged towards it, not entirely convinced that it wasn't all some elaborate shamming. "I'm gonna make it so you don't get eaten alive," she said. "You should thank me. In wolf heaven or wherever you go." The wolf beat its tail upon the earth. Five lifted the branch. The wolf suddenly righted itself, and she could have sworn that an evil grin passed over its face as it snarled and sprang directly at her. She shoved the branch right ahead of her, and the wolf's jaws clamped shut on it and sank into the wood. The weight of the animal hurled her flat on her back in the dirt, the wolf atop her, snarling as it tried to free its teeth from the branch, which was starting to splinter and creak. "You fucking little bastard!" she gasped, more angry than terrified. The wolf's claws raked her flesh. She kicked the wolf in the side and it snarled but it couldn't get its teeth out from where they were lodged in the wood of the branch. The wolf's face was only a couple of feet from her own. She could feel its breath. Its drool fell on her chest. She managed to get her feet under the wolf's belly and kicked it off her. It twisted as it fell back and managed to land on its feet as she scrambled to her own, backing away from it. It growled and bit harder and the branch cracked, and part of it fell out of the wolf's mouth. She trod on a rock, bent down, picked it up and hurled it at the wolf, hitting it on the head. It barked furiously and shook its head, but then it stood there, shaking its head, as the bits of branch fell from its mouth. They stood for a moment, facing each other, the wolf wary, Five breathing heavily. "What are you," she said, "some sort of special, clever, wolf ... thing?" The wolf growled and bit down again and the last bits of branch fell from its jaws to the dirt. "It's you or me, you bastard," she panted. "You're not gonna fool me again." She felt another rock and leaned over to grab it. The wolf ran at her and she fumbled the rock, grabbed it and swung, twisting her body as hard as she could. She managed to hit the wolf in the jaw but its teeth grazed her hand. She fell on her arse. The wolf whined and she whacked it on the muzzle again with the rock as it snapped at her, then again. It glared at her, then opened its mouth wide and lunged at her and she let out a scream of fear and shoved the rock into the wolf's mouth. The wolf's momentum forced her hand into the wolf's gullet, the rock in her fist, and it paused and made a choked snarl as she desperately tried to pull her hand out, but then she could see its eyes bulging as it tried to lash at her with its paws, and she held it off with her arm locked in place, as the wolf thrashed, her hand with the rock still in it blocking its throat. The wolf forced itself at her, its paws scrabbling at her, its teeth inches from her face, and she knew that at all costs she must not let her arm unlock, she had to hold it there, hold it off as long as she could. The wolf's paws were scratching and cutting her bare flesh on her thighs and belly. She was sweating, her head was pounding, she was staring at the wolf, it was making muffled barks but the harder it pushed to get to her, the harder her rock-holding fist was lodged at the back of its mouth. Freyas Saga Ch. 14 Just a bit longer, come on, just hold on, hold on, this is why I carried all them fucking bags, this is why I didn't let her share, so I could have just enough strength for this, fuck you, you fucking hairy bastard, you're cutting me something nasty down there but better that than biting my fucking arm off, come on, push harder, you stupid fucking ... The wolf was still pushing at her but its eyes were bulging as it failed to understand why it couldn't breathe. One of its claws cut her on the crotch and she yelped with the pain and her eyes streamed but she held on, her shoulder muscles trembling, as the wolf scrabbled at her. Its teeth were trying to close on her arm, but her arm was so far in the wolf's gullet that its jaws couldn't close. The wolf made feebler and feebler attempts to paw at her but its eyes were clouding over and slowly, very slowly, its strength was lessening, as it stopped getting any air at all. Go on, she silently urged it, her eyes wet, her body tense with pain and exhaustion, her arm still locked, the wolf's slippery gullet squeezing her fist. Go on. Go on. The wolf's eyelids sagged and its limbs went limp, and she fell backwards, its warm heavy body on top of hers. She lay there for a moment, panting, and then dragged her hand out of its mouth and ran over to where a long piece of the branch lay on the ground. Then she ran back to the wolf and was just in time to see its eyelids flutter and its chest heave, as it began to come round, before she brought the branch down hard on the wolf's head. A crack and a whimper, and its legs thrashed briefly. Again, two more times. Finally the wolf was still, and she sat down on the ground and flopped backwards and lay there, hugging herself and shaking, her chest heaving. Then she painfully got onto all fours. She left the branch lying on the wolf's head, not wanting to see the mess she'd made. Then she crawled up the slope, staggered to her feet and, wincing, made her way back through the trees to the clearing she'd originally been in. There. The path was clear, back down the hill to the field. She was aching and tired. She sat down and folded her arms on her knees and rested her head on them for a moment. She heard a footstep on the dead twigs and snapped her eyes open and there before her stood a figure in Hargest campaign gear, a pack on his back, his fat face looking worried as he stared in wonderment at the naked, bleeding girl sitting on the floor of the forest. "Shit!" said the youth at last, still staring at her but backing away. "Sorry. Sorry. Didn't mean to, um." "Wait," she said, but didn't stand up. He stopped and peered at her. She stared back at the face she'd glimpsed all those times in bits of polished metal, rivers, the occasional darkened glass. He blinked and stared back at her. "You," he said. "You, um." "What?" she said. "You look like me," he said at last. "Yeah," she said. "I know." "Are you maybe a twin I didn't know I 'ad?" he said, a look of wonder on his face. "Is this our first fated meeting? 'Ave I come to rescue you from some evil plight?" "No," she said, knowing the truth. "I've no twin." "Then what ..." he said. She stood up. It felt ridiculous to not let him see her, but she still felt shy and she could feel herself blushing. It was twilight anyway but she let him take it all in. "Oh," he said. "But you're a girl." "Is it obvious?" she said. "Well, I mean, I can tell," he said. "You've got girl bits. What is this? Is this an enchanted forest?" "Reckon it must be," she said. "Don't 'ave no other explanation. All right, don't fuckin' stare." "Sorry," he said, averting his eyes. She covered herself with her hands as best as she could. "So, where did you come from?" he said. "What's befallen you?" "I was gunna ask you," she said. "Well," he said, "I'm just, obviously, I'm on campaign, we, uh ..." He seemed uncertain, and looked over his shoulder, as if for the rest of the men. "No," she said. "You're not. I've never been here before and I've certainly never met meself as a girl in a forest." "So what," he said, "you're ..." He took a step towards her, looking at her face. She'd never seen his face so close up and so clear before. The round, dark eyes. The mop of black hair. The jowls that she knew she'd lost. The puzzled expression. He looked ... unfinished. Much younger than eighteen. He looked back at her, and reflected in his pupils she glimpsed herself; her dark hair cropped close, her square face lean and weathered from the sun, her long nose slightly crooked, her forehead and cheeks spattered with blood. She looked curious, and also full of sorrow. "You're the real one," he said finally. "Yeah, I am," she said, and he looked pale and stricken, and she felt sorry for him. He looked at his hand and looked at her, and she saw it dawning on his face, the understanding. "Who am I, then?" he said. "I think you're who everyone thought I was," she said. "But you're not really me," he said. "Not a proper boy." "No," she said. "Dunno if I'm a proper girl, with all the bits in good order. But I know I'm not a boy." "Bloody great," he said, looking miserable. "Just, fucking, brilliant. So I've wasted all this time." "We both 'ave," she said. "It's not just you." "But you get to go on," he said. "You get to 'ave a life, now. You get to be with the lady and 'ave adventures and, and, I dunno, not feel like such a fucking idiot all the time." "I still feel like a fucking idiot," she said. "And who says I'm going back with her?" "But you can be you," he said. "I don't get to go on." "I'd still 'ave to go down there and face 'er," she said. "Did you hear 'er shoutin' at me? She'd break me fucking nose again, at least. I don't need another broken nose. I'm not exactly Solveig the Fair as it is. 'Ave a bit of fucking compassion, you great twat." He smiled, briefly, and so did she. "What happened to you?" he said. "You're hellish cut up." She looked at the cuts on her arms and legs and torso. "It's not anything," she said. "You gonna do it, though?" he said. "You gonna go down there? She needs you, you know. You're not just the one who carries the bags. You're her voice. " She stared past him, at the slope down the hill. Then she looked at him, in all his gloomy hopefulness, and her heart ached for him. Down there in the field, she said to herself, is a walking ball of rage who is very, very angry with me right now, and will probably beat the shit out of me before firing me on the spot. Oh, fuck it. Can't keep letting everyone down. "Don't 'ave a choice, do I," she said with a sad smile. He looked oddly proud. "No," he said. "You don't. I'd've run off. I did run off." "Yeah," she said. "But that's not on now, is it." "So," he said. "You're gonna fix me mistakes." "You didn't make all mistakes," she said, her heart aching for him once again. "You did good, you know. You did. You got me here." He looked at her, hopeful. "You don't hate me, then," he said. "Course I don't hate you," she said, and she was startled at the sudden passion in her voice. "I bloody love you, mate." It was true, finally. The great iron band around her head had gone for real. She no longer felt wrong. She was who she was, and she was grateful to him. But the price of it all was that she and he had to say goodbye. They stared at each other, each wishing that there could be some other way, each wishing that this wasn't it. "We can't go on," she said. "It's done, now. She's seen who I am and there can't be no more hiding." He nodded. He rubbed his eyes fiercely for a moment, looking like a little boy at the end of a long day. It made her want to weep. "Right," he said, "well. Reckon it's got to be ta-ra, then, don't you?" "Reckon it does," she said, nodding. "You'll look after her." "I will," she said. "I promise. Maybe I'll even see you again." "Fuck," he said, "I dunno. Dun' even know what I'm doing 'ere." He gestured to the forest, and she turned and looked at the tall empty trees in the dim blue light, and when she turned back he had gone. She sat down on the forest floor and rested her face on her knees and wept briefly. Then she dried her eyes and shivered. Night had fallen and she was bloody freezing. She stood up and started to walk down the slope. *** Some time later Five emerged from the trees, trembling with cold, and walked across the field towards the pool. There was a fire. She could see it glimmering by the edge of the grove of trees around the pool. Her heart in her mouth, Five walked slowly towards the fire and was all too aware that there was nothing she could say, no apology this time. She just had to hear the lady out and take what was coming to her. Her throat and mouth were dry. Freya was sitting at the fire, fully dressed, eating something from a bowl. Five walked very quietly but nevertheless, Freya raised her head and put the bowl and stood up and turned in one motion, and watched the pale figure coming towards her. Five saw her. Freya had cut her own hair, and done an absolutely crapshit job of it. That was what penitents did. But what had she to be penitent about? Five wanted to cry but forced herself to keep her head up and look Freya in the face. She walked right up to the lady, who stared back at her, her face unreadable as deep water. They stood there, looking at each other for a moment. Freya took a step back and looked Five up and down. "Are you hurt?" she rasped, indicating the cuts and scratches and bruises all over Five's body. "No," said Five. Freya rubbed her face with one hand and looked at Five, her face stony. Five looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I was scared. I'll do whatever you want. I understand if you want me to leave." Freya did not move. Five couldn't look at her. Here it came. The flyting before the beating. "This is the first time you have let me down," said Freya hoarsely. Five forced herself to meet Freya's eyes. "It will be the last," Freya said. "Yes, lady," said Five, and nodded, accepting what had to be, her face burning with shame. She looked away again and walked over to her clothes. So that's it. It's all over. "It's best if I just go," she said. "You don't need to say anything. You shouldn't talk anyway. I know what I did. I know you can't forgive me. I'll do whatever you want but I understand." She started to sort through her baggy man's clothes, still the same ones she'd had forever. They were all too big now. "Wait," said Freya. "You don't need to say it, lady," Five said. "Just, please, don't. I've said it all to meself. I'll go back to Memika, I'll go and join a house of women, whatever." This, now; this was as hard as fighting the wolf. Harder. To make preparations to go while Freya simply stood there. She had never been so ashamed. She became aware that Freya had not moved, and she glanced at her And then looked twice, because Freya's face was no longer stony. If anything, she was staring at Five with mingled grief and fear. Five stared back, dumbstruck. Freya suppressed a cough and swallowed. She pointed to the fire. "I have sat here," she said, "and given many hard and noble speeches to the empty air, where you should have been. I have talked for hours about loyalty and honour and duty and service. I have said everything to you that I should have said." Five stared stupidly at the empty spot by the fire which Freya indicated. "All in vain, Five," Freya said. "All vanity." It was the first time she'd ever called her by her name. "Please, lady," said Five, miserable, "just let me go. There's no need for this." "No!" Freya said, and Five's heart went in her mouth. But it wasn't an angry shout, but an anguished cry. Freya stood, clenching her hands for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "It was all in vain," she said, "because it was I that failed you." "W-what?" said Five, feeling hot as well as cold all over. "You have been evilly, evilly used," Freya said. "Just as I have. And in my pride, with my rank, my experience, with all ... that has happened to me, I did not see it. I never saw it. I should have. It was my duty. And I failed." I didn't see it meself, Five thought. "When you ran from me," Freya said, "I did not see your shame. I only saw that you were leaving me. And I let myself be mastered by my anger. That is why I cried out, and that is why you feared me." Freya fell silent again, and Five stood there, shivering, thinking, yes, I fucking feared you. I've always been afraid of you. It goes with the job. "But, Five," Freya said softly, "You should never have had to fear me." Five stared at her. "Listen to me," said Freya, and she came forward and grasped Five by the shoulders and stared her in the face. Five could feel Freya trembling. She was trembling herself. There was so much unspoken, so much just on the edge of being said, nobody could have said it. "If you think I would break our bond," Freya said, "because you were not able to be honest with me, because you were lied to, then you wrong me in your turn. A bond such as ours is stronger than death. Stronger even than love." Stronger than love, thought Five. Yes. This ain't love. It's beyond that. "I was a coward," said Five, her voice shaking. "Yes, if you like," said Freya. "You were a coward." Freya let go of Five and stepped back from her, formal. She looked away at the ground, ashamed, and then raised her eyes to Five's again, her expression beseeching. "I was a coward too," she whispered. "You fled, and I raged. May we never fail each other again." "Never, lady," said Five, weeping. "Then may we forgive each other?" said Freya. "Please, yes," said Five. "Good," said Freya, the blood welling over her lower lip and flowing over her chin. "Oh god, child, come here." She held out her arms. Five walked into them, and Freya held her tight. Five thought through her tears, god, I'm crying a lot more now I'm a girl. Can't have this. But she let them flow anyway. Freya, embracing her, was shaking as well. "I am sorry," Five sobbed. "I am truly sorry." "Never again," said Freya into the hollow of Five's ear. "Never again." Five nodded. They stood for a moment, Five resting her head against Freya's chest. Then they drew back. Freya lifted Five's face, leaned down, closing her eyes, kissed Five on the lips, then released her. Five went over to her pack and took out a bandage and brought it back and dabbed the blood from Freya's mouth, then her own. Then Freya held out her hand. Five took it, and Freya pulled her back to the river. Five splashed clumsily into the water and then stood as Freya took the almond oil and anointed her with it, and then carefully washed her all over. Freya poured water over Five's short-cropped hair and the cold water sluicing over her body made her gasp. Her flesh tingled. Nobody had ever paid her body this much attention, not since Dannel, and he had just wanted to use it. She opened her eyes, shivering, and looked at Freya, still washing her down with an absorbed look on her face. Before, when Freya had dressed her broken nose - his broken nose - she'd been efficient but hardly gentle. But this time she washed Five with great tenderness, and then led her back to the campfire, and took out the dressings and began to dress Five's wounds. Five shivered, warming herself. Freya picked up Five's clothes and held them out to her. Five pulled them on. Then, at last, Freya stepped back and Five easied her tired and aching body to the ground and sat. Freya poured Five a bowl of stew. It was falling apart a bit from being cooked too long, and in an attempt to make up for not having enough things besides roots and meat, Freya had over-seasoned it. But to Five, it was delicious. Freya gave her some stale bread to mop up the broth and she devoured it. *** They sat side by side, warming their feet. "You seem different." "Don't feel that different," the young one said. "Less scared." Five returned her glance and thought for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Still scared, though." "Of what?" "Now?" Five considered. "Before, I was scared of everything. Now ... dunno. A lot of things seem to matter less. I think, cos, now, well ..." She let it trail off, but Freya understood from her rueful half-smile. Freya nodded. We no longer have secrets from each other, have we, young one. We have each witnessed each other's worst shame, and it has passed. Five put down her bowl and shivered a little in the cool night air. She pulled her baggy shirt closed over her chest. "So," she said, "the bleeding. From between my legs." Freya nodded. "It's natural, then?" "All women," Freya affirmed. "What is it?" "Part of childbearing," said Freya. "It stops when you are old and become barren." "What, I 'ave to put up with this shit till I'm old?" said Five, outraged. Freya nodded. "'Ow do you know?" "My nurse." "You 'ad a nurse? Of course you 'ad a nurse. 'Ow do you deal with it?" "How did you?" asked Freya. "Just washed a lot," said Five. "I've never 'ad it regular. If it got bad I'd put a bit of bandage down there to soak it up." Freya shrugged. "So do we all," she whispered. Five picked up her bowl, drank the last of the broth and put it down again. "What happened to you?" said Freya. "In the forest." "Oh," said Five, and looked thoughtfully into the distance. Freya waited, smiling. From the wounds on the girl's body it was evident enough that she had been attacked by some large wild animal, and from the fact that she had returned from the forest at all, she had clearly had the best of the fight. "Not a lot," Five said eventually. "I'll tell you some day." Freya nodded. She was right not to tell. Some victories need to be nursed in private. "Lady," Five said as she put on her boots, "you 'ave to let me cut your hair. That looks fucking terrible." "'Lady'?" said Freya, raising an ironical eyebrow. "Sorry, what," said Five, looking confused. "'Mistress'? Is it the wrong word?" "You, of all people, need use no other title for me but my name," said Freya, and she saw Five blush and look proud. "Oh," she said. "All right. Um, it'll take a bit of getting used to." Freya shrugged but inclined her head. "I meant it about the hair, though," said Five. "I'll 'ave to shave it. It's not good." Freya nodded. "One other thing," Five added. "And it pains me to say." Freya waited. "Can't marry you now," said Five. "Sorry." She gave a tentative but mischievous smile. And that is why I love you, Freya thought, smiling back. Freyas Saga Ch. 15 "Right," said Owyn. "I'm off." He had his crossbow in one hand and his quiver over his shoulder. Carfryn looked up from where she was helping Dovid get the fire going. The tinder had caught, and a thin but steady stream of smoke was wafting up from under the pot. "I'm coming with you," she said, and stood up. Owyn looked startled. "Oh," he said after a pause. "Right. Good. Then. Yes." "Why?" she said, "do you not want me to come with you?" "It's not that," he said. "I mean, just, you've never come before." "I need to see how you shoot," she said. "I have only shot the straw target." "Come on, then," he said, and she wiped her hands and Owyn turned and entered the woods. He was annoyed that she was coming with him. The trip to get something for the pot was normally a time of peace and quiet from him, away from her relentless, bitter denunciations, but it was also, he had to admit, an excuse to relieve a little of the frustration he felt from travelling with a beautiful girl who he'd, well, done wrong, and who therefore was now and forever unavailable. Owyn had never thought of himself as having much time for shame, but even he drew the line at jerking off in front of a client, and he valued the time in the forest chiefly for those few minutes when he could be safely out of her sight and earshot, summon up a few memories and pull a quick one. Funny thing, though. Since he'd been travelling with her and exposed to the full force of the lass's day-in day-out disgust and contempt, all possibility of relishing the memory of the time he'd actually had her, was now gone. That particular event would at one time, had it been with some bird he'd never seen again, have been the inspiration for many a quiet pleasurable moment, but now it was too gone-over in public, too hedged about with shame and regret, for him to be able to take any pleasure in thinking about it. And, to his increasing dismay, it wasn't just true about her. There'd been other times, not many but some, when he'd been, shall we say, not exactly punctilious in his manner of gaining access to a lady's charms, and they were all now tainted with the hatred Carfryn felt for him, which she was so fond of reminding him about. It was like seeing himself in a mirror that showed all his flaws and none of his better qualities. In order to summon up pleasant memories he now had to dig far back in his past, to a time when he was a one-woman man, when he would go off and fight and keep himself chaste and then come back home to his ... No, better not think about her, even if the memory of her long, smooth, pale body and her red hair and her mischievous smile was just about the only memory of being with a woman that he could now think about without guilt creeping in and spoiling everything. Well, unless you counted that barmaid in Galleoso that time. And that shepherd girl. And that posh bird at the party who threw herself at me because I looked good in a uniform. Apart from them, if you think about it all from her point of view, it was a sorry fucking tale, though. A tale of favours grudgingly given, and deals done, and many a maiden's fear or greed getting the better of her pride. All culminating in one night at an inn, when I let myself be talked into taking it by force. Don't pussyfoot it. The bookman's right. Don't blame the fat bastard. You were thinking about it before he suggested it. You did it because you wanted to, and now you have to make up for it. She was walking beside and a little behind him. He had been carefully avoiding looking at her. "Let's keep quiet," he said. "There are wild boars in this forest and it's rutting season. If we disturb 'em they'll want to know why." She ignored him. "Not that I wish to stem the delightful flow of your talk," he grunted. "I've said everything I have to say," she said. "I see no reason to repeat it." "This is a pleasant change from you telling me what a cunt I am." "I'm tired of telling you what a cunt you are," she said. "I prefer to assume that you have now learned that lesson." "I like to think I have," he said. "We shall see," she said. "Look. A squirrel." She halted and pointed up ahead. He lifted the bow, but he couldn't see it. "Where," he said. "On the bough of that ash," she said. "There." He blinked, but the bough of the tree seemed to merge with the trees beyond it, and the view generally. "Your eyesight's better than mine," he said. "Can you not see it?" she said. "No," he said, annoyed. There was a pause. She stared ahead at the squirrel he couldn't see, and cursed under her breath. On an impulse, he held out the crossbow to her. "You do it," he said. She stared at him. "Shoot it," he said. "Show me what you can do when it's not a straw target." She kept staring at him, and reached out and took the crossbow from him. He stood and looked back at her. She stood there, the crossbow in her hands pointing at neither of them, and then she tore her gaze from him and looked at the squirrel that she could see and he couldn't, and she raised it to her shoulder, aimed and fired. The crossbow made a clunk as it fired, and he saw her face fall and she scowled. "Too noisy," she said. "It heard." "Got to be quicker," he said, and held out his hand. She handed the crossbow back to him. He pointed it at the ground, put his foot in the bow and pulled the string back until it caught the nut. Then he took a quarrel from his case and placed it in the runner. He looked up at her. She was looking at him. "What?" he said. "Why don't you just kill me now," she said, "and get it over with." He stared at her. He was truly unnerved. "Swordsman," she said in a level voice, "why continue this charade? Why not just kill us and take the bookman's money?" He could think of nothing to say. "It is by far the most sensible course of action," she said. "Why pretend to go on guarding us when you could simply kill us? Who will know? Kill me now, go back to the camp and kill the bookman, and take his money. Why do you go on pretending that you wish to be some kind of guardian to us? Why do you continue this charade of being a, a, a good man who has made mistakes? Do you think you can fool me? Me, who you have beaten and held down and fucked? While I begged you not to? You think I don't know what kind of man you are?" He could see her sweating and trembling. Her face was bleak and hopeless. "I think you know what kind of man I am," he said slowly. "I don't think you know what kind of man I was." "Oh," she said, "please don't tell me that you were once a good man, but life has beaten you down." "I was," he said. "It has." "Has it?" she said. "Well. I was once capable of delight. Since I met you? No longer." "And that's my fault, is it," he said. "Yes." "No," he shouted, "it's yours. It's your fucking fault. You rode out and thought to defend yourself against someone like me. You had no idea what you were doing. You should have known. You should have known what would happen." "Listen to yourself!" she screamed. "You talk like you had not done what you did! As if some beast had done it! But it was you! You could have not done it!" "Keep it down," he grated. "You want to get the boars on us?" "You could have stopped yourself!" "Yes, I could have," he said, feeling his temper get the better of him. "Then why did you not?" "Cause I wanted you!" he yelled. He hung there, and stared at her, his face twisted with anger, and then he turned his back on her and walked over to a tree and grabbed a branch and wrenched it off. It was easier to talk without looking at her. "Look," he said, trying to control his tone, "you're young and you're beautiful and I hadn't had anything in a long time, and I added it all up, and I reckoned I could have you and get away with it. That's all it was. I didn't do it to make myself feel like a big man. Well ... not as much. I had no notion the bookman would ask me to look after you. You are a beautiful woman and I didn't reckon you'd go for me in the normal run of things, and when they started talking about taking you, it seemed like it would be easy. It was just plain, bloody, stupid, selfish ... a cuntish thing to do. That's all it was." She was silent, and he turned around and looked at her. "I was right, wasn't I?" he said. "You would never have gone for me." "No," she said. "Because I'm old and common and dirty, and you're young and can have the pick of anyone you want," he said. "I'm not stupid." "Because even if you had not done to me what you did," she said, and something in her tone arrested his attention, "even if you had been young and gentle and handsome, neither you, nor any other, could have my heart. It is already given to another. And he did not want it, so now it is lost." "Who?" he said. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and said "We need to get some food," and looked at him expectantly. Now is not the time, he thought, to be delving into her with questions. "That we do," he said. "Come on." He looked around and listened. "Fowl," he said. "This way. Keep it quiet." They made their way carefully through the trees until he held up a warning hand, and they slowed. He squinted into the trees and could see them, two plump birds, pecking their way over the forest floor. "See 'em?" he whispered. "Yes." "You want to take the shot?" "If I miss," she said, "we don't eat anything." "Then don't miss," he said, and handed her the crossbow. She lifted it to her shoulder, squinted down it, took a deep breath, breathed out, and fired. The clunk of the bow made one of the birds lift its head in curiosity, and then the quarrel sank into it and it went over. The other one flapped in a panic and hopped off into the undergrowth. "Nice," he said. They went forward and he leaned over, picked the bird off the ground and pulled the quarrel out of it. "Well done," he said. "Answer my question," she said, looking at him suddenly. "What question?" "Why do you not just kill us?" "I told you," he said. "You did not," she said. "No, I didn't," he admitted. "Then why?" "Because of my reputation," he said. "You don't kill a client." "But nobody knows we are your clients," she said. "You could kill us and get away with it. Just as you got away with what you did to me." "Did I?" he said, and handed her the bloody quarrel. She took it from him and stood, holding the crossbow in one hand, the quarrel in the other. "What's to stop you shooting me, taking your money back and going on your way?" he said. "We need your protection," she said. "I wouldn't say that," he said. "You've improved mightily. Reckon you could see off a more than average villain, at this point. So why doesn't everyone just kill everyone else? Me you, you me, what's the fucking difference?" "I don't know, swordsman," she said. "I have no heart, I told you. I gave away my love. I was robbed of my dignity. I have nothing now. I would welcome death." He stared at her, helpless. "You want to know why I don't just kill you?" he said. "Because I'm not a monster." "Explain to me how you are not," she said. "You're young," he said, "but haven't you ever done anything you knew was wrong, but you couldn't stop yourself? D'you know how it happens? You start doing one thing that's a bit wrong, and it's not that bad, and you get away with it, and then you go a bit farther, and then a bit farther, and before you know it you're so far deep in a world of shit that you can't breathe. Can you imagine what that's like?" Carfryn looked at him, thinking of herself and Siegfa, sharing a bed, sharing their lives, sharing everything. And in the end, finding out that she had shared nothing. That he been a stranger to her all along. The look on his face, as he left her in the bed, as she begged him to stay with her, to not go out into the night. That look of shocked loathing, when he'd realised just how she loved him. "Yes," she said. "Then you should know what it's like to hate yourself," he said. "The only chance I got to not spend the rest of my shitty fucking life drinking myself to death, is if I do something that isn't just for me. And whether you like it or not, and I know you don't, this is it. I don't expect you to be grateful. I don't expect you to stop fucking hating me. But that's why. 'Cos I'm not gonna die old and happy with lots of grandchildren round me bed, so I'd at least like to die feeling like I wasn't just a shit-smear on the boot of the world. So," he added, "hang on. Maybe it is for me. Yeah, part of it is. But it's also for you and him." They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he took his money bag off his belt. "All right," he said. "All right. You have nothing, I get that. And it's my fault." He collected himself, then held out the money bag. "Here's your money," he said. "I don't want it." "What?" she said, baffled. "I don't want your fucking money," he said. "Our contract is over. I'll protect you for nothing. Just to fuckin' show you. I won't accept any money from you or the bookman, and I won't leave your side until you order me to. And I'll defend you and the bookman with my life, if I have to. Will that satisfy you?" She stared at him for a moment, then in one movement she loaded the quarrel on the crossbow, cocked it and pointed it at his chest. As she raised it, he was pulling his sword out of his scabbard so that by the time the crossbow bolt was pointed at his heart, he had his sword in his hand. "You mock me?" she said, furious. "No," he said. "You give us back the money," she said fiercely, "and all hold we have over you is gone. You think I am stupid as well as weak?" "I thought you welcomed death," he said. "I do not care what happens to me," she said, "but when I was naked and helpless, the bookman unbound me and tended me. I owe him protection." "I'll protect you," he said. "That's what I'm sayin'. I'll protect you both. I'll do it for nothing." "Why?" she said. "Why would you do that?" "You think there's nothing to live for?" he said. "I don't speak for anyone else," she said. "But I have nothing to live for." "You're too young to come to that conclusion," he said. "I have lived a life already, swordsman," she said. "I have had enough heartbreak, believe me." "You think you're the only one who's ever had a broken heart?" he said. "I was in love, once." "Don't tell me," she said. "You raped her, and for some reason she left you." He had to fight the impulse to hit her, she was that fucking lippy. "No," he said. "I loved Elaine. And she loved me. We were gonna be married. But I knew I didn't have enough money. She wanted me to stop soldiering an' open an inn, but inns cost money. And there was always another job. I was always off fightin'. Besides, I liked it. An' it just ... wore us down. Bickering. I was stupid. I liked earning the money more than I liked being with her. When she realised it, she left me. I come home one evening. Fire dead. House empty. Girl gone. She married some other bloke. But she was bloody lovely. She was smart and wise and beautiful. And I lost her to that cunt. Well, he wasn't the worst, but at the time, I fuckin' hated him." "Where are they now," said Carfryn, still pointing the crossbow at his heart. "Oh," he said, "the war. All gone. Whole town." "What town?" "Festeburg," he said. She nodded. There was a silence. "What about you?" he said. "That bloke you loved. What'd he do? Leave you for someone else? If we find him, I can be very persuasive." "No," she said. "He killed himself." "Oh," he said, and then thought for a moment and looked at her with wonder and pity. "Oh, fucking hell," he said. "Your brother." "Yes," she said. "But," he said, "that could never, ever have worked out." "It was doomed," she said, still pointing the crossbow at his heart. "All along. I kept it from him, our whole life together, until the night he died. Then when he was going to go out, I had a foreboding, and I made my love known to him, and he rejected me the way you would thrust aside a dog with plague. He looked on me with hatred. That same night, he was set upon, and used the way you used me, and when I found him, he killed himself, sooner than accept me as his rescuer." He tried to find the words, anything, and could find nothing. "Fucking hell, Carfryn of Hargest," he said at last. "To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't killed yourself already." "Mine has been an ill-starred life, Owyn Durberry," she said, "and of all the stars which have blighted me, you are just the third most recent. Now you know. Now you know it all. Feel free to laugh." They faced each other for a long moment. "You see me laughing," he said levelly. There was a long silence between them. "I've done bad things," he said. "Think I don't know that? I've done terrible things. Worst thing I ever did, I did to you. Don't reckon I can ever make up for it. Fuck knows, you don't want to let me. But if shooting me with that fucking thing would do it, if taking your revenge would make you feel better, then pull the fucking trigger, Carfryn. 'Cos I'd sooner you took your revenge on me than go on like this, with you not letting me do what I have to do." She kept aiming it at his heart for a long moment. Then, slowly, she lowered the crossbow until it pointed at the ground. He nodded, the shame sticking a knife into his heart and twisting it. He couldn't even look at her. He accepted it. He wasn't going to get off that easily. Oh, you fucking ... "No," he said. "Fair enough." Not fair to blame you. You're right. Then he looked up at her, and saw her bleak gaze refocusing on something past him, her eyes widening and then narrowing, her mouth opening slightly. She was looking at something behind him. Slowly, she raised the crossbow once more to her shoulder. "What," he said. "Boar," she said quietly. "Behind you. It's seen us." "Where?" he murmured. "How far back?" "Twenty yards," she said. "Closing." "Hang on," he said, "you welcome death." "Not like this," she said softly. "Not from that. It's coming towards us, swordsman. If you get out of the way I can hit it." "You can't kill it with that," he said. "Where is it? Exactly." It was thirty or feet away, bristling, its little red eyes glaring at them. It stopped and it snarled, and he heard it. "If I move, it'll charge you for sure," he said. "You better fucking hit it, and then move. Then I'll have a go. Can you do that?" "We shall see," she said, her voice steady, but he could see her sweating, he could see the fear that was now making her come alive before his eyes, when a moment ago she had been as still and pale as death. His heart was pumping and her face was flushed and he could see her steadying herself with the crossbow. "All right," he said. "In three. One." "No time," she said, her voice rising. "Move, swordsman! NOW!" He dived and rolled and she fired, and he felt the wind of he quarrel going past his neck, and the boar's feet were pounding in the leaves, and as she too dived to one side he felt it coming up, and he turned and glimpsed it leaping at her, and she swung his sword and connected with it. It made a hideous squeal and collided with her, and she screamed and scrambled away from it, but it was snarling and it drew back, the quarrel sticking out of its bleeding left eye. It whipped its snout at her and he saw the tusk gash her leg. She screamed again. He was on his feet and he had to guess at where her own leg was, underneath it, and he plunged the sword into its back. It squealed, and he levered the sword from side to side. The boar's blood sprayed everywhere. She was trapped beneath it, cowering. The boar thrashed and it shrieked, a terrible deafening howl, and he yanked his sword again, hauling its huge, heavy body away from her so it couldn't gore her a second time. He only just managed to hold it back. It was lunging at her. Freyas Saga Ch. 15 She reached forward and managed to grab the quarrel, and thrust it as hard as she could into the boar's eye, then fell back and with a desperate grunt she hammered it home with the heel of her boot, sinking the quarrel deep into the boar's skull. The boar made a snuffle and abruptly went limp. He stood over it, panting for breath, and she lay on the forest floor, staring at the boar and at him, panting, and he reached down, pulled his sword out of the beast and dropped it on the forest floor to clean later, then he rolled the beast off her. She stared at her leg. The skin and flesh were torn but by some miracle, the blood wasn't pumping out of her as he'd feared it might be. Her breath was ragged and gasping and she was pale. He looked down at the boar, and at her. "Fucking good shot," he panted. She just nodded in acknowledgment, her chest rising and falling. "We've got to get you back to the fire, and clean that wound out," he said. "It doesn't look that bad," she said, staring at it, shaking. "This is no time to be brave," he said. "Could be worse. But we have to get it cleaned." He reached down and she looked up at him, her face twisted with so many contradictory emotions. "Good job," he said. "Really. That was fucking sweet." He laughed, slightly, out of sheer relief. She reached up and he took her hand and hauled her to her feet. She gasped with pain. He slid his arm under her shoulder so he was holding her up. She was standing on one leg, the other drawn up to keep the weight off it. "There are weeks of eating in that thing, if we're careful," he said, looking down at the boar. "Do you know how to butcher," she gasped. "I know enough," he said. "You can't carry me and it," she said, her steady voice belying the pain in her face. "Can't leave you, can't waste food," he said, and reached down and grabbed the boar's still-warm ankle. "Hold on," he said. They started to head back through the woods, he dragging the boar behind them, she leaning on his shoulder. "By the way," she gasped, her face dripping with sweat, "in case you think that this is you making up for what you have done, it is not." "I can't believe you're still fucking going on about that," he panted. "I didn't think it was, if you wanna know, but we just killed a fucking wild boar. You and me. Pat yourself on the back, for fuck's sake." They went on in silence, or rather the wood around them was silent; he was breathing heavily with the effort of supporting her and dragging the heavy body of the boar, she was whimpering quietly with pain, and the boar was snapping twigs and dragging brushwood with itself. "I'm serious," he said, "that was a bloody good shot." "It was lucky," she said. "Maybe you're luck's changed at last, think of that?" "Ssshh," she said. "Do not say so." "Are you superstitious?" "You would be, if you were me. You would think yourself cursed." "You make your own luck," he said. "I believe that much." "You must teach me how to do that," she said, managing to sound sarcastic while limping with pain. "I must learn how you came to be the happiest and most fortunate of men." "You really are a fucking bad-tempered cunt, aren't you?" "Why would that be, can you imagine?" "Sorry," he muttered. "What happened?" said a voice, and they looked up to see the bookman standing a few yards away, staring at them with dismay. "Had an argument with a pig," said Carfryn. "That's it," said Owyn. "You've got to laugh." She turned her head and looked at him. They had never been so close together, physically, since the night in the inn. "No," she said, unsmiling. "You do not." There was a pause, and he looked back at her pale, sweating face. She was trembling with pain, but she held her gaze steady and he could see in her eyes the full force of her dislike; her fierce distrust of him, her unwavering contempt for his weakness and selfishness, the still lingering fear of him which she was struggling, above all, to master. He considered the way the conversation had been going before the boar had come along, and he thought, I was wrong about you. You're not really weak. Only on the surface. Deep down, you're tough. He nodded slowly. "No," he admitted, "you don't sometimes." Dovid came forward and took her other arm over his frail shoulders. "How far is the camp?" Carfryn she said, as the three of them locked together, and they resumed the walk. "Not far," said Dovid. "When you didn't come back, I worried. Then I thought I heard screaming, so I came to see." "What did you think had happened?" said Owyn with a sardonic look. "I was unwilling to speculate," said Dovid. "I merely came to obtain information." "We have to see to that leg," said Owyn. "Is the water still boiling?" "Oh yes." "Good. We'll need it. Is that ... hang on, what's that?" They looked up ahead, where the forest thinned and ended, and saw a confused mass of men on horseback, men on foot, shouting and dogs barking. They managed to speed up a bit, and as they emerged, out of breath, from the trees, they saw it. It was a hunt. It had come upon their camp. The cauldron had been knocked over, the hot water long gone. The fire burned uselessly. Their belongings were scattered everywhere, clothes torn and muddied. They stared in disbelief and outrage. Eyes turned to them. "Silence!" shouted one of the men on horseback, and the entire party turned to see what had caused the interruption. "State your business in the forest of Tengmere!" shouted the man on horseback; a chamberlain of some sort, Carfryn guessed from his attire. There was a richly-attired man on the best and biggest horse at the centre of it all, who looked down at them with displeasure. "We are travellers," she said, dry-mouthed. "We were just camping here." "This is the land of the Earl," said the man. "You are trespassing." "This is common land, surely," she said. "You are trespassing," he repeated, then craned his head to see what they were dragging behind them, and let out a cry of rage. "Thieves! Lord, they have killed the boar!" There was a collective groan of disappointment and anger from the entire hunt. "We didn't know it was your boar," said Owyn. "It was gonna kill us." "That is Red Roaming!" cried the man, as if only a babe or a lunatic could not have known that the boar not only had a name but belonged to someone, and had clearly been earmarked for hunting that day. "You have slain Red Roaming! My lord, it grieves me to say that our hunt must be abandoned. These criminals are poachers, and must be dealt with in the harshest possible terms." The lord, evidently the leader, stared at the three of them with extreme dislike, but held up a hand. "Wait, Mezieres. We must at least take note of who these three say they are, before we accuse them of deliberate thievery. They are none of our regular poachers, I take it? I see one of them is a bookman." "Their faces are not known to me," said Mezieres the chamberlain. "Who are you, and what is your business?" said the Earl. "My name is Britomart," said Carfryn. "I have been travelling with my liegeman. We are conveying this gentleman," indicating Dovid, "back to his people. He has had business with my father on behalf of his own folk, and we wished to ensure that he returned home safely." "I find it hard to imagine that a poachers' gang would comprise a girl and a bookman," said the Earl. "Therefore, I accept your story. Who is your father?" "Raithlin of Lanstun," said Carfryn, picking a family she knew would be far enough away to have never been here. "I do not know of them," said the Earl, who looked unimpressed. "This is my land, and moreover, you have spoiled my hunt. Begone." He turned and rode slowly away. "We apologise," said Carfryn to his departing back. She gritted her teeth, her leg throbbing with pain. "If you will convey us to the borders of your lands, we will be on our way." "See that they are gone by lunchtime," said Mezieres. The soldiers held them at spearpoint as Dovid started to gather up their torn, muddy belongings. Some of the stuff was too far gone to save, and he threw it on the fire. Owyn guided Carfryn to the earth, gave her a cloth to bite down on, and took his flask of liquor and poured some liberally over her wound. She made a strangled cry into the cloth and glared at him, her eyes streaming. "Spirits help wounds heal quicker," he said and shrugged. "Don't ask me why. But that'll be less likely to fester, now." He heated cold river water and threw a few herbs in and washed the wound with it, then he took a needle and thread and heated the needle in the fire, and then he knelt by her and said "Grab my leg if you want to hold onto something," and stuck the needle into her flesh, and began to sew up the wound. The soldiers turned away, looking queasy. Carfryn was whimpering quietly with the pain, the cloth still clamped between her teeth, but Owyn had to hand it to her, she watched the whole process and when he had finished and bandaged the wound, she helped tie the knots. Then he handed her his liquor flask and took the cloth from her clenched jaws. "I don't want any," she said sullenly. "You need it for the pain," he said. "We've all got a way to go today. Go on." She sighed, lifted the flask to her lips and had a good drink, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced the burning spirit down her throat. Owyn started to think that she was having too much, but then he remembered how much ale he'd seen her put away in the inn without apparent bad effects, and he thought that for such a slight young woman she was clearly a seasoned drinker. Perhaps that was her way of living with the brother she loved but couldn't have, he thought. Well, that's what I'd have done. She handed him back the flask and gasped, blinking. "What is that?" she asked, her face flushed. "From the west," he said. "Made with potatoes." "It works," she said. "Right." She hobbled over to where her belongings lay on the ground and started to pick them up. Owyn went over to the boar and started to tie it up, and two soldiers came over to him. "Drop it," said one of them. "Hang on," he said. "We killed it fair and square." "It's not yours," said the soldier. "But we killed it!" Owyn said indignantly, turning to the chamberlain. "It is the Earl's," said the chamberlain. The two soldiers grabbed the boar off him and dragged it away. Carfryn limped over to see what the fuss was about. "There's three weeks of fucking food on that thing," said Owyn. "No," said the chamberlain. "Since it was not killed by his Grace, it is defiled. It will be burned." "So you don't even want it, but we still can't have it?" said Owyn, a vein bulging on his forehead. Carfryn laid a weary hand on his sleeve. "Such is the penalty for trespass," said the chamberlain. Dovid was standing by two soldiers, throwing bits of rubbish on the fire. One of them, apparently under the impression that he was being helpful, saw his book on the ground, went over, picked it up and before Dovid could take it off him, dumped it into the flames. Dovid let out a cry and stamped on the fire and frantically dragged the smouldering book out, taking his coat off and smothering the flames with it. The soldiers viewed him with bemusement. "This is the sacred book of my people!" he bawled at them, almost in tears. "This is a hallowed object!" "Sorry," said the soldier. "Thought it was rubbish." "Would I do that to the sacred book of your people?" Dovid shouted. "We don't have one," said the soldier. "We're people of the word." "Of course you are," Dovid said. "Of course you are." "What's that supposed to mean?" said the other soldier in a dangerous voice. "Nothing," said Dovid. "He thinks we're shit," said the soldier. "Like all his kind." "There's no need for this," said Carfryn, leaning on Owyn. She looked around for the soldier's superiors, but they were pointedly ignoring the situation even though it was happening only a few yards away from them. "I misspoke," said Dovid, hugging the still lightly-smoking book to himself. The soldier walked up to him and shoved him, and Dovid fell over, still clutching the book, landing on his arse in the churned-up, soggy earth. "That's enough," said Owyn. "You're supposed to be protecting us," said Carfryn in a low voice. "And that's what I'm just about to do," he said, and quickly went over to where Dovid lay on the ground, the soldier standing over him. "Now then," he said cheerfully, "what's going on? What's he done, eh?" "This fucking bookman's up himself a yard deep," said the other soldier. "I know," said Owyn sympathetically. "I know. He's a caution. We've been getting that for days, now. But what can you do? They're different from us. Different customs." "He's a fucking little wanker," said the soldier, glaring down at Dovid, who was still holding his book to his chest, keeping it out of the mire. "Nah, he's all right, actually, mate," said Owyn mildly. "When you get to know him. I mean, yeah," and he deliberately talked out of the side of his mouth, "he's a bookman," rolling his eyes, "but we've had some interesting conversations on this trip about business. Rope, especially. Knows a lot about rope. Here," he said to Dovid, "tell him that thing you told me about rope. This'll kill ya," he said to the soldiers with a hearty chuckle. "Rope?" said Dovid, thoroughly confused. What the hell are you doing, you idiot, Carfryn thought. "Yeah," said Owyn. "It was about how, what, ropemaking techniques in the eastern lands are completely different than techniques in the south, on account of the different sorts of fibres that the rope has to be made of, see? Now, and this is the good bit, what happens is, when they make the rope, right, the fibres have to be twisted in such a way that -" "Shut the fuck up," said the soldier, staring at Owyn incredulously. "You think I give a shit about rope? You boring fucking bastard. Pick up your gear and fuck off, the lot of you." He stomped away, and the other soldier, the one who'd thrown the book in the fire in the first place, looked at Owyn, shrugged in half-apology for his comrade's rudeness, and followed him. Owyn waited for them to leave, then walked over and extended a hand to Dovid, who took it. Owyn hauled him to his feet. "Right," he said softly. "I know it's your book. I know it's precious. Just watch your mouth, all right?" Dovid nodded. Owyn nodded back, patted him on the shoulder and walked back to Carfryn. She was displeased to see that he couldn't resist smiling smugly. "There you are," he said. "Protection." "And nothing damaged except your pride," she said. He looked dismissive. "Oh. Dumped that ages ago," he said. "Held me back." Indeed, thought Carfryn bitterly, but she kept it to herself. It wasn't worth lashing out every single time he said or did something that reminded her of her lingering pain and humiliation. It was too bloody tiring. They finally finished gathering what was worth keeping and burning what wasn't, and they mounted their horses, and the soldiers escorted them to the roadway. "Now go," said the chamberlain. "And do not come back. We have hospitality only for guests, not for thieves." "We're not fucking -" Owyn began, but Carfryn angrily shushed him and he shut up. They watched the soldiers go back into the forest. The sky was overcast, and it was hot and muggy. Dovid felt the heat through the clouds. Inside his black clothes, his shirt was clinging to his torso with sweat. "So," he said quietly. "No breakfast." "I am aware of that," said Carfryn. "No lunch either." "I am aware of that too." Carfryn was dizzy with hunger; the glow she had felt from the liquor had worn off, leaving her with a headache, and the pain in her leg was throbbing. "What did I tell you, swordsman," she said flatly. "An ill-starred life." "Yeah," he said. "Thanks for sharing it with us." She looked at him indignantly, about to round on him yet again, but she caught Dovid's eye. He looked as weary and hungry as she felt, and he gazed off into the distance, patiently waiting for her latest outburst to end. They have attached themselves to me, she thought. Not I to them. My luck is now theirs also. I can make it worse by complaining about it, or endure it and move on. She glanced at Owyn, and gave him a small nod, accepting the implicit rebuke. She turned her face to the north and breathed in. The warm country air smelt clean, for once. They were no farms for a few miles. No people. There was that. "What now, chief?" said Owyn, deadpan. "Chief?" she said. "You're paying me," he said. "Not my place to tell you what to do." "We ride until we find an inn," she said. "I want food, and ale, and a bed, in that order. Then, when we are are rested, we will discuss how best to proceed." "An excellent plan," said Owyn with something resembling cheerfulness. "All right. We all ready?" "Ready," said Dovid, clutching her from behind. "Yes," said Carfryn. "Right," said Owyn. "We're off." Freyas Saga Ch. 16 They followed the road north, and slowly the land grew cooler and greener. They trained. It was too big to talk about, the change in Five, the change in her status, the change in the way people would talk to her. Five could tell, they were both wary of it. It was easier to pretend that everything was back to normal. And so the days fell back into the rhythm; wake early, find food, breakfast, train, walk, find lunch, eat, train, walk, find dinner, eat, sleep. There were cold days, and days with midges, and days with wild dogs, and days when they just couldn't find any meat and Five had to make do with roots and her dwindling supply of flour and fat and salt, but they never starved. One night, it had all gone especially well. Five's shooting had improved to the point where she bagged not one but three rabbits, and they met a pedlar on the road who exchanged one of them, and some salt, for a couple of flasks of wine. They feasted on roasted bunny and leaves and bread, and drank wine, and Five sat by the fire with Freya next to her, dazed with tiredness, sated with food, mellow with wine. I have never been happier, she thought. Then something came to her, and she looked sidelong at Freya, who was as usual staring blank-faced into the fire. "Can I ask you something?" she said. Freya nodded. "When the worm in Torina wounded you, you said something. I thought at first you were sick, but then you said it again, and I realised it was a thing you were saying. What was that? I didn't recognise it." Freya looked blank for a moment, then her face cleared. "Oh," she whispered. "It was a curse. In my mother's tongue." "Really?" said Five. "You can speak her language?" "There were others of her people who were in Hargest when I was an infant. I learned that tongue from my nurse. Then I learned our tongue, from my father and from Lady Fricka." "So it's your first language?" "It is. But I barely speak it. To my shame." Freya looked up at Five and smiled slightly. "But I curse in it. When provoked." "What did you say in it, that time?" "It is hard to render in our tongue, but had I said it to a man, he could justly have struck me." "What was it, though, more or less," said Five, grinning. Freya flushed slightly and smiled. "It is complex," she whispered, "but it concerned the worm's sister, and her cunt." Freya grinned. Five laughed. "It was something to see, though," Five said. "The way you took that thing down." Freya shrugged. "Not that I'm being lazy," Five said. "We've only killed one worm. Not quite the stuff of legends yet." "There will be more," Freya said. "I know," said Five. "'Ave to admit, I find this whole fighting for glory thing very odd. I've never been glorious in me life. I've been a cook." "You are young." "I've started late," said Five. Freya stared at the fire for a moment, then turned to her. "Is that what you want?" she said. "Glory?" "I suppose," said Five, "doesn't everyone?" Freya was silent for a moment. "Once," she admitted, "before the worm took me, I would have said that there is little else." "But not now?" Freya was silent, then slowly shook her head. "No. What we do now, I do not do for glory." "What do you do it for, then?" Freya's face twisted, as she struggled to find the words. "I cannot say," she said at last. "All I know is, I must. There is no other way for me." "Well," said Five, "if you don't want glory out of it, you're doing it the right way, not telling anyone your name and all. I suppose, if it came to it, I wouldn't mind my name living after me. Just for a while." "You have no name," said Freya absently. Five glanced at Freya, who was staring into the fire, moody and distracted. Which explained why she could be so fucking cruel, even if it didn't excuse it. Five's anger and humiliation rose in her throat, and she had to swallow it before she trusted herself to speak without her voice cracking. "Yeah," she said, "and I'm not bitter about that at all." She stared into the fire, furious, controlling herself with difficulty. She waited for Freya to apologise, but some long moments passed, and when she shot Freya the tiniest glance, she realised that Freya was still staring into the fire as if nothing had happened. Mistress, she thought, so many things bind me to you, but you can still be the biggest fucking cunt, and she got to her feet and walked off into the darkness to calm down. *** She was careful to not walk too far, to stay just within sight. She's a warrior, she told herself. She's always been special. She's always been the best of her class. People have always made excuses for her. She's never had to be polite or charming. Well, she could get an army on her side like no-one else, but that's not the same thing. Still, though. A thousand thanks, Freya Aelfrethe, for reminding me what a useless fucking nobody I am. Five dug her nails angrily into her own palms. I know it's sort of unfair to be so cross with her. But, fucking hell. *** Freya looked up, startled, as Five stomped off into the shadows, and she started to stand up, then it occurred to her that Five was upset about something and might want to be left alone. She thought back. What had been said? What did I miss? They had been talking about fame and glory -- did I mock her? Not intentionally. What ... Freyas Saga Ch. 16 "I did see her fight a couple o' times," said Five. "We both did. The lady more than I." Freya nodded in agreement. The son of the family, a lad of about eleven, stared at them with reverence. "You saw Freya fight?" said the farmer. Freya nodded. "You must have fought with her," he said. Freya smiled. "Did you know her well?" Freya paused, and shook her head no. "What was she like to see?" asked the boy. Freya considered and looked at Five, who looked at the lad. "What did you hear she was like?" Five said. "I heard she could dance on the wind and kill the enemy with her voice," he said. "Dunno about dancing on the wind," said Five, "but I heard her give her war cry once." The boy's eyes were huge and round. "What was it like?" he asked. "I was never more scared in me life," said Five, "and even though we were on the same side, I ran away and kept on runnin'." She glanced at Freya, who kept her stone face and didn't betray a thing. Five said to herself, if I'm ever tempted to play cards with her, memory, just bring up this moment. "Brilliant," said the boy. "I came back in the end," Five added. "'Ad to face the music and take me punishment. But, yes. Maybe not everything you've heard is true, but most of it." "Brilliant," said the boy. "Well, it's a sad end to the war, anyway," said the farmer. "Indeed," said Five. "We're reduced to roaming the lands and looking for worms to slay." "Worms, you say?" said the farmer. "Aye," said Five. "You slay them?" "The lady does," said Five. "She's got the battle prowess. I'm her companion and I do the talking Ôcause she's taken a vow of silence. It's a penitence she's undertaking." "Funny you should say," said the farmer. "You know Venceborn, a week to the north of here?" Five had never been there, but Freya nodded. "Well," said the farmer, "they've had a worm for a while now. Great big fat thing, so they say. Not as vicious as some, reasonabler than most, but subtle, you know? Got brains." Freya sat forward and gestured: tell more. "It can talk, they say," said the farmer, "and it's installed itself in the chamber of the elders, and it's arranged so that as long as they feed it a juicy hog or sheep or the good meat of a cow every day, it won't burn the city. But they thought it might last a week at most, yet it's still there a month on, and it's bleeding dry the farms round about. I tell you, at the moment they're only tithing the farms ten, fifteen miles out, but they say they'll start taxing us. They're always making the circle bigger. I can't afford to start sending animals to Venceborn. I've a hard enough time dealing with a fox, thanks to this bloody leg." He indicated his lame leg. He'd been savaged by a wolf in a hard winter three years previous. Freya and Five glanced at each other, and Freya smiled. "I'll tell you what," said Five. "We'll go and have a look at this worm and see if we can't come to some arrangement." "You?" said the farmer dubiously. "My lady's a bit of an expert on worms," said Five. "You heard about the one in Torina." "I heard that there was one," said the farmer. "Haven't heard much lately." "That's cause she slew it," said Five. The farmer gave them an appraising look. "Did you now," he said. "It's the truth," said Five. "If so," said the farmer, "it was bravely done." "It's so," said Five. There was a pause. "Forgive me," said the farmer, "you seem honest folk, and you're our guests, and you took care of our fox, so for that, we thank you. But the news says that no-one will go against the worm of Venceborn because it's so huge and glutton-like. I'd like to wish you well, but big talk costs nothing when it can't be weighed against truth. I don't even know your names." Five glanced at Freya and Freya glanced back, giving no sign of how she wanted the conversation to go. "I'll tell you what," said Five. "The next time you meet travellers from Torina, ask them who slew their worm. If they say it was a woman, ask them if she escaped unscathed, or took a wound for her trouble. If they say she was wounded, ask them where. If they say the face, you will know that they and we spoke truth, and that your excellent hospitality has not been wasted on shameful liars." The farmer and his family looked at Freya with wonder, and the snake tattoo on Freya's face gleamed softly in the candelight. The farmer's wife got up and approached Freya and hesitated. "May I?" she asked. Freya nodded, and presented her face. The farmer's wife examined the tattoo and the scar that it limned, and she started back, wincing. "That is a cruel wound," she said. "Husband, we must treat it with salve." "There is no need," said Five. "We have salves of our own. But we thank you." When it became clear that it was time to turn in, Freya and Five stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality," said Five. "We will go to the barn, and take our rest." "But you cannot sleep in the barn, with the animals," said the farmer's wife. "Of course not," said the farmer. "No," said Five, and Freya shook her head firmly. "You have been more than generous, but we will take our bedrolls. We must be on our way early." "This is a farm," said the woman. "We are all up early." "Now," said the farmer, holding up a warning hand, only half-joking, "be careful how you answer. You must take the guest bed, and we will not be denied." Five glanced at Freya, who shook her head. "No," said Five, "it is so generous of you to offer, but truly, we would not put you out." "We cannot let you sleep in the barn," said the woman, firmly. Five hesitated, and looked helplessly at Freya, who considered. "Speak the truth," said the farmer slyly, "when was the last time either of you slept in a bed?" Five tried to fight off the idea, but she glanced at Freya, and saw that Freya was weighing up the responsibility to not inconvenience them with the command that one had to accept hospitality. Freya raised an eyebrow. "In truth, sir," Five admitted, "it's been some years." "Then in god's name, friends, take the bed," said the woman, holding up her hands. "Let us give you this. You have saved us a deal of trouble. Let us help you." They all looked at Freya, who after a moment, inclined her head in polite gratitude. They were shown to the room. The bed wasn't very large, but to Five it looked like a giant soft hand that wanted to carry her off to a good night's sleep. It was a warm night. Five went out to the courtyard to wash at the pump, then she came back and Freya took her turn, and Five was wearily taking off her boots when Freya returned, her hideous patchy hair and clothes damp. "We will set off as early as we can," Freya said, peeling off her shirt. "We'll get to eat something, no?" said Five hopefully. Freya slid her breeches down over her hips, glanced up at Five, nodded and got into bed. She turned onto one side. Five finished undressing. Freya's breathing become steady and regular. Five got into bed next to Freya, blew out the candle and turned to face away from her. Freya turned over and threw an arm around Five, and Five was startled to find Freya's tall, damp, warm body pressed against her own bare back and bottom and thighs, skin against skin, Freya's bare feet tucking themselves between her own. She was so tired, though. She lay there, drowsy, not entirely certain where she ended and Freya began, feeling just a warm and companionable entanglement of bodies and limbs, and then the lumpy mattress and stiff pillow were ushering her off into the land of sleep. *** Freya awoke to see the light in the room; after dawn. The room was cold and she wrapped herself around Five's body to warm herself. Five made a small, sleepy, comforted noise in the back of her throat, and then resumed the breathing of sleep. Freya glanced at the girl's head, her short hair, the scabbed-over cuts on her bare shoulders and on the side of her face. The marks of whatever struggle she had had with whatever beast she had met. This is what Bunafashazir rightly said I have never had, she thought. A bedfellow. One from whom I could hide nothing, because we shared everything. Freya closed her eyes and fought back the wave of emotion that thinking about it brought on her. I do not know if I can ever love another in the way that most people do. In the way that she must surely long to do. I, too, I long for it. But the thought of the act brings me nothing but pain. I cannot do it, not yet. She opened her eyes again, and looked at the back of the girl's head. I think love must bring pain. If not pain in the body, then another kind. O, Sophy, you were right, you were right. I am not yet healed, and perhaps never will be. What will happen, then, if she finds one who would freely be hers? Who could give more than I can give? I said our bond was stronger than love. That has yet to be proven. In the meantime, what a joy to have a warm body to hold. Freya closed her eyes and held Five tighter and felt herself drifting back to sleep. Then Five stirred, and Freya opened her eyes. Five turned onto her back, then turned around to face Freya, rising up on one arm and looking down at her. Freya smiled at her, and then noticed that Five was staring at her scalp with a thoughtful look. "You know what we've got to do," she said. "Cut your fucking hair." *** First there were chores. Freya and Five helped with feeding the animals, carrying the bales of hay easily enough. The farmer's wife had already milked the cows. Then there was mucking out, which Five was interested to see Freya threw herself into; if she can do that, she thought, she can wash a pan now and again. Then they washed themselves, and then when one of the children came out to announce that breakfast was ready, Five held up a hand. "Before we do that," she said, "we've to attend to something. Do you think, sir, I could trouble you for your razor?" A little later, Freya was sitting on a stool by the pump, patient, while Five stood over her, scraping the razor over her ragged, tufted haircut. "Bloody hell," Five grumbled, "you've got scars on here I didn't know you had." "Luck," Freya murmured. "Can't promise it'll be as smooth as a Memikan barber would do," said Five, "but it'll be better than what you've got." She scraped and scratched with great care, until after a good time had passed and their stomachs were rumbling with hunger, she sluiced Freya's bald scalp with water and Freya closed her eyes and let it run down herself before running a hand over her own head with pleasure. Then she looked up at Five and took the razor from her and raised an eyebrow. For a moment, Five thought: well, why not, but then she thought of a reason. "One thing," she said, "do you think it would make me look more or less girly than I already am?" Freya looked puzzled. "There's some point to me looking such a way that folk can't make up their mind," Five said. "If I'm to speak for you, it could be useful if, you know, I could pass for a boy. ÔCause there's no chance that you're ever going to pass for one." Freya smiled, stood up and stretched, and Five couldn't help admiring her new look: tall, strong, as bald as a monk, proud and unafraid. Five quickly trimmed her own hair, by feel more than anything else, just to return it to its original austere crop. Then Freya clapped her on the shoulder. "Food," she croaked. The family was halfway through breakfast by the time the kitchen door opened and Freya entered, stooping to avoid the low lintel, wiping her bald scalp with a damp cloth. The children looked at her in awe. "Your poor hair," said the farmer's wife. Freya shrugged. Five entered behind her. They sat and ate good ham and bread and butter and apples and cheese, and drank bitter but clean-tasting small beer, and then when breakfast was finished they helped wash and dry the crockery before collecting their gear and wishing the family a warm farewell. By the time they set out on the road, the sun had warmed the air to the point that Freya threw back her hood and let it shine on her head. Five eyed it. Every chance they got, Freya made herself look less and less like the green-haired shieldmaiden of old. She was changing, all right. The armoured warrior with the helmet and thick plaits of hair was gone. Freya now wore no armour, as if she had lost faith in it, and dressed in plain dark clothes, and her head was naked. And I've changed too. More so, if anything. From a scared, flabby, breathless sort-of boy, to a lean and hungry mostly-girl. I wasn't completely wrong; going through the fire didn't do anything to her but harm her. But to me, it burned away the useless bits. Except for the regret. That's stayed. Years wasted telling myself what wasn't true. Years trying to be someone else, covering things up. I'll never get it back. On the other hand, she thought, if I seen it straight and realised it, if I had just let myself be a girl all along, I would have been out of the army. I would have been packed off to the kitchens and I'd be there now, fat and greasy and miserable and covered in burns and blisters, and choking on the smoke. I'd never have been Snorri's squire. I'd never have been sent to Casman. I'd never have been called over the ridge to bring them water and I'd never have been hit on the head and left there, and I'd never have woken up and seen her and dragged her ten miles over the hills and looked after her and brought her food until she woke up enough to want to get better. She'd be dead. Is this destiny, then? Do I get to have destiny? I thought only heroes had that. Fantastic. She thought of the map in Freya's pack, that they were meant to be filling out the gaps in, so that they could bring it back to Moyra, and which they had barely looked at in weeks, let alone attempted to fill in. Fuck of a lot of use you were, she thought, and looked ahead to the horizon, on which crouched the haze and smoke and tesselated rooftops of a city that grew nearer and nearer with each step. Well, then, Venceborn, let's see your worm. *** For a city troubled by a gluttonous worm, Venceborn seemed curiously at peace with itself. The businesses were open, indeed thriving. Women shopped with small children in tow. People smiled at each other. Freya and Five rode through the streets, finding their way to the city chambers. A single guard stood at the door, eyeing the two young women as they tied up their horses. One of them was tall, dressed in dark clothes, with a hood over what appeared to be a shaven head; as she glanced up at him, the guard noted that she was a fine-looking woman but with some kind of markings on her face. The other one was shorter, younger and plainer, crop-headed and big-boned, with large dark eyes the only thing worth looking at in her blunt unsmiling face. She wore travelstained soldier's gear that was a size or so too big for her. As they approached, the soldier looked expectantly at the clearly older and more senior one, but it was the younger one that spoke, scowling. "We Ôeard you've got some trouble with a worm," she said in a strong northern accent. "You heard wrong," said the guard. "What's a lass like you dressed up as a soldier for?" "I am a soldier," the girl said, scowling even harder. "With who?" "Wait," said the girl, holding up a hand. "I didn't come Ôere to tell you me life story. We Ôeard that this city had some trouble with a worm, and my mistress Ôere just killed the worm in Torina three weeks back. We come Ôere to see if we can do owt. But you say there's no worm?" "I do say that," the guard replied. "Then why do folk a few day's ride from Ôere think there is one?" "Country folk'll believe any old shit," said the guard. "Probably got told it by some travelling quack who wanted to sell them anti-worm medicine. You did what, you killed a worm? You?" he said, addressing the tall one, who stared at him coolly and then nodded, once. "Yes," said the younger one. "How'd you do that, then?" said the guard, amused. "Everybody knows that worms can't be harmed with steel." "They can if you get angry enough," said the younger one. "My mistress got angry enough." The guard peered at the tall one's face, and saw the snake tattoo, and also the red scar that it outlined. "Well, you got a lovely cut on your face, I'll say that," he said. "Whether you got it from a worm is another question." He smiled at them, amused by their impertinence. The younger one paused, and looked at the guard for a moment. *** For fuck's sake. *** He returned the girl's look, then glanced at the older one and gave her a humorous raise of the eyebrows, as if to say, well, your young one here's got a bit of a mood on her, hasn't she, and was disconcerted to see that the older one was also staring at him, also unsmiling, motionless. He looked back at the younger one again, and opened his mouth to say something, and when she didn't react but just kept staring at him, he shut his mouth again. He started to feel a bit hot under his helmet. Although the girl was far from a looker, her baggy shirt showed a good deal of her neck and shoulders and he couldn't help glancing down to see what her tits were like. She did indeed have the tattoos of a soldier. And they were faded, in such a way that he could tell they hadn't been drawn on her the previous night with charcoal and spirits. Then he noticed the cuts and bruises and scabs on her hands, arms and head. Whoever this girl was, she'd been in a scrap lately. He looked at the other one, the taller, better-looking one, and besides the tattoo on her face she had a fearsome picture decorating her chest, that he instinctively looked away from because it made him feel a bit ill. *** You were right, Freya Aelfrethe, thought Five. I didn't really take it in at the time, but you were right. I have seen the greatest warrior of the age betrayed, and raped, and left for dead. I have hauled her to safety on my fucking own. I have nursed her back to health, or at least I did a bit of it. I have been beaten up by her, and trained in single combat by her. I have been beaten and robbed and stripped by a thug, and I've had my revenge on the cunt the same night. I've seen her kill a worm. I've killed a wolf with my bare hands. And this bastard don't believe a fucking word I say. ÔCos I'm a girl. *** "So," said the younger one eventually, in a voice that disturbed him, because she had stopped being all northern and arrogant and had become very quiet and curious, "sorry, think we've got off on the wrong foot, eh?" Freyas Saga Ch. 16 Best to be reasonable, he thought. "Can't just believe anyone walking in here," he said. "No, no," she said. "I understand. So you're a guard Ôere." "Fifteen years," he said proudly. Her eyes widened. "Fifteen years," she said. "By Ôeck. You must have seen a lot of action." "Well," he said, "I mean, this is a law-abiding town. But it's thanks to blokes like me." "I'd say it is," she said. "So you've fought off many attacks on the city chambers, Ôave you?" "Well," he said, "I wouldn't say there's been loads, but, we've seen some trouble." "But," she said, "you've defended this place with your life, Ôaven't you? You've used that big sword of yours in anger, right?" "I mean," he said, "I wouldn't want to claim any special credit for anything." "But you've been in a battle?" she said. He stared at her, and he glanced down again at the tattoos she wore, that showed him that this girl, who'd been barely able to speak when he first became a guard, had somehow acquired more battle experience than anyone else he even knew. He dearly wanted to tell her to just fuck off. But there was something about her, and the taller, silent woman behind her, that was putting the fucking willies up him. "No," he muttered. "You've killed someone?" she said. "No," he grated. "Me neither," said the girl. "Seen plenty of people killed, mind. Just never done it meself." "Oh," he said. "Well, you need training for that." "I know," the girl said. "I've been training. But never mind that. I was just curious, y'know, about what you've done in this job. What you've Ôad to do." "Fine," he said, "well, I'm not saying it's exactly been Angledorf, but ..." "Oh," she said, "Angledorf. Yeah. She was at Angledorf." She indicated the taller woman. The guard felt himself sweating in his helmet and tunic. "I was too," the girl said. "I spent the Ôole thing hiding under a barrel pissing meself. I were that scared. Funny, eh." "Hah," said the guard weakly. "But she weren't," the girl went on. "She were right in there. Never seen anything like it. Killed five men." "That so," said the guard, eyeing the other woman, who had the sort of patient self-possession that, sure enough, he'd only ever seen in veterans of many combats, and who was staring at him with undisguised dislike. The tall one glanced at the younger one and shook her head. Then she held up a hand with four fingers outstretched, her thumb curled into her palm. Shit, shit, shit, he was thinking, why haven't I paid more attention to northern wars, I know I should know who she is, but ... "Sorry," said the girl. "Four men." "That's very good," he said to the tall one, in an effort to draw her into the conversation. She didn't react. Just kept staring at him. "See," said the girl, "maybe I'm just very, very stupid, or something, and that's possible, Ôcause I've always been told I am, at least, by everyone except her." She indicated the older one, who didn't react. "She thinks better of me," the girl went on, "which is why she lets me do the talking. She's also taken a vow of silence." "What for?" he asked, helpless in the face of the girl's torrent of confusing talk. "Not your concern, pal," she said. "As I said, maybe I'm stupid, or just not very travelled, but where I come from, when you first meet a man, you trust him until he shows you false, and then you treat him the way he treats you. So I'm just wondering, are things different down here, because we came up to you and told you that we killed a worm, and you seem to think I would want to make that up." The guard hesitated. "Almost as if," said the girl, "you'd call us liars." "I didn't say that," said the guard defensively. "Oh, good," she said, her voice becoming quieter. "Cause you seem like a man of honour and a nice bloke, and I wouldn't want to think you weren't." "I am," he protested. "I know you are," she said. "I'm sure you're not liars," he said, feeling recklessly generous. "Good," she said. "Then don't fuck me about. ÔCos I've seen things would make you shit blood." She looked at him, matter-of-fact, expectant. He believed her. There was a sort of weariness about her, something in her bones, something etched in the lines around her eyes and the downward turn of her mouth. It was all wrong, in one so young. It chilled him. He wished there were another guard there. It wasn't right having to face people like this by himself. "Now," she said, very quietly. "Tell me. Why do people a week's ride away think there's a worm here?" He thought, hard. Something was nagging him. What. "There ... there was a worm here," he remembered. "Was?" she said. "It went away," he said, confused. It was like a part of brain was misted up. But there was, there had been, hadn't there? Something? "What, it just left?" "I think so," he said. Damn, it was odd. He had a confused memory of everyone running about and much shouting and panic, and then doors being locked, and then going back to work knowing it had all been sorted out. But how? The two women looked at one another. "Why did it leave?" the girl said. "When did it go?" He struggled to remember, and with shame it began to dawn on him that he had missed something, that something had happened, that he and all of them had failed to do something, but he couldn't for the life of him tell what. "Can't remember," he mumbled. The girl looked up at him -- strong-looking as she was, she was still shorter than him -- and she squeezed his shoulder gently. "There you go," she said softly. "It's all right. We'll sort this out." "Something's wrong," he said. "Yeah. Something's wrong in there." He turned slowly and viewed the city chambers building, perplexed. It dawned on him that he hadn't gone in for days. "Looks like it," the girl said, standing beside him, her reassuring hand on his shoulder. She looked over her shoulder at the taller one, who came over and stood the other side of him. It was shaming, to have two women fussing over him, but he was remembering, now, that things had gone wrong somewhere. "What's your name, pal?" said the girl in a friendly tone. "Ralph," he said. "All right, Ralph," she said, "you gonna let us in and help us fix this?" He turned around and took the keys off his belt and unlocked the front door. A smell came from inside: something airless and stuffy but faintly scented. The rooms were dark. There was a table just inside the door which had been overturned, a vase that had stood on it lying broken on the dusty floor a few feet away. *** Five sniffed the stale air coming out and looked at Freya, who was peering into the building. Freya put her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Who are you?" said the guard, looking dazed. "Friends," Five said, and smiled at him. "Just stay here, and don't let anyone in or out, all right?" He nodded. Freya stepped into the building and Five followed her. Then Freya looked over her shoulder at Five and smiled thinly, nodding with approval. Not bad, little one. Five smiled nervously back. Freya gave her a pat on the back, and they went in. *** It was warm inside, stuffy and airless, and dust hung in the air, with what little light there was coming from windows high in the walls. Five looked around as they went further in, walking down a long passageway which turned a corner at the end. A small side table was overturned, the vase that had been on it lying in pieces on the ground. Nobody had been through here in a while. The further in they went, the more Five began to feel that this was all wrong, all dodgy. There was something ... forbidden about it. More than that, even. She had a sense that there was something in her, some deeper wisdom she had, that knew that they'd made a wrong turn, here. That this couldn't possibly come to good. She stopped, startled by the strength of her own conviction that they needed to get out of there. Freya kept walking, and then stopped about ten feet on and turned, and looked at her inquiringly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" said Five, and her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the narrow corridor. Freya frowned. "I don't think that this is so wise," said Five uneasily. "Think we'd better make more enquiries." "Scared?" Freya whispered, her voice hissing in the thick warm air. "No," said Five. "Just think that there's something about this that feels wrong." Freya gave her a hard stare for a moment, and turned around to face her. "Is this how it will be?" she said, clearly displeased. "What you mean?" said Five. "Now you know yourself a woman," said Freya, "do you think that a woman must fear more easily?" "What?" said Five. You fucking bitch, she thought. "Is this you acting womanly?" said Freya, gesturing at her. "For it does not become you." "What you mean?" said Five. "It's just a feeling I have. It doesn't feel right. That's all." "Are we now to be guided by your Ôfeelings'?" said Freya. "Course not," said Five. "But I'll tell you what, now you know what I am, are you not listening to me? Is that it?" "I will listen to you," Freya rasped, no longer whispering but speaking aloud, "when you have aught of value to say." "You don't fucking want me on this," said Five, flushed with anger, "just say so, and I'll fucking go back to cooking! I don't need that from you, specially when I'm the one does the talking for us both!" "You forget your place," said Freya. "And you forget," Five started, and then hesitated, hearing what she was saying. "You forget ..." she said again, and they stared at each other, each of them startled. Forgetting, yeah, forgetting ... what the fuck? Did we just forget who we are? Everything we've been through? Freya's eyes were wide, wary and angry, but it was no longer directed at her. She was looking around, almost sniffing the air, trying to find the source of whatever had done that. It's as if, Five thought, struggling with the memory of it, it's as if we were a joke version of us. A mockery. Five minutes in here, and something made us not ourselves. Freya's gaze met her own. Freya lifted her eyebrows -- you noticed that too, did you not? -- and Five nodded, relieved. Freya walked quickly over to her and took Five's hand and clutched their palms together, and Five squeezed back, and Freya patted her on the shoulder, there there little one, don't worry. "Sorcery," Freya breathed in her ear, almost silent. Five nodded. "Be strong," Freya whispered, giving her a glance. "Do not speak in haste." Five shook her head no, and Freya gave her shoulders a squeeze, then beckoned her with her head. Five took another step forward, and the feeling of wrongness had gone, not entirely, but it had weakened; she was now just very much more on her guard than before. Whatever was playing with their minds had overplayed its opening hand; they now knew that something wanted to trick them. They went further in, Five sticking close to Freya, and they turned the corner. The passageway ahead was completely dark, with no light at all. Just the heavy, warm air which smelled of dust. Another trick, Five thought, and squinted harder, but it seemed that the passage was truly dark; it was no false shadow that lay ahead but a real one. So she thinks women are weak, Five thought, and then found herself thinking it, and banished the thought from her mind. Something fucking with me again. That's how it works; takes your fears and blows them up. Better not think about my fears, then. *** Freya could feel it, tugging at her, trying to fix her attention, whatever it was lurking at the other end of the thick dark air of the passageway. She glanced behind her at Five, who stood there looking pale and nervous but solid and unmoving, and she reached out her hand. Five took it. Freya took a deep breath and walked forward into the darkness, holding the girl's hand. You could see the darkness coming up to you, visible in the air like smoke, and her nerves screamed at her as she gritted her teeth and plunged into it, Five's strong hand in hers lending her the strength to walk through the solid blackness. It was as if the very air could blindfold them. Almost immediately, Freya walked face first into a wall. The pain exploded in her nose and forehead and she cursed aloud. Five bumped into her from behind and Freya reached up cautiously and touched her own nose; it was bleeding. "You all right?" came Five's voice, small as if she were far away, instead of directly behind her. "Mm," Freya grunted. Funny, she thought grimly, and felt along the wall to see if they were in a dead end. To her right was more wall, but to her left the wall extended away, so she put a hand out before her and went on walking, her left hand ahead of her and touching the wall so that she kept in contact with it, but would also feel any corners coming up. They edged down the corridor, the only sound their feet on the wooden floor, their breathing and the sound of Freya's hand sliding along the stone wall. Then something whacked Freya's wrist, hard. She gasped, and almost let go of Five's hand, but then she heard another blow landing and heard Five yelp. What was this? Whatever it was, it felt like a wooden baton of some sort. It beat their wrists, sometimes alternately, sometimes on one of their wrists repeatedly, and Freya gritted her teeth through the pain and held Five's hand tight. Clearly, the thing aimed to separate them, and she would not let that happen. She hissed through her clenched teeth and heard Five swear under her breath. She sped up her pace, moving faster through the darkness, and they turned another corner, and another. Then it was a hand, grabbing her wrist and tugging it away from Five's, and she heard Five curse again and her hand squeezed Freya's, tightly, and Freya sheathed her sword, took a deep breath and pulled Five to her so that they were walking with an arm around each other's shoulders, hunching against the rain of blows and punches that now landed on their heads and shoulders. Five made a stifled gulp and Freya squeezed her as they half-ran, blundering down the corridor while their invisible attackers beat them, and then there was a glimmer of light and they turned yet another corner and they stepped out of the darkness into a doorless, wood-panelled room lit by a high window which showed only the sky. They panted for breath and looked at each other. They were bruised and scratched, and Freya looked at their arms; each of their forearms was red and flushed and she knew that they'd come up in worse bruises later. "You are good?" she whispered. The cursed sorcery that had caused her to lose her temper so far as to raise her voice, now meant that her throat was inflamed and aching. Five nodded, looking around, to all corners of the room. "Well," said Five with a hint of a smile, "that wasn't a barrel of laughs." Freya shook her head, and then she heard it: a faint thumping and a voice. She raised a hand to quiet Five and walked around the room, listening to the walls, until she located it. A panel near the floor, on the wall adjacent to the window. There was someone behind it. A child's voice, calling out indistinctly. She ran her hands around it quickly, looking for a mechanism that might open the panel, and sure enough, a piece of wooden knotwork rotated in her hand and the panel slid open. The girl fell into the room. She was small, dirty and urchin-like, no older than seven or eight, Freya thought, but given her state of health and ragged look she could have been older. "Oh, thank you," she panted, clearly short of breath. "Oh, thank you, strangers. It was hard to breathe. Thank you." Five knelt down beside her and helped her sit up, offering her water from her flask. The girl drank, and looked up at them. Her pinched face would have been pretty if she'd been better fed. Her pale grey eyes went from one to the other. "You made it past the Night Walk?" she said. "You are strangers of virtue, indeed." "Who are you?" said Five. "I am Merion of Venceborn," the girl said. "I was trapped here when the worm came. I've survived on my wits, and what I can steal. I came here with my father. Have you seen him?" "You're the first person we've seen, little one," said Five. "With god's will he made it out," the girl said, looking around her, trembling. "Strangers, did you come here in search of the worm? For if you did, you should leave. It will not be tamed or conquered by the hand of man." "We're not men," said Five with a smile. "Or anyone else," said the girl. "It is foul, and old, and it is a being of great power, I think. I know about worms, you know." "Do you now," said Five. "I do. Who are you, strangers, that venture into the house of the Provost of Venceborn?" "Why," said Five, "this is the Serpent Queen. If you know about worms, you must have heard of her." The girl stared at Freya. "The Serpent Queen?" she said. "You rule these creatures?" Freya shook her head. "I wouldn't say rule, exactly," said Five. "We're bringing them under rule. At the moment they run wild, and something must be done about them." "Does she not speak for herself, your mistress?" said the girl. "No," said Five, and was about to add something when the girl spoke again. "Has she taken some sort of vow of silence?" Five smiled. "Well spotted," she said. "Who are you, who speaks for her?" said the girl. Five opened her mouth, was stumped for a moment, and then inspiration came. "Every queen needs a Fool," she said. "I'm hers." "You are a Fool?" "So I've been told." "Do something foolish." "I follow her around," said Five, "en't that enough?" Freya smiled. The girl considered this, then looked without surprise at their arms. "See," she said. "This is the work of the worm. Your bruises." Five was about to comment on them when she realised that the ache in her arms and wrists had faded, and there was no longer any sign of the bruises that had been flowering when they had come out of what the girl Merion called the Night Walk. Freya's had gone too. Freya's nose was still trickling blood from when she'd walked into the wall, though. Five reached into her pack and handed her a rag. Freya stared blankly at it for a moment before looking up at Five, puzzled, and Five pointed to her nose. Freya dabbed at it with her finger, saw the blood, rolled her eyes and wiped at it with the rag. Freyas Saga Ch. 16 However the worm had done it, it had hit them hard enough to make bruises which vanished five minutes later -- or, rather, it made them feel like they were being hit, and left them with phantom bruises. It was a relief to think that her arms wouldn't ache for hours, but it was also disturbing; how far could this bloody worm make them think they saw things other than what were true? What else could be untrue? "What about you," said Five. "What?" "Are you real? Are you really ... whatever your name is, or --" "Merion of Venceborn." "Whatever, or are you just a trick of the worm? Trying to get us to drop our guard?" "Excuse me," said the girl haughtily. "I am extremely real." "Prove it," said Five. "Prove you're not a shadow of the worm." "How am I supposed to do that?" she said hotly. "And how do I know you are not a shadow of the worm, come to eat me?" "If I wanted to eat you," said Five, "wouldn't I have done it already." "The same goes for me," said the girl, scowling. Five sat back on her heels, perplexed. She glanced at Freya, watching them both, her gaze sliding from one to other. Freya scratched her chin thoughtfully and then cleared her throat. "Prove you're not the worm," she whispered to Merion. "How can one prove such a thing?" said the girl scornfully, and then her eyes met Freya's and she went pale. "I'm telling you, I'm not," said Merion, looking upset. "I'm just not." "Look at me," Freya whispered, and Merion stared at Freya, her lip wobbling. Freya slowly reached up and held Merion's face still with her hand, and the girl whimpered. "Prove it," said Freya in an icy whisper. "I ..." Merion said. "I ... I don't ..." "Maybe it's making you answer this way," said Five. "Maybe it's threatened you." "It hasn't," she said. "It isn't making me do anything." Freya held her gaze for a long moment until the girl began to sob. Then she moved her hand until her fingers were around the girl's throat, and Five watched in mounting alarm as the girl's eyes bulged and she made a choked gasp. "You'll do best to tell us the truth," Five said, wanting to tell Freya to let the girl go, but not wanting to say it out loud. "I am," the girl gasped. She was shaking. Freya was still staring at her with the same cold and implacable stare on her face. "She can kill you, you know," said Five nervously. "Do you tell us the truth?" The girl made a feeble nod of her head, her fingers clawing at her Freya's hand, leaving scratches on Freya's skin. But Freya held on. "You swear for the last time?" said Five urgently, aiming it more at Freya than at the unfortunately girl, and the girl was turning blue and her eyes rolling back in her head when she managed one more feeble nod. Freya let the girl go and she collapsed, heaving in air. Freya looked down at her and scowled briefly, a bare hint of contrition. "Forgive me," she whispered. "I needed to know." The girl stared up at Freya in disbelief and horror, gasping for air. "Know what?" she choked. "That if you squeeze my neck I will die?" "Forgive me," Freya repeated, holding up her hands to show she meant no harm, and the girl threw a punch at her which Freya didn't even bother to deflect. It hit her on the forearm. "You are cruel!" the girl sobbed. "Cruel and evil! Between you and the worm, which should I fear the most? Get away from me!" Freya looked sidelong at Five and gave the tiniest raise of an eyebrow. "If you were the worm, you'd have at least tried to prove you weren't," said Five softly. "You'd have had some sort of story." "You had to choke me half to death to find that out?" "Our methods may be a little rough sometimes," said Five, giving Freya her hardest stare, "but they work." Freya looked at her, frowned and shrugged, as if to say, Well, what? "Don't worry, child," said Five, "you'll find that once the Serpent Queen puts her trust in you, you'll never want for protection. She looks after her own." "If that is how you treat your own," the girl muttered, wiping her eyes, "then I don't want to be one of them." "You have no choice," Freya said in an urgent whisper. "If you would get out of here, then come with us." "No," said the girl obstinately, drawing away from them. "Do not be stupid," said Freya. "First you choke me, then you insult me," said the girl. "I want nothing to do with you." She scurried to the door in the far corner and tried to open it, but it would not open. She kicked it and pounded on it. Five turned to Freya. "Right," she said under her breath, "got to not do that." Freya looked baffled and annoyed. "You fuckin' hurt her," said Five. "Now she don't trust us." "I did worse to you," Freya whispered. "I already knew you," said Five. "I'd seen you fight loads of times. And at that point I'd dragged you several miles and washed you and dressed you. We were a bit beyond first impressions when you broke my nose, and you only did it Ôcos you were in a panic and didn't know where you were." Freya stared at the huddled girl with consternation. She muttered a curse. "Yeah, tell yourself off," said Five, "but don't take too long about it. We're gonna have to do a fuck of a lot of work before she trusts us. Let me talk to her." Freya nodded and turned away. Five headed towards the girl and she heard Freya smack herself hard on her head. The girl looked up at her with dislike. "Go away," she said. "Listen," said Five, "she's got a rough way about her, but if she trusts you, she trusts you. Do you want to be out of here?" "Yes," said the girl, sullenly hugging her knees to herself. "She's about the only person who can get you out of here, but you'll have to come now." "Who are you?" said the girl. "Told you. Serpent Queen and her fool. Come on." She held out a hand to the girl. "There is no Serpent Queen," said the girl. Five experienced a wave of impatient wrath. "There is now," she said levelly. "Come on. We've got to find the way out of here and level this place. It's not normal." "How do I know you are not bandits and mean to use me," said the girl. "Listen," Five snapped, "I've seen war, I've been tricked and beaten, I've gone from man to woman, I've killed a wolf with my bare fucking hands, and her standing over there is the greatest warrior of the age. We're here to kill a worm, and I'm not standing around bickering with a pissy little arse-rag like you. Get on your fucking feet and come on." "You used to be a man?" said the girl, taking her hand and letting Five haul to her feet. "I can't fucking believe that's what you're taking away from that," said Five. "Yes. Well, I thought I was. It's a long story." "So you didn't actually change?" said the girl, disappointed. "Oh, I've changed," said Five grimly and hauled the girl over to Freya, who was examining the walls. The girl hung back but Freya bowed gravely and put her hand on her heart in apology. "She's sorry she hurt you," said Five. "But this place plays tricks with your mind. Now, how did you get in here?" The girl cast a worried look at Freya but then gathered herself and looked around. "There was a door," she said. "But it seems to have gone." "If you got in," said Five, "there must be a door. You didn't come in by the Night Walk?" "No," said the girl. "My father did. He told me what it was like. The door was ... over there." She pointed to the far corner of the room. The walls appeared to be uniform wood panelling, with no hint of a doorframe or handle. They went over and started feeling around, but if there was an invisible handle, they couldn't find it. "You sure it was here?" said Five. "Positive," said the girl. They examined the panelling minutely for several minutes, with no result. Five was starting to wonder if they shouldn't try to get out the high window when Freya stopped, stared at the door and stepped back. "What's up?" said Five. "Nothing," Freya muttered. "Go on." Five went back to examining the wall while Freya watched. *** She could almost see it. It wasn't that it was there, exactly. It was that it wasn't. Five ran her hands all over the door, but ... yes! There it was! There was one small section, the size of a man's hand, which her hands did not go near. It was as if Five were compelled to neglect it. Freya looked at it, and her head ached. It was as if that part of the wall were not quite as detailed, as if real life had somehow smudged it. Something made them not search that part, some unconscious compulsion to neglect it. Slowly, she walked towards it, and every nerve in her body screamed at her that she was wrong, that it couldn't possibly be there, but noticing it weakened it, and she managed to reach out and put her hand against the smudge, and it made her feel sick, but then she felt it. The handle. She pulled, and the door swung open, revealing a wooden-walled corridor behind that swung off to the right. "How did you see that?" Five asked. Freya shrugged, and beckoned. They started walking down the corridor, Freya leading, Five behind, holding Merion's hand. "So," said Five, "how did you get in here, anyway? What were you doing here?" "My father had business with the provost," she said. Five took her sword out and immediately dropped it. The clang echoed down the corridor. Freya turned, looking annoyed. Five picked up the sword. "Sorry," she said. "Your hand is weak," Freya whispered. "I know," said Five. Freya regarded her for a moment. "Do this," she said, and she held the sword lightly and spun it so that it turned a circle, her hand never leaving contact with the hilt. Five tried it and managed to do one, then another, then she dropped it again. "Keep doing that," said Freya, "and your grip will grow more sure. Never drop your weapon except to pick up a better one." Five nodded obediently and spun her sword round her hand again. She glanced down at the girl, who was looking at her, wide-eyed. "What?" she said. "That looks really good," said the girl, grinning. "Does it?" said Five, pleased. Then they heard it. A rustle, as of feathers, something clacking on the floor ahead, around the corner. Something big. They stopped and looked. There was a loud, harsh, squawk, then a terrific shaking of feathers, and then they heard it. The beating of wings. It was coming their way. Freyas Saga Ch. 17 Evening was setting in, and the sparse rain beginning to whip at their faces, when Carfryn looked up ahead and saw the dark bulk of the building isolating itself from the spinney of trees that guarded it. It was a couple of hills further on, but squinting into the rain she could see the light glowing from the windows. She turned and looked at Dovid, who was huddling miserably behind her. "An inn," she said, smiling, and moved out of the way. He peered up ahead and on seeing the comforting dark shape of the inn, he raised his eyebrows and almost smiled. She waved at Owyn, who was a couple of horse's lengths behind them, and pointed. He stood up in his stirrups and looked, and when he saw it too, he shouted "Yes! You beauty!" They urged the horses into a trot, and the tired beasts got them over the rolling road until they were pulling up at the inn. The stableboy came out and nodded at them and Carfryn couldn't help smiling at him. How stupid it was, that one could be so pleased just by the prospect of shelter and food and a drink and a bed. And yet even the throbbing pain in her leg seemed to be less, because she knew she would soon be inside. "Have you room for three?" she called. "Our horses are tired." "We have that, miss," he said laconically, a skinny lad a few years younger than her. "I'll take your beasts. Sorry we've none to handle your bags. Our Euan would have, but the war took him." "Well, god bless the king's peace, anyhow," said Carfryn, dismounting. She helped Dovid down and he handed her the money purse. She gave the lad a few coins and he inclined his head. "Gentlewoman, miss. Get yourselves inside and I'll see to these boys." The lad took the horses and Owyn took the two heavy bags, Dovid his thick, heavy and now dilapidated Book, and Carfryn her own bag, the crossbow slung over her back. They entered the inn, and she could not resist a small sigh of pleasure. It was far from empty, in fact it was lively, but not boisterous; three musicians were playing in a corner, the talk was flowing, and the one or two faces that looked up at them did so with polite but guarded interest, rather than hostility. "Greetings, strangers," said a red-faced man wearing an apron. "What's the news?" "We have little to tell," said Carfryn, "but we have ridden far and would welcome food, ale and beds." "I can do you all three," said the landlord, "provided you don't mind sharing the one room." "Needs must," said Carfryn, and winced as her leg pained her. "Are you hurt, missy?" said the landlord. "Your liegeman there fail to defend you?" He twinkled in the direction of Owyn, who stared back at him, stony-faced. The landlord didn't seem at all fazed. "The man is a churl," said Carfryn, "but he did his best. It was a boar that attacked us both." "Great fucking god," said the landlord. "Show us." Carfryn found herself rolling up her breeches leg. The landlord inspected the bloody bandage and whistled. "Well, you're a tough one, missy." "If you know there to be one in the house with knowledge of medicine," Carfryn said, "perhaps it could be looked at." "There is, as it happens. Come, sit, and I'll bring you something. We don't have a lot of fancy stuff here, I'm afraid, but I trust roast boar would be acceptable." "More than so," said Carfryn, her mouth watering. "Thank you, sir. And ale for all of us." "Here," said the landlord, giving her his arm as he ushered her, limping, over to a table. "Michael! Michael! Lass here has a wound from a boar." "A wound from a boar?" said a tallish man with a thin face and a beard, and the crowd opened up to let them pass through. The man who'd spoken sat a table with about six others, near the musicians. A slender, dark-haired young girl sat at the table, asleep, her face resting next to her empty beer mug as if she'd passed out. The man stood up and took from his pocket a wire frame with glass in it, which he affixed to his face so that the glasses were held before his eyes. "There aren't many would take a wound from a boar and live," said the man. "Show me." "My man here patched me up," she said, "but it needs the eye of a surgeon." Carfryn was sat on a bench and her leg propped up. Michael carefully unwrapped her bandage and looked at the wound, still held closed by Owyn's stitches. "Your man did a good job," he said. "I would recommend little but to keep it clean and get some rest." Carfryn glanced at Owyn, who was staring at the wound. Did he look briefly proud of his work? In any case, she was glad it was well done, but was not going to start patting him on the back for his every act that was not one of a scoundrel. "You were a field surgeon?" said Michael to Owyn, who put his bag down and rummaged in it. "For a bit," he said. "Wasn't really my field. But I learned a few things." Owyn took out the roll of bandage and took from Michael the bloodied one, then cut off a long strip and placed it next to Carfryn's leg. He took his flask of liquor from his belt and glanced at her. "Go on," she said quietly. He poured a little on the wound and it blazed with pain, and she gasped, but barely flinched. Then he bandaged the leg with the clean bandage. "You must tell us all about it," said Michael, and the landlord appeared and set before them a jug of ale, three mugs, and three bowls with steaming hunks of boar flesh and juicy greens, and a loaf of bread on a platter. "We will tell all," said Carfryn, smiling at them, "but begging your pardon, friends, first we must eat. We have ridden far this day and thanks to the courtesy of a certain baron, we have not eaten since last night." It was a risk, alluding to the baron, but from the way Michael rolled his eyes and a couple of the other guests snorted, she knew it had worked. "Then eat now," said Michael, "and talk later. In the meantime, you should know who is who." And so they feasted on the juicy, aromatic boar flesh and tore at the bread, and Owyn even ate his greens, which he wouldn't normally have done, and they gulped at the cool, bitter ale while Michael introduced those at the table, turn by turn. Lastly he came to the sleeping girl. "This one here," he said, "is Anni. She's a mite sleepy, which we can put down to her drinking very much beer. But you'll hear from her soon enough. She's our singer. No song comes within miles of here without Anni learning it and singing it, so we're always well abreast of what's going on." "I have heard of the singers of these lands," said Carfryn, "and have often wished to hear one. I hope she may sing something before I become too tired to hear. It has been a long ride." "No doubt you will," said Michael. Owyn looked at Dovid, who was cutting up his boar into very small pieces and chewing it thoroughly. "I thought you people weren't allowed to eat hog," he said. "We are permitted to eat it if we would starve death if we did not," replied Dovid. "You wouldn't starve to death," Owyn said. "You've got bread and greens there, and there's nourishment in that ale." "My covenant with my people has been stretched mightily on this trip, swordsman," said Dovid, popping another piece of boar into his mouth. "Owyn. Call me Owyn. Owyn Durberry." "I have caused the death of a man by throwing the Book at him. I have let soldiers cast the Book into a fire. I have neglected to pray regularly. Now I am eating boar flesh. I sometimes wonder," said Dovid, picking up his mug of ale, "what I will do next, and when the lord will see fit to start punishing me." "I thought it didn't matter so much as long as you believed." "That is what people of the word say," said Dovid, grimacing. "To my people, observance of ritual is of a piece with faith. Neither makes sense by itself." "Eh?" said Owyn, who was already on his second beer. "If I believe, but do nothing, I am as a hollow reed. If I perform the rites but do not believe in them, I am a hypocrite." "You're a hollow reed, then." "That would be to assume that my faith is strong," said Dovid quietly. "What, you don't believe?" said Owyn. Dovid glanced at Carfryn, who further down the bench was watching the musicians. He turned to Owyn. "The Book tells me that I have long satisfied my duty as regards the young lady," he said. "She is not one of my people, and my failure to perform the proper observances because I am trailing around the countryside with you and her is a most grievous fault. I should have left your company long ago and returned to my own home. And yet, I do not." Dovid stared into space, his jaw tight, his beard bristling. "Why don't you?" Owyn said finally. "There is a quality in people that my Book has much to say about," said Dovid. "No one people has more of it than any other. We are enjoined to have it for our neighbour, but the word 'neighbour' does not convey the true meaning of the original, which has connotations of 'brother' and 'kinsman'. The quality is ... I am not sure there is a word for it in your tongue. It is to feel the suffering of another in such a way that you actively desire to relieve it." "Sympathy," said Owyn. "That's what it is. Course there's a word for it." "'Sympathy' does not quite convey the sense I mean," said Dovid. "I can sympathise with your growing feelings for the young lady, but in the light of your behaviour towards her on your first encounter, I have no desire to help you act on them." "What?" said Owyn. "What you mean? 'Growing feelings'?" "Yes," said Dovid. "You're falling in love with her." "No I'm fucking not." "Of course you are, Owyn Durberry. It is obvious. For a start, she is beautiful, which is a reason why you violated her in the first place." Owyn looked around nervously, but Dovid's voice was so quiet that nobody had heard. "I'm not in love with her," he insisted. "Yes you are," said Dovid. "Why else would you persist in travelling with us, instead of killing us and taking my money?" This shit again, Owyn thought. "I made a contract to protect you." "A man so amoral that he will rape, rather than attempt seduction, is hardly to be trusted as a respectable business partner." "Don't you fucking call me dishonest," said Owyn. "Oh," said Dovid, "so I could not trust you with my younger sister, but I can trust you to keep a deal?" "Of course you could trust me with your younger sister," said Owyn, exasperated. He paused. "How old is she?" he said, and regretted it immediately. "Eleven." "See, there you are," said Owyn. "That's much too young. I'm not a monster. I don't prey on little ones." "The lady is half your age," said Dovid. "She's well old enough to be a man's wife," said Owyn, "but it don't matter, 'cos like I said, I'm not in love with her. Maybe you are, d'you think of that?" "Oh, I'm not in love with her," said Dovid, frowning. "You sure? Why are you plodding around after her, then?" "She is not a person of the Book," said Dovid. "I could never love any woman who was not of my people." He gave a little shudder of distaste. "You're not so fucking noble," said Owyn. "You're bigoted against anyone who's not one of your own." "Of course I am," said Dovid, looking baffled. "So would anyone be, who had a proper sense of their loyalty to their people. Only those who would couple with anything that moves would be so indiscriminate as to lie with an utter stranger." "I've lain with strangers my whole life," said Owyn. "I'm sure you have," said Dovid. "In any case, my bride-to-be awaits me, in my village." "Oh, you're engaged?" said Owyn. "What fucking daisy-brain would fall for a prawn like you?" "Her name," said Dovid with an icy stare, "is Jual, and if you do not wish me to engage in the futile exercise of trying to fight you, you will withdraw that remark." "Jual, eh? Well, good luck," said Owyn, his good humour restored by having nettled the lad. "I apologise and withdraw it. I bet she'd fight me for you, anyway. Some of your birds are pretty stacked. Compared to you, anyway." "I will pretend to take that as a compliment to my people," said Dovid, tight-lipped, "but in the event, I could not get her to fight for me." "Why not?" "She is only seven. But when she is thirteen, she and I will wed. It is all arranged." Owyn looked at the young man, and had a pull at his beer. "I take the piss out of you, son, and I know I shouldn't," he said. "But I can't help it. It's just too much fun." "My people have a way of dealing with the mockery of people of the word," said Dovid. "What's that, then?" "The word translates roughly as 'Tower-view', and refers to the fact that our knowledge of the Book and dedication to the law bolsters our own faith, and protects us from being harmed by the mockery of people who lack knowledge, faith or law." "So, basically, you don't mind people taking the piss out of you because you think you're better than us," said Owyn. "It is complicated," said Dovid, shrugging, "but, yes." "Sounds useful," said Owyn. "It is," said Dovid. "Well, congratulations to you and your seven-year-old, and I hope that when she's grown up, you two will be very happy together." "We will be," said Dovid calmly, "provided I do not get killed before I have a chance to return home." "That won't happen," said Owyn. "I've sworn to protect you." "Forgive me, Owyn Durberry," said Dovid. "You are a good swordsman. But if you were a great one, we would not be in this position, would we." Owyn scratched the stubble on his own chin. "No," he sighed. "Probably not." He drained his ale, looked up, caught the landlord's eye and raised his mug. The landlord nodded. "So alright, wise one," he said. "What would have happened if I'd been a great swordsman." "Two things might have happened," said Dovid. "One, when they approached you about violating the young lady, you would have become angry, and would have stopped it from happening in the first place, by force if necessary. When she had found out what you had done, you would have had her gratitude, and you could have become her valued and respected liegeman. She would have found your loyalty commendable, and she would have been entertained by your relentlessly jocular sense of humour." Dovid fell silent. "What's the other thing," said Owyn, feeling depressed. "If you had been a truly great swordsman," said Dovid, "they would never have dared to touch her." Dovid turned his attention to the music, which he watched with interest. Owyn stared into his empty beer mug. The band stopped and put their instruments down, and when the applause had died down, Michael turned to them again. "So, travellers," he said, "tell us your tale. What has a swordsman, a bookman and a maiden travelling together? And what has you garbed thus?" he added to Carfryn. "You dress like ... well, a bookman, if I may say so." "You may," said Carfryn. "My companion here is a learned student of the Book, and I have only begun my study of it. It so happened that my own clothes were lost, and he displayed the generosity of his people in lending me a suit of his own." "Your clothes were lost?" said another man at the table with a grin. "Sounds like a tale worth hearing." Carfryn opened her mouth, and froze. Owyn glanced at her. They clearly expected a tale of comical misadventure, the hilarious account of an embarrassed naked maiden getting in and out of various compromising situations and finally accepting an offer from an equally embarrassed bookman. Of course, she couldn't really tell how her clothes had come to be lost. But she wasn't a born liar, and even if she had been, it would have been an exceptional storyteller who could have made up something on the spot, with the original incident still painful to her memory. And now, sure enough, he could see that she couldn't think of a convincing explanation. "It's not," he said, and all the eyes turned to him. "We paid an innkeeper a few days ago good money to launder my lady's garments," he went on, "but the fool added too much lye and the clothes were ruined. All except some light summer gear, too thin for this weather." "Oh," said the man, with mock disappointment. "I was hoping for something more, well. Amusing." "Well," said Owyn, "wasn't funny at the time, and even less so in the telling. Sorry." He glanced at Carfryn, who nodded to confirm his story and then shot him a glance that he couldn't read. "Who was this fool of a laundryman?" said Michael. "I'd spare the man's shame and not tell you," said Owyn. "Wouldn't be fair. Perhaps he was distract." "You're a kind man," said Michael, and raised his mug to Owyn. "I'd shame the bugger to the world." Owyn smiled slightly and clinked his mug to Michael's, avoiding Carfryn's gaze. "But what has you on the road at all?" said Michael. "My name is Britomart," said Carfryn. "I am from Lanstun. My father had business with this gentleman's people," indicating Dovid, "and we are taking him back to them so that he need not travel alone." "Well," said an apple-cheeked young woman to Dovid, "there are those who give the bad eye to the people of the Book, but you'll find that folks round here have proper respect. Yours is the elder faith, and you and your kind are welcome." "Aye, indeed," said Michael, and the entire table toasted Dovid. He went crimson with embarrassment, and after a pause, he cleared his throat. "There are those," he said, "of my people, who sometimes hold the people of the word to be of ... well, who think that the people of the word hold themselves to easier standards, and I admit that I have been among them, in my own weak moments, but on behalf of my people I am honoured by your warm welcome, and I would do all I can, um, to promote further understanding between our peoples." There was a cheer at this, and he got a hearty slap on the back from the stout farmhand next to him, and somebody ordered a round of drinks. "Is your father Raithlin, of Lanstun?" asked a man with a round face and a widow's peak. "My uncle," said Carfryn. "To be strict, my cousin once removed, but there are so many of us cousins, he is uncle to us all." "That he is," said the man, grinning. "A jewel of a man. My nephew is a fine joiner, and was to do some work for him, but just before he was to start he had a fall from a scaffold and broke his leg. Mark this: Raithlin paid for his leg to be set, and waited for him to get better so that he could do the job, sooner than hire someone else. The man is gold, pure gold. I would hear not a bad word to him." "He is," said Carfryn, smiling. She knew Raithlin, slightly, as a liegelord of Hargest: a quiet, popular man who turned up at tithing days and feast days with his wife and handsome, well-mannered children, paying his tithe and drinking sensibly and heading off back to his own lands the following morning, never making any trouble, never feeling the need to assert that he was more powerful than he really was, which was not much. The sort of man you want as your father, she thought. She wondered, briefly, what it was even like to have a father. Hargest had always been there, insisting to her and Siegfa that if they were troubled or in need of counsel, to come to him. But he was so great, and so often absent, and they had had each other. Siegfa went out into the world and trained and fought and had the life of a soldier, and Carfryn remained at home and welcomed him back, and they had lived in their little narrow life for so long, with everything just how they wanted it. No, she thought. Everything was not how I wanted it. Freyas Saga Ch. 17 I wanted him. He was content, I think. Was he? What did he want, if not me? Did he want anything? Was he really so pure as to have wanted nothing? Did he keep his desires from me because he kept them from himself? She found herself, some time later, staring at the wood of the table, her empty mug in her hand. She realised that she'd been sitting in brooding silence while the conversation went on around her. She grabbed a bit of bread from the bowl on the table and munched it. Even after eating, she was still hungry. A boy went by with a tray of beers, and she tapped him on the arm and pointed to her empty mug. He nodded. She turned back to the table. Michael was smiling at her. "You are lost in thought, Britomart," he said. "A bad habit," she said, smiling. "Not so," he said. "Women are given as much reason as men." "But bad to get lost in thought," she said, "when there's good cheer to be had, and stories to hear." "And music for dancing?" he said. "And music for dancing," she said. "Wisdom, indeed," he said, and turned to the musicians. "Hey! Alf! Neil, Cait! Quit blurring your faculties with ale, and give us another tune!" One of the musicians, hefting his lute, flipped him an obscene gesture. The woman amongst them, who was handsome and had grey hair swept back in a tail tied behind her head, looked amused. "What about Anni?" she said. "It's her turn. We played for ages." "Oh," said Michael, "you'd wake her up? Because our Anni does love to be awoken before her time." Cait laughed and held up her palms in a pacifying gesture. "We'll play," she said, "we'll play. If you'll only moisten our throats, for we're full of thirst." "If you play," he said, "it's more than your throat I'll moisten, Cait Uaneen," and he winked at her. Cait laughed. "You're a filthy-minded sawbones, Michael Derbhle," she said, and she picked up her flute and put it to her lips. The music started again, with a lift that gladdened Carfryn's heart. The boy came by and put her beer down on the table, and she handed him some coins and drank, and let the music unwind her. She felt herself slowly easing. The presence of the swordsman a few feet down the bench seemed less important when there was a table full of people who were happy to meet them, happy to listen to them, happy to play to them. The Wild has skewed the way I see things. I have been used to thinking the worst of people. And yet, if you place folk in a land where they know each other and can trust each other, see how much pleasure they can take in each other's company. Of course, Hargest is such a place. One where people are not divided against each other by pride or greed, but welcome each other and strive for the betterment of all. Except that there are some there who do not. For they took my brother and violated him. And who, in fact, can have found Siegfa where he lay, and not have wondered at what happened to him? "You seem lost in thought again, Britomart," said Michael. Carfryn looked up and smiled. "Habit is habit," she said. "What is losing you?" She paused. "One who I love," she said, "was dealt a grave injustice, and I do not know who did it, or why." "What was it?" he said. "Please," she said, holding up a hand, "do not ask me. I would not want to chill the warmth of your good cheer by my tale." "It sounds bad." "It was. Please, tell me a tale of your own. At the moment I would sooner forget my own troubles." "Well, you are a woman of secrets, but I will not force you." Owyn got up from the table and went out to the yard. He stood in the cool evening air, pissing against the moss-stained wall, and the young farmhand came out next to him and opened his breeches and added his own stream. "True what they say," he said cheerfully. "Don't buy beer, you rent it." "It's good beer," said Owyn, feeling he ought to strive to be polite. "Nice to 'ave some strangers in," he said. "New faces." Owyn was silent. "Hey, she's a fine lass, your mistress," said the farmhand. Owyn did not respond. "Don't suppose she likes to give a bit of joy to the common man, does she?" the young man grinned. "Just wondering." Owyn carefully finished pissing, put his cock away, buttoned himself shut and wiped his hands with a kerchief from his pocket, before replying. "No," he said. "She does not." "Well," said the young man, "maybe she could be persuaded." "Hm," said Owyn, and rubbed his chin. "Up to you, mate. But if you want to be a father someday, you'll leave her alone." The farmhand stuffed his own cock back in his breeches, his face pink from the beer and from the threat. "Want her for yourself, I reckon," he muttered, and then went pale as Owyn's knife touched his throat. "That lass," said Owyn in a level voice, "has lived through a world of shit the last few days. I'm not going to go into details, but she's had more than enough from the hands of men. Treat her with respect, or I'll cut your cock off and fuck you with it." The farmhand stared at him, terrified. Owyn paused, then put the knife away and clapped the lad on the shoulder and smiled. "Probably just as well you already had a piss, eh," he said. The farmhand gave a ghastly squeak of a laugh, and Owyn broadened his smile, and the young man relaxed, just slightly. "Sorry," he said in a small voice, "didn't mean to be rude." "Of course not," said Owyn. "I know you didn't. Just letting you know how things are." "Who did it?" said the farmhand after a pause. "Three blokes," said Owyn. "Back in the wild." He could see the farmhand thinking about this, and wincing. "You know who they are?" "Yeah. Two of 'em are dead." "You kill them?" said the farmhand. Owyn waggled his head. "More of a joint effort." "What about the third?" said the farmhand. "You gonna make him pay, too?" "Oh yeah," said Owyn. "He knows what he did and he'll suffer for it." "Good," said the farmhand. "One thing, though," said Owyn. "Don't talk about this inside. It's not nice." "No, no," said the farmhand. "Don't worry. I hear anyone wants to try it on with her, I'll tell him, hands off." "Good lad," said Owyn. They went back inside. *** Carfryn had been listening to the stories around the table but like a pendulum coming to rest, she kept being drawn back to her own thoughts. What can have happened? Siegfa went to see his own lord, then Ulf, to ask about Freya, and hours later he was dead. Surely someone must have asked how it came to be? He had been violated, too. Hargest would never let such an outrage go unpunished. Even if nobody drew the connection between Siegfa's death and his accusations about Ulf, and who knew about them? Siegfa, Ulf, Erik and me? Erik is a good man, but with a thick skull, and Ulf would never have told anyone - even if nobody drew the connection, what of the outrage committed upon a knight? Did no-one wonder why I left? Did no-one think that I feared for my life? Surely, even now, they must be trying to find out what happened. And I know what happened, even if I do not know who attacked Siegfa. I am the only one who can bring some illumination to the matter. My duty is clear. I must return to Hargest and talk to the baron, and lay this matter out. She felt immeasurably weary. God, if I had not spent these weeks washing away my sorrows with ale, I would have seen this sooner. I will have to tell what happened to me. It will be humiliating, but I have been stupid and I nursed and petted my sorrow rather than seek justice for my brother. I am paying for that, and I will go on paying. But first, I have business to settle. She turned and looked at Owyn, who had a fresh beer and who was watching the musicians. He caught her eye. She beckoned with her head, and she got up, limped her way through the tables and went out to the yard. Outside, she climbed over the wall, gasping from her wounded leg, and went a little distance away so that she was standing on the slope of the hill behind the inn. She saw Owyn's dark figure emerge from the inn and waited as he climbed up the slope and joined her. "I have made a decision," she said. "Very well," he said. "I want you to take us to Hargest. I need to find out what happened to my brother. When we get there, you may go. I will release you from your contract." He was silent. "Do you approve?" she said. "What do you care what I think?" he said. "I do not have time to argue," she said. "I am done with rebuking you and calling on you to atone. You have behaved as though you are sincere in your repentance, and beyond that, I do not care." "But I said I'd protect you," he said. "Swordsman," she said, "enough. It is not fair, do you not see that? It is cruel of you, and unfair, to insist that I help you atone for what you did to me, because I tell you now, you never can. I will never forgive you. I will never like you. If you want to atone for what you did, do it for someone else, because I refuse to accept that I should be the one to tell you that you have redeemed yourself. Because, because, fuck you, Owyn Durberry, and your guilt, and your self-loathing, and your need for me to tell you that I forgive you. I will not. Not ever." They stood in silence, then she breathed out heavily, the wave of anger subsiding. "There," she said. "That is the last I will say on the subject, because if you would offer me your protection on the journey to Hargest, I would accept it. When we arrive safe, if we do so, I will consider your obligation to me discharged. I have kin there and I have friends there, and they will see me safe. And you will be free to go, and to be someone else's knight and protector. Because it is not fair of you to insist that you be mine." He stared at the ground for a long moment. "No," he said at last. "It's not." "Thank you for seeing this my way. Now, would you please fetch Dovid, because he needs to be told what happened to my brother." "You think that's a good idea?" he said. "I don't know," she said, "but he must find out sooner or later, and I would tell him myself." "As you wish," he said, and went down the hill again to the inn. She stood there in the windy darkness, spots of rain falling, and hugged her jacket to herself. Presently, two dark figures appeared against the pale rear wall of the inn, and they came up the hill towards her. Her eyes used to the light, Carfryn saw Dovid's beard and nodded to him. He nodded politely in return. "I am sorry to bring you out here in the cold and dark, sir," she said. "There is something I need to tell you, and I do not wish to say it in the company of everyone in the parlour." "I see," he said. She held her hands folded before her. God, it was hard. But she had to face it. She had to let him know. "Have you never wondered," she said slowly, "why I was lingering in the inn where we met?" "No," he said. She was startled. "Really, sir?" she said. "An unmarried maiden of gentle birth, spending her days and nights drinking herself to a stupor in an inn in the midst of the wild? You never wondered what circumstance brought me there?" "No," he said. "How could you not have been curious?" she asked. "You are a person of the word," he said. "I assumed that people like you do that kind of thing all the time." She fought back her temper. "I assure you, sir," she said icily, "among my people, not all unmarried maidens of gentle birth spend weeks on end toping in far-off inns. Truth be told, it is unheard of." "Ah," he said. "It was a dire fate indeed, that brought me there." "If you say so," he said. Carfryn paused. "Very well," she said. "Since you seem so uninterested in my reasons for doing what I did, I assume I need not apologise for them. I will tell you why I was drinking in that inn. I grew up with my twin brother in Hargest, in the north. From an early age, I conceived an impure love for him, which I did not, however, confess to him. Nevertheless, although we two grew to our majority together and lived in the closest intimacy, I always dreamed that he would one day be my husband, and have children by me. He was a knight of the king, and he went on a mission with Freya Aelfrethe to rescue some of our womenfolk who had been abducted. The mission went badly and Freya was killed, or so it was reported. My brother -" Dovid slapped her in the face, brutally hard. She blinked, stunned, and saw stars. Her face was numb for a moment, and then the pain came. She refocused her vision to see him staring at her, outraged. He opened his mouth to speak, and then Owyn punched him in the face, and he went flying and lay still on the ground. She turned to him. "What in the name of god did you do that for?!" she said, furious. Owyn looked at her as if she were mad. "What the fuck?" he said. "He slapped you in the face!" "Of course he slapped me in the face!" she said. "He's a bookman! He probably thinks me worse than the lowest whore!" "I was defending you!" "For god's sake!" she said. "He's just found out that he has helped and sheltered one who has committed one of the most unforgivable sins in his Book! I am surprised he did not hit me sooner." She put her hand to her lip and tasted the blood. "Somebody hits you, I hit them," said Owyn. "Oh, wonderful," she said. "My sword and shield. When you are not hitting me, or worse." "Hey," he said, "you've chewed all the juice out of that one." "Look," she said, "go and see if he's not dead, and if not, wake him up." "Fuck this," Owyn muttered, and knelt down by the prostrate Dovid. A whiff of liquor later, and Owyn was helping Dovid to his feet. "You," said Dovid, looking dazed, but still shaking his finger at Carfryn. "You." "Let me finish," she said. "You are a deceiver," he said. "A dissembler, perhaps," she said. "May I please finish my story?" He paused, staring at her with what even in the night and the wind she could perceive was loathing. "Go on," he muttered. "So," she said, "my brother doubted the official story of what had happened to Freya Aelfrethe, and began to make his own enquiries. I supported and advised him. One night he was summoned from the bed we shared -" Dovid made a wordless exclamation of disgust. "From the bed we shared," she went on, "to meet with someone who could tell him more about what had happened on the mission. I had a foreboding, and begged him not to go. He saw, then, for the first time, the true nature of my love for him, which I know was sinful and wrong, and being a better person than I am, he rejected me and told me to think on my sins." "He was right," said Dovid. "I know," she said. "I did not repent of my sins, though, but lay in bed feeling sorry for myself. When he did not return for a long time, I went in search of him, and I found him, in a stable." Dovid was silent. "He was naked," Carfryn said with an effort. "He had been grossly violated, by I think more than one man. He had his sword in his hand. When he saw me, he killed himself." They stood there for a moment, the wind whipping through the stiff grass. "I dressed myself in his gear," she said quietly, "and I rode out of Hargest the same night. Truly, I do not know why I did not stay and call the guard or the baron. But I did not. I fled. I tried to end my life, but I could not do that either. I ended up in the inn, where we met." She looked at him. He avoided her gaze. "Now you know who I am, Dovid Berman," she said. "Now you know my sins." Dovid stood there, grasping his own chin, wrestling with his thoughts. "What happened to you at the inn," he said, finally, "and what happened to your brother in the stable, are the worst kind of outrage. But your passion for your brother is a grievous sin, even if it was not consummated. I have already put myself out for you, much, much farther than my faith allows. I already have much penance to do over missing my offices on your account. I am sorry, woman of the word, but even to sit at the same table as you, taints me." "Hang on," said Owyn. "She didn't even tell her brother about it. He only found out the night he died. All things considered, I think the young lady's behaved with extreme restraint." "Even to desire intimate congress with one's sibling," said Dovid, "even to imagine it, is one of the worst of sins. I am sorry. I can no longer sit with you at table. I must find other travelling companions." "I understand," she said, "and if you can find it in your heart to apologise for striking me just now, I can assure you that if you will accompany me as far as Hargest, I can repay you in full for all the generosity you have shown me." Dovid froze, and looked left and right but never at her, as if he now considered her poison. "I do apologise for striking you," he said. "I was weak, and my anger overcame me. Please, there is no need to repay me." "But I wish to," she said. "No," he said, turning away. "Please. No. Keep your money. I can no longer travel with you." He walked down the hill and went back inside the inn. "Well, then," said Owyn. She sighed. "So it must be," she said. "We shall stay here this one night, and he will find other travelling companions in the morning, and you will escort me to Hargest yourself." "Fine," said Owyn. They stood there for a moment. "I'm going back in," he said, and went back down the hill. Carfryn remained where she was. When I left Hargest, she thought, I imagined I would make a great sacrifice of myself, known only to god and my brother and myself. I imagined folk finding my body and wondering what sorrow could have drawn the pale northern girl to commit self-murder. I imagined strangers weeping over my death. I little imagined I would be standing on a hill in the middle of the night with two strange men knowing my secret, one my violator, hateful to me but whose services I cannot do without, and the other who lost all his sympathy for me the moment he learned I had sinned. A parody of a tragedy. But there is home, and there are people at home who must miss me, and who must want to know what became of me. So I will go home, and there I will find out the truth. Carfryn limped back down the hill, clambered over the wall and went in. *** Inside it was as merry as ever, and the smiles on the faces of those at her table as they saw her approach, helped to lift her heart from the sorrow she felt at Dovid's rejection. Then they saw her bruised face and bleeding lip. "In god's name, girl, what happened?" said the apple-cheeked young woman, and glanced suspiciously at Owyn. "It is nothing," said Carfryn. "I stumbled in the dark, and fell. Utter foolishness." "Really?" said Michael, glancing at Dovid, who had sat down at a different table and who was examining his Book. "In truth," Carfryn said. "Please, I know how it looks, but this was my fault. Too much of your landlord's excellent ale." "You can never have too much," said Michael, and pointed to her empty mug and smiled expectantly. She nodded. He called over the potboy and ordered another round. The sleeping girl suddenly sat bolt upright and opened wide her dark eyes. Carfryn was struck by her beauty; she looked like she had southland blood in her, with her long dark hair and tanned face. She smiled blearily at the room in general. There was an immediate cheer of "Anni!" from the table. "What happened?" she said. "I was asleep." "You've not missed much," said Michael. "Just some strangers arrived." Freyas Saga Ch. 17 Anni smiled at Carfryn in an unfocused way. "Hello," she said. "You're lovely, stranger." Carfryn smiled. "Thank you," she said. "I am glad you are awake. I was hoping to hear you sing before I went to my bed, for I've ridden far and done much today, and I would gladly hear a song or two before I sleep." "I only sing if I get beer," said Anni, and a pint mug was passed to her. She raised a hand in general gratitude to whatever stranger had ordered it for her, downed half of it in one, and then closed her eyes and began to sing. Immediately, the room around the table fell quiet. Carfryn was riveted by the contrast between the thin, beautiful, rather frail-looking girl before her, so drunk that she could barely see straight, and the purity and power and agelessness of her voice. She sang about the faithlessness of men, and a princess who fell in love with a young man so beautiful that the king himself could not deny the youth his daughter's hand, and she sang of a loved one who promised to marry soon but then died, and she sang of a king who fought a war. Carfryn was entranced. Everything she had heard about the singers was true. Anni's voice strengthened her; as long as there was someone who could sing like this, she thought, then the world was not all lost. As she sat listening, she felt positively happy, for the first time since Siegfa's death. "These are old songs," someone said. "The old ones are the best," Anni said. "There must be some new ones," the voice said. "Come on, Anni." The girl shook her head vehemently, as only the very drunk can, and then she stopped and looked up. "No," she said, "no. I did hear a good one, lately. Just come down from the north." "A new song!" went the cry, and people began to crowd around. New songs were how people found out what was going on in the world. "This is a good 'un," Anni said, "but mark it, boys, it's a bloody sad 'un." "All the better," said the apple-cheeked young woman. Carfryn sat, hardly listening, already thinking of how she was going to approach the baron, wondering what sort of reception she was going to get. Anni began to sing, of a knight in the northlands born, fair to see, who rode upon the northern hills to seek good company. It was good, simple stuff, but not quite of the level of the older songs. The knight met a fair maid and fell in love with her and wooed her, and she didn't trust him because of the gap between them, he a knight and she a lowly shepherd maid. Really, Carfryn thought, this can't end well. "And you'd woo me with golden words," Anni sang, "As gold as my bright hair, But when the morning comes around you'd leave me in my byre." Which, no doubt, is exactly what will happen, Carfryn thought idly, sipping her beer. Anni kept her eyes closed, one hand on the table, her neighbour holding the girl's slim hand in hers, and sang. O no, O no, my bonny maid, Sir Siegfa he did cry, I'll never be false to you, my love, But true to you I'll stay. Carfryn's blood ran cold. The knight and maid they walked a while And in her byre they stayed, And many a sweet hour did they spend The fair knight and his maid. His sister Carfryn walked them by And caught them in her sight And Carfryn's heart did rage and smart For she loved full well the knight. And loved she him with a love impure That no fair maid could sever But in her bed she wished her brother And share him would she never. Carfryn felt her heart pounding. The room had fallen completly silent. Everyone was focused on the song. The sweat had broken out on her forehead. Surely. Surely, they can see. They must know. The shepherd maid came from the field Her working day all done Come up, come up, said the knight's sister For talk we two have none. And Ellantyde looked up the wall And the joy in her did shine With pleasure I will come to thee, For a sister I'll be thine. She went to Lady Carfryn's room And sat upon the bed O lady, we will sisters be Until we both are dead. For I do love your brother fair And your brother doth love me, And married shall we be right soon To live full blessedly. Married shall you be right soon, The sister to her said, But married to this knife of mine Until you both be dead. Carfyrn sat and took a sip of her beer, and felt Owyn and Dovid looking at her. Do nothing. Be still. The song will be over soon. She's flung her on the wide, wide bed And Eglantyde did cry, O Carfryn, what is this fell deed? Why must you have me die? O maid, O maid, you did not know When first you saw my brother His heart is mine and will not be thine And will not be any other. She's dragged the maid through a dark, dark door And so she has through nine, She's laid her on the carving block And stabbed her like a swine. There was a low moan of horror from the listeners. Carfryn folded her hands in her lap to stop herself from trembling. And first out came the thick, thick blood And soon came out the thin, And she cut out the maiden's heart, There was no more within. She looked at the faces of the listeners. The grief and shock was visible in them. She felt as if a massive hand was pushing her down, down into the earth, flattening her. Sir Siegfa came into his house And called he for his supper. His sister came into the room And she did kiss her brother. O sister Carfryn, I have news And you will well rejoice For I am to be married soon To a maiden of my choice. And she may be no princess fair And she may be no queen But the fairest maid upon the earth That there has ever been. O brother, dear, I do rejoice To hear you have a wife I wish you joy, that you may have The heart of her for life. Please, she silently begged Anni, please, no more, let it be over, this is not true, none of this is true, none - well, not none, but this song is a lie, a lie ... She placed before him a covered dish And bid him take his part And there before him on the board He saw the maiden's heart. What hast thou done, O sister mine? What hast thou done, O tell? For you have slain my own true love And in a deed most fell. O brother mine, since she was thine, It's done in your despite For I would not let any maid Take off my own fair knight. And she did take his bright sharp sword And she did slash his vein, And from it flowed his brave heart's blood There was no more remain. The room was silent as a funeral. Sweat made her blink. Her stomach was churning. And Carfryn took a black, black horse And on it did she ride And left she there the knight and maid Lying there beside. And all the bells of Hargest Without man's hands were wrung, And all the books of Hargest Were read without man's tongue, And never was such mourning had Since the first of days begun. Anni stopped singing, and there was a long silence. Then the girl opened her eyes and looked around at the listeners, and picked up her beer mug and drained it. Somebody silently gestured to a potboy, and he went off to get her a fresh one. "So that's the news," said Anni quietly. Everyone was silent. Then a voice said, with feeling, "The fucking cunt," and the conversation started again. "Shocking," said Michael soberly. "Shocking, what these aristos get up to." "To be in love with your brother," said the apple-cheeked young woman, "and to kill him just because he loved a shepherd girl. I'll tell you what, if I found her who did that, she'd have no mercy from me." "Nor me neither," said someone else. "Gutting," said someone else. "That's what the likes of her want. Gutting." "It's a song," said Owyn, "does that mean it's true?" "That's the news," said Anni, and shrugged, and took a pull from her fresh beer. "Course it's true," said someone with disgust. "Our Anni wouldn't sing lies." "One thing," Anni said, "in real life, she weren't no shepherd, she were a serving maid. At least, that's what I was told." "Fucking disgusting," said the man with the widow's peak, and then inclined his head to Carfryn. "Beg pardon, miss, for my language. But there is no forgiveness for such behaviour. Never." "Wouldn't you say, Britomart?" said Michael. "Mm," said Carfryn, nodding. She rose to her feet. "Excuse me." She limped over to the door and went out the back. *** Owyn followed her out, and by the time he got outside, she was coughing up the last of her vomit. She spat, and slowly straightened up, and looked at him. "Is it true?" he said. He thought she might get angry. Instead she just looked infinitely weary. "Is what true," she said. "The song," he said. She clutched her stomach, and wiped her mouth, and closed her eyes and opened them again. "I loved my brother," she said in a cracked voice. "I didn't kill him. I didn't kill anyone." She raised her face to the dark sky, as if looking to see whether some hope might fall out of it, and when it didn't, she almost laughed. "Swordsman," she said, "at this point, and for one reason or another, you know me better than anyone. Ask yourself. Do you think it's true." He regarded her for a moment. I do know you, he thought, as only those can who love one they can't have. "You're noble," he said. "You're brave. You're honourable. You're foolish. You're passionate, and you're far too quick to act on your passions, and you're a fucking pain in the arse. But you're not vindictive. You're not evil." "No," she said. "I believe you," he said. She took a step back and sank to her knees and closed her eyes. "It is all off," she said. "I will not be going to Hargest. Our contract is ended. Thank you for your service." "Get some sleep," he said. "Really. Sleep on it, and you'll work out what to do tomorrow." She rubbed her face. "Yes," she said. "I'm going to bed. I will give you my final decision in the morning." "That's wise," he said. "Think I'll do the same." She glanced at him. "Very well," she said. "Please give me a moment to make my toilet and get ready for bed." He nodded, and she rose to her feet and walked silently past him, back into the inn. No more jibes. No more reminders. Fuck, he thought. She's been broken by a song. *** When he went back in, she wasn't at the table. He returned to it, and Michael said "What happened? Was she ill?" "Think the song affected her," he said. "Lot of travel, lot to drink." "Ah," Michael said, nodding sympathetically. "I might turn in meself, as a matter of fact," he said. "Very sensible, no doubt," said Michael. "Are you staying another night?" "Not sure," Owyn said. "Possibly. Good night all. Thanks for the company." He leaned over slim, dark Anni, who smiled up at him through eyes half-closed with drink. "Thanks for the songs, gorgeous," he said, took her hand and kissed it. Then he headed for the stairs. On the way, he passed Dovid. "I assume you're not too proud to take the other bed," he murmured. "I am not," Dovid murmured back. "Fine," Owyn said. "I'll take the hearthrug." *** In the room, she had taken the best bed, as was her privilege. He went to the bed and leaned over her, and she was breathing, so there was that. He unbuckled and took off the hard and knotty bits of his gear, tossed another couple of logs on the glowing embers, made a pillow of his bedroll and wrapped himself in the hearthrug. He went to sleep, listening to her breathing. *** She woke up to find the room dark. She could hear their breathing. Quickly and quietly she got out of the bed, holding the length of rope she'd taken from his pack earlier. She crept barefoot across the room to the table, picked up the stool and placed it on the tabletop. She climbed up onto the table and got onto the stool. From here, she could easily pass the rope over the low beam that ran from one end of the room to another. Do not think. There is no time. She knotted the rope about the ceiling beam and made the other end into a noose. She slipped it over her neck and realised that the rope was too short; if she shifted the beam knot away so that she would not be hanging over the table, and would have enough drop beneath her feet to break her neck, the rope did not have enough play. There was too much loose end sticking out the end of the noose. She took the noose off her neck and retied it, and put it about her neck again, and it was better, but it was still too short. She reached up to take the noose off her neck and in doing so she bent backwards slightly and the stool lifted up off one of its three legs and came down again. Careful. She reached up, twitched the rope slightly so that the beam knot slid along the beam in the direction she wanted, then again, and then again, and then it was a bit too far, because she was leaning forwards. She leaned to pull it back and it was stuck. She muttered a curse and twitched it again, and it still did not move. She stood on her tiptoes to get a better grip and the stool tipped up from under her feet. For a second she floated in space, thinking in panic, no, I haven't finished - Then the noose yanked tight around her neck and the stool crashed to the floor. Freyas Saga Ch. 18 Carfryn's body swung and she thrashed, her fingers scrabbling uselessly at the rope around her neck, her legs kicking, her lungs bursting. Her neck was blazing with agony and all she wanted was to be free of this pain, this tightness, this lethal grip, to feel air in her lungs again, to have one more breath, one more breath. She made a strangled whimper. She was getting her fingertips under the rope but it was too tight. She swung, choking, and was mortified to find her bladder opening and warm liquid flooding out of her. The beer, the damn beer, she had drunk so much, now to die like this, voiding her own piss like a common thief - She heard him and then felt him grabbing her, his arm taking some of her weight, and she heard him cursing frantically as he sawed at the rope, and insane hope took hold of her. The upwards tugging of the rope ceased and she slipped out of his grip and crashed painfully to the table. He came down too, thudding next to her. She rolled off, on to the floor, choking, her vision going grey as her lungs burned, and then she felt the rope being hauled at and felt the sawing motion on the rope once again, and she made another choked attempt at a scream ... ... and then the tightness was gone, and her throat was clear, and she heaved in a vast breath of cool clear air and her lungs filled and she whimpered with relief, and then she let it out and heaved in another one, and on the outbreath, this time, her grief overtook her, and she wept. *** He grabbed her, sitting, and held her in his arms as she bawled, abjectly, passionately. She made no effort to fight him off. She lay, sobbing, an angry red welt creasing the smooth skin of her long neck. The bookman got out of bed and tentatively walked over to them, and Owyn looked at him. "Do not weep," said Dovid tentatively. She paid him no attention but kept on crying, staring up past them both. "Do not weep," he said again. "Why not?" said Owyn. "Why shouldn't she? What else has she got?" He looked down at her. She was staring at nothing, just crying, with the kind of abandon he hadn't seen anyone cry with for a long time. Not since the war. "But, she needs to stop now," Dovid mumbled. "Why?" said Owyn quietly. "Why's she need to stop? She disturbing you?" Dovid stared down at her, and Owyn could see him wrestling with himself - his education telling him she was none of his business, and his heart urging him to do something to help her. He looked up at Owyn, anguished, as if he needed someone to tell him what to do. "Fuck's sake, bookman, come on," said Owyn, and Dovid ran a hand through his curly black hair and then sat down and, rather awkwardly, held her feet. Carfryn cried for a long time, as if there were nothing else in the world for her to do. Owyn held her, waiting for the moment that she'd notice that he was holding her, and throw him off. She said something, in her crying, and he couldn't understand. He looked down at her - he'd been looking away from her, so as not to make her uncomfortable - and she was looking up at him, her face a tear-stained, snot-streaked mess. "I just loved someone," she wept. "That's all. I just loved someone. I kept it to myself. I never meant him to ..." "I know," he said. "Course you didn't." "We could have been happy," she sobbed. He thought for a long moment, about the virtues and drawbacks of telling folk the truth, and came down on what he decided was the right side. "No," he said. "No." She looked up at him, seemingly affronted, even through her tears, and he prepared himself for another speech about what a cunt he was and how unworthy he was to speak such things to her. And then she looked away from him and nodded. "No," she agreed. "We could not." They were silent for a long time, she lying there, Owyn holding her top half, Dovid still clutching her bare feet. "It would have been a life of sin," Dovid said eventually. "What's sin to those who don't believe in it?" said Owyn. "Everyone believes in sin," said Dovid. "Everyone knows right from wrong." "It's possible to forget it," said Owyn. "As I can personally testify." He glanced down at her to see if she reacted, but she was still, staring at nothing, frowning slightly. "But not forever," Dovid said. "The Book points out that people act more from hope of some good, than from the wish to be evil. Carfryn chose to do this deed in here, where she must have known we would hear her, rather than outside, where we would not. She knew it was wrong, and did it in such a way that it could be prevented." "I'd never tell someone that they're wrong to take their own life," said Owyn. "You've not got a lot of other choices in life, but you've got that one." "Your life is not yours to take," said Dovid. "It is given you by god." "I thought you were having doubts about that," said Owyn. "My faith may not be as strong as I would wish," said Dovid. "It doesn't mean I lack it. If you never know doubt, you cannot be said to truly believe." "Fascinating though this theological discussion undoubtedly is," said a hoarse, sardonic voice from the direction of Owyn's lap, "do, please, shut up." Owyn looked down at her, startled. He'd expected her to be sad and broken, but in her face and voice she was something very different. She lifted her head and sniffed, and raised herself on her elbows and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Startled, he took his arms from around her and she quietly sat up, not pulling herself away from him as if she loathed his touch, just collecting herself together: wiping her eyes, clearing her throat, almost looking embarrassed that they had caught her in such a state of emotional dishevelment as to have attempted self-murder. Dovid let go of her feet and she folded her legs beneath herself and looked at them both, her face red, her eyes still moist. She looked down at her piss-stained breeches and scowled with disgust, rearranging them to make them slightly less uncomfortable. Her neck looked angry and sore but she was wide awake, and there was something in her face that Owyn had never seen in it before. It was something grim and weary, but certain. Something very unlike the lost, helplessly angry girl she had been since they had been on the road. She rubbed her neck tentatively and winced. "Well," she said, "I suppose you both wish you had a taken a leg each, and pulled." "Not at all," Owyn said. Dovid shook his head. "I wouldn't be offended," she said. "This is just the latest stupid thing I have done since we met, and I mean for it to be the last." "If you think I want you dead," said Owyn, "you don't know me at all." "I don't think you want me dead, Owyn Durberry," she said. "Far from it." She lowered her eyes, and he knew with a pang that the bookman's observation was true. And that she knew it, too. "I know I have made many, many bad decisions," she said. "I know I should never have fled Hargest. I should have stayed and sought justice for my brother. I should not have drowned my grief at the inn for those weeks. I should have listened to you," she said to Dovid, "when you told me to flee rather than defend myself. I should have yielded to you," she said to Owyn, "when you came in the room in the first place. I might have preserved a shred of my dignity." "Don't make excuses for that," he said. "No," she said. "What you said was true. It was the wild. I did not know where I was. I thought I was a gentlewoman from a good house who could rely on men to treat me as such. Instead I was stupid and deluded." "It was wrong, Carfryn," said Owyn urgently. "What we did was wrong. Don't say that." "It was wrong by my standards," she said. "It was wrong by your standards. Yes, I am convinced, Owyn. I no longer think you a monster." "What do you think I am." "I think you are what you are. No great hero, no great villain. Just weak and selfish." "Yeah, that sounds about right," he said. "And in normal times, in normal places, you can do no great harm, just as you can do no great good," she said. "But put you in the wild, and let you think that you can get away with anything, and behold. You do what you did to me." He was silent. "You think I am too hard on you," she said. He was silent. He no longer thought that, but it was still too bloody hard to just admit it. There was a flagon of rough spirit on a sideboard, and he got up and went over and picked it up and had a swig. "I think you're fair on me," he said after a long pause. "Well," she said, "in the ranks of people that I am disgusted with, I now reluctantly join you." He took some time to figure this out. "What?" he said. "I have been far too easy on myself," she said. "I grew to the age of nineteen and became the mistress of a household and was a liked and respected member of my house. And then, in a matter of weeks, everything is taken from me. My brother's love. My brother himself. My maidenhead. My dignity. My self-respect. And now, it would seem, my name." "Don't blame yourself," he said. "You've been hard done by." "Yes," she said, shooting him a look which he understood all too well, "in large part because of my own foolishness. I thought I was a, a, a valued handmaiden in the fair courts of life. I had no idea how easy it is to become a beggar outside the walls. You heard that song." Owyn eyed her. The strange thing was that she didn't sound beaten. She talked as though she had lost it all, but there was something fiery and angry and alive about her that, well, it got his blood running. "Of course," he said. "Songs happen," she said, pacing up and down, "because they tell what everyone knows. Everyone knows, in Hargest, that I killed my brother and some serving girl because I was jealous of her. It is a ..." She stopped, on the verge of tears, the words choking her. "What is it?" he said. "It is a fucking lie!" Carfryn cried, and she clapped her hand to her mouth, appalled to hear herself uttering such a vulgar expression. "So what?" said Owyn. "I did not kill him!" she exclaimed. "I loved him! He was not carrying on with some serving girl! He spent all his hours when not on duty with me! And even if he had loved some serving girl ..." She stopped, staring into space, desperate. "What would you have done?" he said. She stared at him and he almost flinched from her gaze. After a long moment she dropped her gaze. "I would have tried to be happy for him," she said quietly. "Probably, I would have failed. But I would never, ever have raised my hand against him." "So, what are you saying?" "What I am saying, swordsman," said Carfryn, the steeliness coming back into her face and voice, "is that someone in Hargest is telling lies about me." He considered this. "Makes sense," he agreed. "And what do I do?" she said. "Do I become angry and vow to revenge myself on my slanderer? No! I fold like a sheet and blub with sorrow for my troubles and make an absurd attempt to hang myself. Of course I knew you would wake up and try to stop me. Maybe I did not exactly count on it. Maybe I hoped you might not. But it was a fool's hope. Over and over again, I condemn myself to live. While my slanderer lives at ease in Hargest." "What do you want to do about it?" "What can I do about it?" she cried. "I cannot go back there and challenge them. I have to do something else." She went back to pacing up and down. "What happened?" he said. "What?" she said. "I thought you longed for death," he said. "You said so yourself. You reached for it, just now. What the fuck happened?" She paused before answering. "When I got up on that table," she said, "and put that rope around my neck, I was as good as dead. If I had managed to do what I set out to do, I would be dead. But as soon as I was swinging from that rope ... I only wanted to live. It has ..." She breathed deeply, wincing. "It has made everything clear," she said. "Why can you not go back to Hargest?" Dovid asked. "It is impossible," said Carfryn. "Forgive me," he said, "but I do not understand. You need to confront your past. If you wish to have justice for your brother, the truth must be exposed." "It will be," she said, "but not if I go to Hargest. My people are brave and honourable, but their justice is rough. I know how they treat people who have done what they think I've done." She fell silent. Dovid waited, and then said, "How bad can it be?" Carfryn looked at him, and Owyn thought that for the first time she looked a lot older than her nineteen years. She held out her hand to Owyn and he passed her the flagon of spirit. She took a swig, let it go down, let out her breath in a sigh, and waited for the burn to pass from her mouth. "Once," she said, "when I was about eleven or twelve, there was a scandal in the barony. A noblewoman had an affair with a man not her husband, and persuaded the lover to kill the husband. He did it, but their happiness did not last. The lover repented, and came back to Hargest, where he was tried for murder and hung, but being a man who was deemed to have been led astray, he was buried in holy ground. The women refused to come back to Hargest unless she was guaranteed a safe-conduct. They gave her every guarantee. She returned on horseback, with an escort of men." She paused, then looked at Dovid. "As soon as she was within the walls," she said, "they separated her from her men and dragged her off her horse. They stripped her. They dragged her to the castle yard. There, they shaved her head and tied her to a stake, and they poured boiling pitch over her. And as she screamed, they set fire to it. They burned her to death, so that there would be nothing left to bury." Dovid looked horrified. "And that," Carfryn added, "was a woman who committed adultery, and who had merely conspired to kill. I am, by common knowledge, a filthy pervert, and by reputation I have killed twice. If they get their hands on me, there will be nothing left to burn." "So," said Owyn, "Maybe not Hargest, then. So, where?" She looked at them both for a long moment. "I know where I think I have to go," she said. "The question is, whether you think so too." "But what do you care what we think?" said Owyn. "You made that clear enough already." "Listen to me," she said, sitting down and facing them. "Everything I have tried to do, everything I have done since my brother's death, has made things worse. I have tried to make a sacrifice of myself, and I was thwarted. I tried to drown my grief in ale, and it blurred my wits to the point that I took on three men bigger than myself. No-one knows better than you two how I paid for that." Dovid glanced nervously at Owyn, but Carfryn had already moved on. "I try to second-guess you," she said to Owyn, "and I end up attracting the attention of a boar. I arrive at an inn where for an evening I think there is a life I can escape to, away from my own. It turns out that even good, kind people would happily gut me for crimes they only imagine someone to have done. I have been wrong, all along the line. You called me your leader. I have been a poor leader, indeed." She sat back. There was a silence. "Well?" she said. "You want my opinion?" said Owyn. "Of course," she said. "Why?" he said. "You hate me." "Never mind that now!" she said. "What do you think?" "Well," he said, "you're not gonna like it, but I don't think you come through that night at the inn, and that boar in the forest, and hanging from that beam, to sit there and tell us it's all been a big fucking mistake. This is ... whatever you want to call it. This is fate. This is destiny. You're alive, I'm alive, and Dovid's alive, and it's got to be because there's some fucking purpose to all this. We just dunno what it is yet." She looked at him, annoyed. "I'm serious," he said. "There I am, bowling along, doing a nice line in crappy muscle jobs here and there. Then I meet you, and I sink lower than I've ever sunk, and all of a sudden, what the fuck's this? Turns out I do have some self-respect, because I've got a mission in life, which is to make up somehow, somewhere, for what I did to you. All of a sudden I'm ashamed of meself." He took the flagon off her and gulped at it and looked at them, incredulity all over his face. "Me!" he said. "Ashamed! I've been Happy fucking Jack for years, sitting in my own shit like a pig, and then I meet you and I've got a purpose. You don't like it, and I don't blame you. But I'm telling you, Carfryn, you may hate every decision you made, but they've landed you here. Everything else has been taken from you, 'cos it was keeping you from doing what you're supposed to do." She stared at him. "Which is?" she said finally. "... I don't know," he said. "I would say," said Dovid, "that there is something in what Owyn says. I was supposed to be a student of the Book and to become a preacher, but I am here now with you, and with a Book so damaged that even to continue toting it about is an offence to the lord. There must be a reason why I have gone so far off the path of my faith that I doubt I can find the way back. I have killed a man." He laughed, slightly, shaking his head in bafflement. "I am supposed to reverence all of nature,but when a stupid, evil youth sought to harm you, I killed him. And now I find that you have grossly transgressed against the law of God, or at least, you thought to, and yet I cannot bring myself to shun you. It matters little that I did not mean to kill anyone, or that you and your brother never consummated your love. My act and your thought makes us equally sinners. What is the meaning of all this? Owyn must be right. There must be something that has brought us here, but I cannot tell what." She considered them both for a moment. "So what you are both saying," she said, "is that ... in some way, I have not been wrong. I've done what I've done, so that at long last, we might be here, and ... and have this talk." "Well," said Owyn, "it's got to be something like that. No?" They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then an appalled look came over Carfryn's face. She covered her mouth with her hands for a moment, then covered her whole face, and then lowered them. She looked stricken. "O god," she muttered. "I know what it is." "What is it?" said Owyn. She looked at him. "I ... hate you," she said to him, "yet I never send you away. It must pain you to be around me, yet you never leave. You," she said to Dovid, "despise us both, but you will not turn your back on us. Do you not see what this means?" "What?" said Dovid. Owyn stared at her, and then a similarly aghast look came over his face. "Oh, bloody hell," he said, "I think you're right." "What is it?" said Dovid. Carfryn rubbed her brow wearily and looked at them both. "It is absurd," she said, "but this is how people behave when they are friends." There was a long silence. "I want to laugh at that," said Dovid, "yet it does not strike me as in any way amusing." "Me neither," said Owyn, and he paused, incredulous. "How can we be friends? We don't even like each other. We're at each other's throats, tonight worse than ever." "I do not know," said Carfryn, "but can you think of any other word for us?" "You used to say there was no 'us'," he said. "Well," she said, struggling to her feet once more, "I was wrong, swordsman. And it wouldn't be for the first time. Look at us. We travel together, we find every reason in the world to part from each other, and yet we do not. If someone attacked me," she said, looking at Owyn, "I know you would defend me." Freyas Saga Ch. 18 "But that's my job," he said. "But you have turned down the money. It is no longer your job." "Well," he said, "it's just what anyone would do." "Anyone would not!" she exclaimed. "You didn't!" "That was before I knew you!" "Exactly!" she shouted. He was silent. "Likewise," she said to Dovid, "I cannot leave you unprotected, even if you abhor me." "It is complicated," he said. "There is what the discipline of faith commands us to abhor a sinner, but it always must be tempered by mercy." "Is that in your Book?" she demanded. "Well," he hesitated, "it's in the commentary." "No, gentlemen," she said, "no quibbling. Face facts. We are not three people who just happen to be travelling in the same direction. For better or for worse ..." She let it hang in the air. "Some friendship," said Dovid, "where we have all the responsibilities, and none of the joys." Carfryn eyed him, and licked her split lip. "Don't blame me," she said quietly. "You're the one who struck me because I wanted my brother." Dovid wrapped one arm around himself and used the other one to stroke his beard. Owyn rubbed his eyes and let out a grunt of frustration. "All right," he said. "As the oldest in the room, I've had more friendships than either of you, and I can tell you both, this is the strangest. But, fuck it. I don't know what else to call it. And as such, I'm gonna do what friends do when they convene. And I care not whether you want to join me, but as your friend, I'm gonna ask you to join me, 'cos that's the sort of friend I am." He pulled his liquor flask from the pile of his gear near the rug. He got up, found two small cups and filled them, then took them both back to the young woman and the young man sitting on the floor. He handed one to each. They stared at him, but accepted them. He looked them both in the eye. "Carfryn of Hargest, Dovid Berman," he said, raising his flask, "you don't like me, and I don't like you. But I will defend you in word and deed, as long as you swear to do as much for me." "This goes against my faith in ways that I cannot begin to explain," said Dovid uneasily. "Sssh," said Carfryn, and turned to Owyn. "Owyn Durberry," she said, "you and I know where we stand, and where I think we will always stand. But as long as you never again do to another what you did to me, and in all but that respect, I will defend you in word and deed, as you defend me." "What do you mean, 'in all but that respect'?" he said uneasily. "I will never pretend that what you did to me was justified, or that I was not and am not scarred by it," she said. "But ... I see no reason why it must be the first thing anyone learns about you and I. I will not hide it, but nothing good can come of sharing it with everyone. An evil star ruled over the hour of our meeting, but I have picked at my wounds for too long, and we can only be useful to each other if we let the past be the past." They looked each other in the eye, and he wondered at her fierce, unflinching gaze. "I thank you for that consideration," he said. "You know you've nothing more to fear from me. I'll keep my oath." They looked at Dovid. He picked up his cup. "I find you both beyond redemption by the text of the Book," he said, "but even in that despite, I will defend you in word and deed, as you defend me." They took a moment, and drank. "Right," said Owyn, wiping his mouth and putting down his cup. Carfryn touched the red welt on her neck and winced. "How does that feel," Owyn said. "How does it look?" "Bloody terrible." "That's how it feels." Carfryn paced to the window and looked out at the night, and turned back to them. "I have been leading us," she said, "and as such, I have taken us nowhere but into folly. I have been a bad leader. If any of you wish to lead in my place, please say so." They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "It's you," Owyn said. "Sorry." Dovid nodded. Carfryn sighed. "Very well." She walked over to the table and picked up the severed rope. She tossed it to Owyn. "I propose," she said, "that since we cannot go back to Hargest with any hope to defend me from the anger of my people, that we do not attempt to find out what happened to my brother. Someone has told lies about me and destroyed my name. Whoever it is, is too strong for us three to take on." "Seconded," said Dovid. "Vote," said Owyn. They all held their hands up. "So agreed," he said. "What do you suggest we do instead?" "I will have to pass as someone else," she said. "I will give that some thought. In the meantime, I see now the task I should have undertaken all along." "Don't keep us waiting all night," Owyn said. "I think Siegfa was killed because he knew or suspected something about the death of Freya Aelfrethe. He said that the story that was told about it in Hargest was not true to what had actually happened. He had talked to his superiors about it. I think one of them knew something, and did not want him asking so many questions." "But what did actually happen?" said Dovid. "I do not know," Carfryn said. "The only thing that we know for certain is that Freya Aelfrethe never returned from that mission. I propose that we finish what my brother could not finish." They looked at her. She nodded. "Yes," she said. "I propose that we find out what happened to Freya." ***** Freya stood by the wall and motioned to Five to do the same. Five grabbed Merion and placed her behind her. "Stay there," she said. "What is it?" asked the girl in a small scared voice. It came around the corner. It was a thing of spines and feathers, with long claws and a long sharp beak and tiny black eyes, more than two of them, and it screeched as it saw them, its beak clacking noisily. Freya raised her sword, and the thing went for her. Freya swung and dodged, and the bird-thing squawked as a cloud of feathers fluttered to the passage floor. Five could see Freya gritting her teeth as the dusty, stinking feathers settled on her - the bird-thing stank of things trapped and decaying. She swung again and the bird-thing made another squawk as it tried to rake her with its claws. It pulled back its head on its long neck, and closed its bill so that the bill became a stabbing weapon, and Five opened her mouth to warn Freya, but Freya was looking up at it through the cloud of feathers and corpse dust, and when the bird-thing lunged at her she snarled and swung, her sword battering the bird's bill aside. Angry, it shook its head and stabbed again, a claw trying to stab Freya's leg, but she swung again and this time her blade got lodged in the bill. Freya yelled at the creature, a wordless cry of hate, and twisted the sword around, forcing the bird's head over until it was almost upside-down, before the blade came free and took half the bird's upper bill with it. The bird shrieked, an appalling sound in the enclosed space, and it clacked its bill, the lower part protruding a good foot and a half beyond the broken upper part. Freya took a step back, pointing the sword at the bird, and Five put her arm on the trembling girl who was huddling behind her and whimpering. The bird flapped its wings hysterically and then extended them and stared down balefully at Freya, clearly aiming to frighten her. Freya smirked at it, swung her blade around her head for momentum and cut downwards. The blade smashed with an audible crunching sound into the upper bone of the bird's left wing, breaking it. The wing dangled and the bird hopped, shrieking. It lunged at Freya who dodged it, but the edge of the bird's bill scraped her bald head and Freya twirled away from it, hefting her sword and glaring at the bird, which stumbled back. They faced each other for a moment, then the bird extnded its neck and screamed into Freya's face, with an ear-splitting KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Five had to cover her ears and she squinted, watching Freya stare back at it, grimacing, her eyes narrowed to slits at the terrible weight of sound battering into her. Then Freya slashed with the sword at the bird's outstretched neck, and its scream was cut off in mid-cry. It stumbled, and she hacked again, each time deeper. Black blood squirted on the wall and on Freya. The bird sagged, its neck half-severed, and it crashed headlong, flapping desperately as its lifeblood sprayed out of the wound. Freya looked down at it, dispassionate, and gave it one last blow, cutting the neck completely. Then there was just silence, save for Freya's breathing, and the dwindling hiss of black blood which slowed to a trickle. Freya stared at the thing for a moment, disgusted, then looked up at Five. Five nodded, and Freya nodded back. She came over to them, and Five knelt and turned around. Merion was still shaking, but staring at the dead, nightmarish bird-thing. "You all right, little one?" said Five. "Yes," said Merion. She looked up at Freya, who stood looking down at her. "Your head's cut," she said. Freya reached up and touched the blood coming from the gash on her scalp. "Nothing," she whispered. "You saved us," said Merion. Freya glanced over her shoulder at the bird-thing's corpse. "A stupid thing." "Good job, though," said Five softly. Freya shot her a glance, and from the minute nod of gratitude Freya gave her, Five guessed that Freya was playing down how hard the thing had been to defeat, so as not to frighten the girl. Good, lady, well done. "Well," she said, "told you. This is the greatest warrior of the age. Not going to let some bird thing stop her." Freya looked up the corridor into the darkness and motioned for them to stay still. She listened hard, then turned to Five. "Get her out," she said. Five nodded and smiled at Merion. "All right," she said, "it's not safe for you here, so I'm going to get you out, and what I want you to do is tell the guard outside that there's some sorcery at work in here, all right?" "But how are we going to get out?" said the girl. "We got in," said Five, "we can get out again." She glanced up at Freya, who did her best to give the girl a reassuring smile, although with her shaven, bloodied scalp and snake tattoo it didn't exactly have the proper effect. "Will you stay with me outside?" said the girl. "No," said Five, "I can't. I have to stay in here and help sort this out. But we're gonna do it, don't fret." "I'm scared," said the girl in a small voice. "You're right to be," said Five. "It's bloomin' dangerous in here. But you've got this far, so you've done really well. Now, will you come with me and we'll get you outside where it's safe?" "All right," said Merion. She looked at Freya. "Thank you," she said, and gave a small curtsey. Freya inclined her head slightly. Five got up and took Merion's hand. "You're staying here?" she said. Freya nodded. "You'll be all right?" Five said levelly. Freya smirked. "Good luck," said Merion. "Yeah," said Five. "Good luck." Freya nodded to them and watched them go. When they had gone round the corner, she resumed looking into the darkness ahead, listening. She heard the footsteps long before she saw him. Whatever it is can see me, in any case, she thought; I stand here in my own circle of light, waiting for the next thing to come out of the dark. A man in dusty, torn clothes stumbled out of the darkness. His face was cut, not too badly, and his hair was wild. He gaped at Freya and came up to her. "Where do you come from?" he demanded. "What is this? Are you one of its snares?" She shook her head no. "Speak to me," he said. "Who are you?" "You first," she whispered. "Why do you whisper?" he said, brushing the dust off his robe, then he looked behind her and saw the corpse of the bird-thing. "You slew it?" he said. She nodded. "Then you are a fighter indeed. My name is Duncan. I am of the council. Who are you? Are you come to deliver us of the worm?" She nodded. "You do not speak?" he said. She shook her head no. "You are wise. It is a cunning thing, very cunning, and it can trap a man's words and twist them. I myself only got away through luck. How many of you are there?" "Of me," she whispered, "but one." "I mean of your company," he said. "Surely you have not come alone?" She regarded him suspiciously. "Questions." "Of course I ask questions! You would too, if you had been gulled the way we have been! This thing is smarter than us all. It is always ahead of us." "Tell me all," she said, still holding her sword in her hand, watching him warily. "How it got in, I know not," he said, "but it was soon in the pantry, eating until the shelves were bare. Then it started on dogs and cats, and then horses. We sent guards against it, but it roasted a man alive. We had no option but to make a room for it and to keep feeding it, but it soon outgrew the room." He paused and peered at Freya's neck. "What is that?" he said. Startled, she touched her neck and looked down and saw it. Something moving under the skin. It came back to her, the terrible feeling she'd had after the worm when she'd felt those things inside her. But this was not in her stomach or womb, something that could be washed from her. It was in her own flesh. She shivered as she looked at it. It moved swiftly up her collarbone and over her shoulder and down her right arm. "Has it infected you?" he said. "My god! You must cut it out! The same happened to one of our guards, and what became of him was an abomination!" She looked up at him. She could feel it in her arm, tickling, feeling around for something. It was a shape beneath the skin like a long centipede. She stared at her arm, revolted, and sheathed her sword with left hand, then felt for her knife. "Cut it out!" he urged her. "It is the only way! Cut it!" She took her knife off her belt and stared at the thing moving under her skin, poising the knife above it, clenching her arm to squeeze the thing so it would stay still. "What are you waiting for?" he said. "Cut it out!" Something in his tone made her glance up at him. And she saw it: the greed in his face as he waited for her to cut herself. To do what he wanted her to do. She looked at the thing in her arm again. It was still. She unflexed her arm and it twitched. She didn't feel a thing. She sheathed her knife and looked at him again. "Why have you stopped?" he cried. "You have to cut it out!" She shook her head no, and he stared back at her. She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. He fought for breath and she held him there, pinned. "Why?" she said. "It is within you!" he gasped, his voice all of a sudden curiously hollow. "You have to cut it out!" "Liar." She pulled him away from the wall and slammed him against it again, the back of his head thudding against the stone. She looked at her arm, and the thing had gone. There was no itch or movement or hint of it ever having been there. He looked at her arm and at her, and she saw the loathing in his face. "Sorcery?" she whispered. "Yes," he said. She shook her head no. "Tricks," she spat, and slammed him against the wall again. "The bird?" "It was mine," he gasped. "Primitive, but useful." "Name." "You wouldn't know it." She was holding him by the throat not so tight that he couldn't breathe, but tight enough to discourage him from doing anything silly. He gave her a smile. "What do you do here?" she whispered to him. "Too many questions," he said, and she felt a stabbing pain in her shoulder. She reached with her other hand to grab his left wrist, which he'd brought up, and he dropped what he'd been holding, a small glass tube with a plunger at one end and a fine steel needle at the other. Immediately she felt herself stiffening, and her grip on him weakened. He slid out of her grasp and her legs felt weak and shaky. She blinked. Everything was glowing with a kind of intense radiance. Everything seemed very present. The air was crackling. Her brain was on fire. She sank to her knees and looked up at him. He raised his hands to his face and did something, touching his temples, and when he spoke again his voice was natural once more. "There's something I need you for," he said. "You and that clod of a girl, and the child. That's the only reason you're not dead now. I have no intention of telling you what, so don't expect to find out." Freya fell on one side, her panic rising as her vision clouded over, thinking only No, no, I must not be weak, I need to save them, I cannot do this now, no ... "That's it," he said. "Have a rest." She stared up at him, helpless, trying to think - what had he done to his face? Had he ... why had his voice changed? She tried to grasp what it had meant but she could no longer see, and the darkness was flooding her head. She gave a low whimper as it rolled over her. He looked down at her. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and she was convulsing. He leaned over, picked up the fragments of glass and metal and placed them carefully in his pocket. He watched her heels drumming against the floor. He waited until she was fully unconscious and then he knelt by her body. He saw the top edge of the tattoo on the side of her neck. Curious, he opened her tunic and then unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her skin. His eyes followed the lines of men as they marched down towards death. He inspected the little signs and symbols buried in the picture, and wondered what, if anything, they meant. A fine-looking woman. He opened her shirt further, looked up, listened, and then reached down again, unlaced her breeches and slid them down her legs. He took in her body with his eyes. She had scars, but she was tall and well-muscled. Potentially useful. She would of course have to be changed. He heard a noise down the corridor, and quickly pulled the woman's breeches up and laced them, and closed her shirt. He rolled her onto her side and closed most of the buttons. The woman was limp and unresponsive, her eyes half-open but dull. Drool came from her mouth. Odd how it affects them all differently. He had been fairly sure that on one of her size and power, it wouldn't kill, but how odd that it should cause her to have a fit. He heard footsteps and concentrated. Yes, the other one. He remembered, and got himself ready. *** They went back down until they got to the door, and then they were back in the wood-panelled room. Five walked over to the other exit, which led to the Night Walk. As they neared it, Merion dragged her feet and Five looked at her: she was pale and trembling. "We have to go through the Night Walk?" she said. "Yeah," said Five. "Don't worry, you saw yourself, it doesn't really hurt you." "But it still hurts," said Merion. "There's no other way," said Five. "Not that I know of." "I don't want to get hurt," Merion whined. "Girl," Five said, "we can go this way or you could get killed. I'm just sayin'. Look, all right." She took Merion and placed the girl before her, and hunched over her, to protect her with her own bodies from the blows that would land on them. "I'll take the hitting as much as I can," she said, "but we have to get through this bit. Then we can get you out, all right?" She looked the girl in the eye. Come on, come on, can't leave her by herself, just let's do this. "I need you to be brave," she said. "Can you do that for me? Can you be a big brave girl for me?" Freyas Saga Ch. 18 "Yes," said Merion, staring at the thick darkness of the Night Walk. "Then let's do this," said Five. "We'll go as quick as we can but there are corners and we don't want to run into the wall. Just hold your arms in front of you like this." Merion folded her arms before her chest defensively, as Five showed her, then Five clutched the girl to herself, putting her own arms around her for protection. "All right," she said. "Let's do this." They went ahead and plunged into the darkness, and immediately the blows started coming; harder, this time, raining on Five's shoulders and head and sides. Merion yelped and Five knew that she was getting them too. "You're doing wonderful," she cried. "Just a bit longer." "It hurts," the girl sobbed. "I know," said Five, moving forward, clenching her teeth as she was struck again and again. "But it's only for a bit." They reached the wall and turned a corner. Just one more corner, Five thought, and Merion cried out again as something struck her. Something hit Five in the face and she saw stars. They reached the corner and turned one last time. And then they hit the wall. Five reached out to see if there was another corner, but there was nothing but solid wall on three sides, and behind them, the way they had come. The Night Walk had been sealed off. "Why have we stopped?" whimpered Merion. "There's a wall," said Five, and gasped as another blow struck her head. "You mean we can't go?" the girl cried. "No," said Five. "It's cut off. We'll have to go back." "This was for nothing?" "Yes," Five grated. "Waste of bloody time. I'm sorry. Come on." She backed away, around the corner again, still trying to protect the girl, but the blows kept hammering her and the girl twitched and sobbed as she too was hit, until at last they emerged from the thick darkness and found themselves in the wood-panelled room. The girl sank to the floor and Five sat down and held her. They were both red and sore and bruised, or at least they seemed to be; the appearance of their bruises soon faded, but what stayed behind was the memory of the pain. Not going back in that fucking thing. "You were really brave," Five murmured, stroking the girl's hair, "really brave. I'm sorry that didn't work." The girl sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked up at Five. "Are you all right?" she said. "You must have got a worse bashing than me." "I'm all right," said Five, smiling. "I've had worse beatings. Look." She opened her mouth and showed the girl the gaps in her teeth from when Freya had beaten her. "That's disgusting," said the girl. "How'd you get them?" "Got beaten up for real," she said. "What's it like?" "Hurts as bad, but you stay damaged." "So," said the girl, "what are we going to do?" Five looked around at the room. The only light came from very small, very narrow windows high in the wall, too small for even a scrawny girl like Merion to get through. "We'd better get back to my mistress," said Five. "She'll know what to do." *** Five and Merion rounded the corner and saw the pool of light up ahead, and Five immediately realised something was wrong. Freya was lying on the floor and a man was crouching over her, his back to Five, looking at Freya's body intently. Five shouted "Hey!" and the man slowly stood up, without turning around. Five broke into a jog, pulling Merion with her. "What are you doing?" Five said as she neared the man. "Leave her alone! Step back!" The man obligingly took a step backwards, and then as Five approached the edge of the circle of light, he slowly turned around. He was young, with slicked back hair. He was handsome, in a rattish kind of way. He looked straight at Five, who stopped dead, and he smiled at her. "Hello," he said. "Fancy seeing you here." Five's mouth went dry and she felt hot and ill. She stared at the man for a moment, then looked down at Freya. "What happened?" she said. "What did you do?" "Me?" he said. "I did nothing. Just came down the corridor and found her like this." "You're a liar," she said. "What did you do to her?" "God's truth," he said. "She was like this when I got here. S'pose she's not normally one for sleeping in corridors?" "Tell me what you're fucking doing here," Five whispered, "or I swear, I'll fucking beat it out of you." "Ooo," he said. "You dun 'alf talk big now. Didn't used to be so brave. Used to be all scared of me. What happened?" "A lot," said Five. "Been in the wars." "That would explain it," he said. He stopped, looked her up and down, and clicked his tongue. "You're still the same dog-ugly cunt you were back in the day," he said. "You can't talk to her like that," said Merion. "Who do you think you are?" The man smiled at the girl, and winked at Five. "Tell her," he said. "He used to be someone I knew," said Five. "His name's Dannel." Freyas Saga Ch. 19 Anybody who's been reading this, and who feels that Five is just too kind and nice, and not hard enough to be hanging around with Freya (and I half-agree with you) ... well, let's just say that at the end of this episode, Freya takes steps to do something about that. Very drastic steps, which will echo for the rest of this saga. "Come on then," he said. "Come on where?" said Five. "What are you talking about?" "You're to meet the Provost," he said. "He wants to know why two strange women are skulking about his chambers and killing his pet bird. He's not happy." "He's not happy?" said Five. "I'm fucking spitting. What happened to her?" She dropped to the floor and examined Freya, noting that some of the buttons on her shirt were open. Freya lay still, her eyes shut, her mouth open, her sword on the floor a couple of feet away. She was breathing, her heart was beating, that was what mattered. She just felt so fucking helpless. She went away for a few moments, just to get the girl out, and to come back and find her so strong and tough, laid out like this by means of whatever fucking sneaky trick this bloke had ... and if he had laid a hand on her, she ... Five looked up at Dannel. "If she's hurt," she said angrily, her eyes full of tears, "I'll fucking kill you." "Nah, you won't," he said. "But she's not. Much." From the darkness came six tall, armoured warriors, their faces covered by bronze masks. What struck Five about them was their eerie uniformity. They were as alike as chess pieces, and as obedient. They lined up behind Dannel. "See," he said, "I've got ways of being persuasive." "I'm not leaving her," Five said. "Course not," he said. "You're bringing her along." One of the soldiers came forward and picked up Freya's sword. Another grabbed the girl. Five's heart was pounding; everything was getting away from her. A few minutes ago they'd been on top of things, striking down the bird-thing and then arranging to make the girl safe, and now the trap was closed behind them and there was nothing she could think of to do, but go along with it. "Get up," he said. "Take her with you." "I can't take her and my stuff," said Five. "Yes you can," he said. She stared at him, feeling the cold sweat on her face. She leaned over and grabbed Freya's ankles. They walked along the long corridor until Five's back was screaming and her lungs bursting from the effort of dragging Freya in all her gear. It had been a fuck of a lot easier when it had been just Freya. But at last they came to a door and Five straightened up, breathless, her eyes prickling with humiliation. Dannel smiled at her. "Ready to meet the Provost?" he said. "Let's just get this over with," she gasped, "'cos when you've had you're fun I'm gonna kick the shit out of you and all your tin men. Me and her both." "Ooo," he said, delighted. "Such dirty talk in a girl. Watch your mouth, gorgeous." And he punched her in the tit. It made her gasp and weep with the pain but she just stood there, upright, letting the tears fall, refusing to buckle, staring at him with hatred, as the door swung open and the huge, dark room was revealed. She felt it rather than perceived it with her senses, and it had the power to draw her attention away from him and into the room. There was a feeling of something very big, very old. Behind the incense smouldering in the big burner, there was a sweet, sickly smell. Oh shit, she thought. They went in, she dragging Freya across the threshold, and as soon as they were inside one of the soldiers pushed her over and two of the others grabbed Freya and started to drag her over to a corner. She got up with a cry and flung herself on Freya but she felt arms pulling her off, and she screamed and shouted No but they were too strong for her. But Freya opened her eyes and tried to focus on her, and she mumbled something. She pulled her head over to Freya's lips and listened hard. Freya spoke thickly, like someone coming out of sleep, but she could make it out. He wears them, Freya mumbled. Ask. What? Five thought. It had to mean something. She clung to it as they hauled her off Freya and held her back. She watched them drag Freya into the dark corner. He wears what? Ask who? Ask them what? Unless it was just some dream phrase her tongue uttered because she was off somewhere else. Five had had dreams so vivid, about being found out and sent back to live in Hargest in disgrace, that more than once she'd woken up to find herself in some chilly, cowshit-smelling glade with Freya sleeping a few feet away and she'd blessed her good luck that her dreams weren't true. Keep thinking about it. Makes no sense to reckon it nothing. Even if it is nothing, it might give me an idea. She looked around for Merion, and saw her standing in the grip of one of the armoured soldiers, staring around her, looking terrified. She caught the girl's eye and tried to smile at her. Merion looked back at her, trembling. "So this is the slave of the one who killed my pet," said a sleepy, posh voice. "I'm not no slave," she said. "You look like one to me," he said. "One who loves her servitude, what's more." "I love my mistress," said Five. "You'll pay for what you've done to her." "I don't like people who harm my pets," said the voice, and Five squinted into the dark. Dannel walked over to the big incense burner and threw some powder on it, and the smoke glowed blue, and the light dimly illuminated a great table with a man behind it. She could barely make him out in the dark, but he was sleek, well-dressed and looked well-fed. He hardly moved when he spoke. "What are you women doing here," the man asked in his flat, lazy voice. "Let the girl go," said Five. "Absolutely not." "Let the girl go," she said. "She can't be no use to you. Let her go and you talk to me all you want." "I will do a lot more than talk to you," said the man. "You look like a strong young woman. It will be interesting to see where you break." "It'll take more than you and your fuckin' chessmen to break me," she said, and gasped with pain as the soldier holding her clouted on her head. "Fine talk," said Dannel, grinning at her from the end of the table. "I broke you easily enough, back in the day." She started to retort, something along the lines of I've changed since then, but there was something about him, something ... He eyed her and kept grinning. "What are you gonna do," she said. "First," said the man, "answer my question. What are you women doing here?" "We heard there was a worm in the city chambers," said Five. "We came to kill it. My mistress has form at slaying worms." "A worm?" said the man. "Oh dear, no. You are mistaken." "I don't think so," said Five. "There's something going on here. I'm not stupid." "You are," said the man. "Only the very stupid believe themselves intelligent." Five tried to figure a way out of this maze of words, and couldn't. "Fine," she said. "I'm stupid." "Didn't I always say," said Dannel. Once again, there was something in his tone. Why don't you say it, she thought. Why don't you say what's obvious: that you had me wrong. That you thought me a boy. You could taunt me about that, if you'd a mind to, and you clearly do have a mind to, so what's stopping you? "There is no worm here," droned the man at the table. His voice was so flat and low it made her yearn for sleep, except that it had an unnerving, buzzing quality that held her attention. "You have infiltrated these chambers like common trespassers and you will be punished for it." "Fine," she said, "punish me and get it over with." "It is necessary," said the man, "for the culprit to understand that she is at fault, and that punishment is coming to her." The smoke from the incense wafted past her and she smelt it. The man spoke again, and he sounded more natural. "We reserve special punishments for women," he said, "which by nature are inappropriate for use on men." Here it comes, she thought. The man was silent, and then Dannel got up from the desk and walked along its length and placed something in a metal cup that rested beneath the incense burner, slung from chains attached to the burner's long tripod legs. "Gonna be interesting to get to know you all over again, gorgeous," said Dannel, smiling at her as he strolled back to where he'd been standing. Five felt her body clammy with sweat and fear under her clothes. "Been a while since anyone's done that," she said. "You'll pick it up again soon enough," he said, and after wiping his hands he strolled towards her. "Forget how it's done," she mumbled. "Nobody ever forgets," he said. "I put my cock in your cunt and we make with the back-and-forth." That's not what we did, she thought. You never did that to me. You took me in my mouth, my thighs ... once or twice, somewhere else. Never there. Soon as you saw it, it disgusted you and you never laid a finger on me again. How could you have forgotten that. Another cloud of incense smoke came up from the brazier. The man at the desk was droning on about the differences between a woman's and a man's understanding and Five was barely listening. A cloud -- what did that ...? Yes, yes, the way you look at it one way it's one thing, and when you look at it another way it's something else. Like me. He wears them. Ask. More like He wears 'em. Ask. He wears a mask. Thank you, mistress. Five let out her breath in a long hiss and let her gaze fall on the young man smiling at her. You shithead. You are not Dannel. You know about him somehow, and you make me see him, but you're not him. You've got a mask somehow looks like his face. Because you're poisoning me or doping me or -- The fucking incense, she thought. I am stupid. Her eyes swiveled around and she looked at the soldier holding Merion. His armour was bronze. Why didn't they clatter when they walked? Should've sounded like a fucking castle kitchen in here. But they move silent-like. She looked closer at the armour and the detail of it ... she couldn't see it. It looked vague. She glanced down at the armoured hands of the man gripping her shoulder, just for a second, not wanting to look like she wasn't still sweating in terror. It looked like bronze, all right, as long as you didn't look directly at it. When you did, it looked more like bronze-coloured cloth. Or leather. Clever, she thought. *** He listened to the voice telling her that her foolish quest for glory was about to come to an abrupt but deserved end, and smiled to himself. Whoever this Dannel was, he had a power to inspire fear in her, and as long as she was in fear for just a few more moments, he would have enough of the bile. He glanced at the worm, where it lay half curled-up, its massive bulk glistening with the clear liquid it was sweating. More precious than gold, and he alone knew the secret. He looked over at the other one, still lying on the ground between two of the guards. She would be out for hours yet, time to be miles away. He was tired of sitting in this fetid building, scraping the bile from this bloated creature, when he could have been using his accumulated stocks to do something real: make his way into the loyalties of a baron, or a king. The worm stirred. He knew that it was stuffed full, but he couldn't risk discovery. He stroked it, as if absently, and then carefully and surreptitiously wiped his hand on the lip of a bowl on the table. The voice fell silent. He looked up. "Something is wrong," it said in its dull, flat way. "What?" he said. "Explain." *** One behind me, Five thought. Take him out first. Get Merion out of the hands of the one holding her. Then how many left? Two each at the doors and another two with Freya. "She does not fear you," said the man at the desk. Shit, she thought. Dannel looked at her sharply. "You," he said. "You forget who I am?" "No," she said. He put down the bowl he was holding and came around the desk towards her. *** He bore down on her until he stood right before her, grinning. "You forget what I did to you? You forget how I made you suffer? You will suffer like that again. We have not yet begun to test the limits of what you can endure." "Hadn't you better get on with it, then?" she said. "Insolent bitch," he said, and slapped her in the face. She blinked and probed the inside of her mouth with her tongue. "Ow," she said. "I have a question." He waited, staring her in the face, watching the red slowly bloom over her cheek where he struck her. "Ask," he said. "Once we get started you will want to do nothing but scream for it to stop." "Right," she said, nodding. "So here it is." She paused, and glanced him up and down. "Your bad leg," she said. "It grew straight, then?" He froze. Damn her. Damn her. I will show you a face, little girl. *** She watched him, seeing him struggle with his anger. Of all the things, she'd just noticed that one when he came over to her. Should have seen that before. Brilliant observation skills, idiot. Then, his face cleared, and he smiled at her, and all of a sudden the flesh of Dannel's face split down the middle and peeled back on each side, uncovering the bleeding, grinning skull beneath. It gave her a start and she felt her heart pound, but it was all a trick. His mask. Big deal. The skull-face laughed at her, inches from her own. "Very clever," she said, "but can you do this?" She grabbed him by the front of his coat and headbutted him in the face. Her forehead collided with the mask with a sharp crack, and she felt something gash her just over the eye, a warm stabbing cut. She'd hurt herself more than him, but as she was hauled back by the guard and he staggered back from her, and she blinked, gasping with pain, she saw with great satisfaction the two halves of the broken mask falling to the floor, and his real panicky face as he clamped his hand over his nose and mouth. The face of a boy. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Not Dannel. No-one she knew. He had a cut on his face too, and he was frantically fumbling with the cloth of his shirt to try to protect himself from whatever stuff he was making them breathe. She looked down, blinking blood out of her eyes, and saw that the reverse side of the mask had had some bit that went up his nose and over his mouth. The guard grabbed her. If this doesn't work, she thought, if I'm wrong, if he really is wearing armour, I'm going to hurt myself really badly and we will all be killed. She grabbed the guard's wrists, as Freya had taught her, hunched over and hoiked him off his balance. He wasn't all that heavy. She flipped him over and he crashed to the ground and before he could get to his weapon she'd straightened, raised her boot, and she stamped on his masked face. It wasn't metal the guard was wearing. Some sort of leather, maybe. She heard a crunch of bone and a gasping cough. The bugger was out of it for now. "You will pay!" the boy shrieked, his voice muffled by his shirt over his mouth. She saw him breathe in and saw the panic in his eyes as it got to his brain. He turned and looked at the man behind the desk, and the darkness seemed to shimmer, and Five thought she saw the man and the desk become briefly transparent, and sensed a great presence in the room, something huge and coiled, where the desk and the man had been. The boy was running for the far door and shouting "Take them to the yard! They are for the gibbet! Take them!" She looked at Merion and saw the guard picking her up, and Merion struggled wildly but he started carrying her to the exit. The other guards were closing on Five and she looked around for her sword, but it was nowhere. The boy had reached the exit and the door closed behind him. One of the guards was running towards Five. He was between her and where Freya lay on the floor, out of it, between two guards who were unsheathing their weapons. Freya let out a yell and ran at the man running at her. She yelled at him wordlessly, and she saw him slow momentarily and she lowered her head and when she collided with him, she drove him backwards. He stumbled wildly and she kept going, just a few more feet, and then they collided with the three-legged incense brazier. As she had hoped would happen, it wobbled and toppled over and hit the floor with a massive, resounding clang. The smouldering incense scattered across the room and hissed as it hit some invisible obstacle. Five lay on top of the guard and felt herself being hauled off him, and even as the first punch hit her in the stomach, she saw with relief Freya drowsily lifting her head. *** Freya swam frantically to the surface, summoned by the tolling of a huge gong, and when she finally reached it, her lungs aching, and hauled in a massive breath of air, she suddenly realised she hadn't been underwater but was in some vast and tolling chamber. Her limbs felt like lead. She focused with difficulty and saw two men holding Five, a third beating her. She heard Five give a thick, indistinct cry. The man. The poison. Sleep. It was enough. She, Five, the girl; the man and his guards. Two sides. No hesitation. She took a deep breath. The air was hot and thick and it was hard to move. There were feet by her, clad in some brown leather, the same garb as the men beating Five. Freya felt down in her calf for the hidden sheath, slipped the knife from it and quickly plunged it into the foot of the nearest man. He screamed but she had grabbed his leg and was already pulling it out. She stabbed him in the thigh, just lower than his groin, and slashed downwards. The blood spurted from his leg and she slashed again to sever the artery, and rolled away from him to let him fall over. He was twitching. She couldn't get up. She breathed deeply, feeling the air fill her with life. The other man was lunging towards her and she guessed rather than saw the weapon in his hand. She managed to roll out of the way and slashed at his wrist. He let out a sound too and she managed to kneel, then stand. He was moving very slowly and she had plenty of time to grab him, lift his head and cut his throat. She straightened up, her head pounding, and blinked and took another deep breath. The men beating Five hardly seemed to have noticed. She looked around, saw her sword, went over to it and picked it up. There was another man, who had the girl. He dropped the girl and came towards Freya, his sword raised. She watched him come and as he got within range and swung she stepped away. He swung again and she walked around so that she was between him and the girl, then when he swung again she parried and swung and landed her sword deep in his leg. He stumbled and started to swing again but she stepped away from him once more and as he limped towards her she shook her head sadly and swung and hacked his arm. She felt the bone break and he dropped his sword and she could hear him whimper as he turned and looked for it. "Don't be a fool," she said, and he stopped and looked at her. "Save yourself," she snarled. He took off his leather helmet. He was a dazed-looking man in early middle life and he stared back at Freya with fear. "Go," she said. He nodded and turned and limped towards the door. Freya watched him go, and she went to the girl. Her head felt heavy and it was in pain but she summoned up a smile for the little one as she bent over her. The girl stared at her and whimpered in fear. Freya paused and turned around, in time to see two of the men who had been beating Five coming at her. She said to the girl "Wait here," and she turned and watched them come. Freyas Saga Ch. 19 As they drew nearer she held up a hand and looked them in the eyes, and they stopped. For a moment, nobody moved. "Five," she rasped. "Here," said Five. "You are hurt." "Not bad. Few bruises." Freya looked at the two men, who in turned looked back at the bald woman with the snake tattoo on her face, who was staring at them with a look of such loathing that it made their flesh crawl. One of them summoned up his courage and ran at the woman, and the other one watched as the woman almost boredly swatted aside his attempt to hit her, and ran her sword into his friend's guts so hard that he choked blood, before he fell over and gargled his life away on the dusty floor. Then the woman looked at him. "I don't want any trouble," he said. "Can't always get what you want," said the girl behind him. "I'm serious," he said. "Freya," said the girl, "tell him to open the shutters." The woman never took her eyes off him, but she nodded. He went over to the window mechanism, the woman shadowing him all the time, and he cranked it. As the shutters opened, grey light leaked into the room and cool air, and as the thick hot inside air of the chambers thinned and cooled, and the light opened up, it was suddenly and massively revealed. The huge, coiled, grey-brown, glistening bulk of the worm, taking up a quarter of the room. There had been no man, no desk. All an illusion. They all lowered their weapons and stared at it, in awe. Freya saw out of the corner of her eye the man letting go of Five, and the girl stepping away from him and standing off, panting. But the worm was so big. It commanded the room. Its wings were tiny, barely useful. Its stomach was bloated, and as it raised its huge head and opened its eyes, they could see how puffy and swollen the eyes were. Freya walked up to its head and looked at it. It looked back at her, blinked slowly, its long jaw stained with old, encrusted blood. It stared back at her. She raised a hand at it, holding up her open palm, and the worm lifted its head enough to nod at her. *** Five stood there, her body aching, her forehead bleeding, and she glanced at the guards, who were watching Freya. She slowly moved around behind them until she could see Merion, and when she finally saw the girl huddled in a corner, she waved at her and crouched and held out her arms. Merion quickly and quietly ran around the edge of the room to Five, who grabbed her and gave her a hug. "You all right," she murmured. "Yes," said Merion, "but what's going on. Where was that thing before. Is it sorcery?" "Reckon so," said Five. "You scared? I'm not scared." Merion gave her a look. "Oh, come on," she whispered. Five smiled. "Yes, fine," she said. "I'm scared." *** "What happened," Freya said softly to the worm. The worm lifted its head and inspected them all, one by one. Then it opened its mouth, and to Five's astonishment, it spoke. Its voice was like that of a rich, cultured man, but hoarse, weak, flat and buzzing. It both was and wasn't the voice of the man behind the desk. "I came," it said. "I fed. I did well here. You and your kind were my prey." Freya nodded. "Then," the worm said. "The boy came. He swore me an oath. He said if I fed on naught but fear, I would feed as well as the best." Freya eyed the creature. "And did you?" "He lied," the worm rumbled. "He fed me till I grew sick. And still he fed me. He found me prey, but he fed me till I could feed no more. And still he fed me." "You are sick," said Five. The worm raised its head and looked in her direction. "Yes," it said. "He did it to get my bile. He took it and dried it and burned it. When it burns, it can bend your minds. That was his goal. To bend you to his will. And he did. And still you beat him. And now I am sick, and I will die." "You can get out of here," said Five. "You could knock down that wall." "I do not want to," said the worm, and laid its head on the ground again. "But you could be free," said Five. "You could get revenge on the boy." "It is too late for that," the worm rumbled. "He will be gone." "Then help us," Five said. "Help us avenge what he did to you." The worm opened one eye wide and stared at Five. "I care not for you and your kind," it said, its voice aching with loathing. "You did this to me. One of you. I care not if you live or die." "But you were used," Five said. "It's not right. Help us to punish him." "What is right," the worm growled. "What is wrong. What are you to me." It turned its face away from them and curled up. Freya turned and looked at Five, and from the bleak look on Freya's face, Five knew what had to be done. "You will not help us, then?" Five said. "You are for the gibbet," said the man who'd been holding her, and he moved towards her. She stepped aside neatly, and once more, they were at odds. "Says who?" said Five. "Says your boss? That kid? He's nothing but tricks and slithers, that one. You think you can trust him?" "He's been good to us," said the man, and he looked to the other man, the only one left who was facing Freya. "Kill her," he said. "That's not gonna happen," said Five urgently. "I swear to you, mister, don't give her an excuse. She'll kill him. Look around you, for fuck's sake." The man turned his helmeted face and viewed the fallen bodies of the other three men, and the other, the one Freya had told to go, who had fallen on the way to the door and was now clutching his bleeding leg and moaning. "You don't understand," he said heavily. "If I disobey ..." "Listen," said Five, "he fooled us all. He made us all think he were some great sorcerer, but he's a kid." The man pulled his helmet off and looked at her. He was young, but she could see how the fear in his face had aged him. "He's got tricks," Five said. She glanced at Freya, who with each passing moment was standing up ever straighter. "I'm not saying he's not clever," said Five. "He had me fooled for the longest time." "Someone's got to be the Provost," said the man, looking at her. "I agree," sad Five. "Well," said the man, "do you know who's in charge here, or don't you?" Five and Freya exchanged a glance. Five looked back to the man. "Oh, I do," she said. "Then drop your weapons," he said, putting his helmet back on, "and come with us." Oh god, Five thought, you're brave but you're such a fucking idiot. "Etienne," said the man marking Freya, "come on, what say we let them go." "Enough," said the other. "I don't want to hear that talk. This is a matter of honour." "Honour," Freya hissed, "is satisfied." "You've fought well," said Five, and she grabbed Merion's hand and shoved the girl behind her. "What you need to do now is empty this building and bring it down, 'cos this worm's not moving." The worm gave a low rumble of annoyance, which they felt in their feet and their heads, rather than heard. "Honour is satisfied, boys," said Five, fixing them both with a look. "Come on. If we're gonna get out of this we need to work together." "Honour," came a thick, muffled voice behind them, "is very fucking far from being satisfied." Oh shit, thought Five. They all turned around. The guard who'd been holding Freya, the one whose face she'd stamped on, was struggling to his feet. He pulled off his leather helm. His face was a mess, blood all down his chin, his nose and cheek broken, and he was staring at Five with undisguised hatred. "You," he said, pointing at her. "Look what you fucking did to my face, you fuckin' slut." "You can call me a lot of names," Five said, "but that one's wide of the mark." "You two," said the guard to his colleagues, "I can't believe you're talking of letting these bitches go. We're gonna string their guts across the fucking courtyard. Look what she did to me." "You dropped your guard, Luc," said the one who'd suggested letting them go. "She got the better of you. It makes sense to forget it and get out of here." The one called Etienne was standing there, uncertain. "We cannot wait," said Freya. "That bloke who fooled us is getting away," said Five. "Nobody fooled anybody," said Luc. "We serve the Provost." "Your Provost is a boy with a mask and a packet of powder," said Five. "Why am I even talking to you?" said Luc, drawing his sword and advancing on Five. "I've had enough of your shit. What the fuck are you? A girl or a boy?" Five backed away from him and stepped on the sword of one of the fallen guards. She quickly bent and picked it up. It was heavier than her own. "Oh, I'm bound to be one of 'em," she said, lifting the sword. She glanced at Freya, who quietly moved to where she could stop the other two from interfering, but who didn't come between her and Luc. Five understood. Luc was unfinished business, and Freya meant Five to finish it herself. "We don't have to do this," she said, sweating as he closed on her. He was a good foot taller than her, but out of shape. He was a guard at the chamber of the elders. Not a proper soldier. Maybe his size would be enough to beat her. Maybe not. "Shut up,'" he said, "you ..." He swung at her and she didn't hear the last word because of the clang as she parried. It was a good parry and he blinked, giving her time to step aside. He swung again and she saw it coming and parried once more. He lunged at her and she hit his sword out of the way. Hers was too heavy to wield easily and she decided not to to try anything she wasn't sure she could do, because she knew she'd mess up if she did. He swung again and she parried again. She tried not to look at his face. He didn't look as though he'd ever been very handsome, but now he looked grotesque, one side of his face swollen and blood issuing from his nose and mouth. He cursed and paused for an instant, and Five swung. It was a shitty swing and she ended up whacking him in the arm with the flat of the blade. He lunged at her and she dodged it. She heard what sounded like one of the other guards chuckling at her rubbishness. Wanker, she thought, and she concentrated on the man before her, now getting angry and impatient. He swung once more and when she parried he used the energy of the swing to bring the sword around again, and she barely had the time to get her sword up before he made contact, striking her hand. She felt the impact and it was a moment before the pain came; she glanced down and saw that he'd crushed the tip of her middle finger. Then the pain hit and she gasped and had to blink the tears out of her eyes. Her hand was throbbing, and she had to stick that finger out to make sure it didn't contact the hilt of the sword because to touch anything with it was agony. But he was coming at her again, and she swung at her head. She ducked. He swung again and she dropped onto one knee. He raised a booted foot to shove her backwards and she dropped the sword and grabbed his foot and wrenched it. He lost his footing and fell over. She picked up her sword in her right hand and as he struggled to sit up, she raised it and grabbed it with both hands, ignoring the pain, and pushed it downwards with all her strength. It pierced his armour and the cloth beneath and his skin under that, and sank into his belly. He roared. Five stood for a moment, staring at the man lying on the floor with a sword sticking out of his stomach. She was shaking. She looked at the man, who stared at her with anger and disbelief, and looked up at Freya and the other two guards. "Right," Five said. "That's enough of that, eh?" Freya was grim-faced. She glanced at the other two, and then looked back at Five and slowly shook her head. "But I mean," said Five, "I've won. We can fix that, can't we? Just sew him up?" "You have to finish him off," said Etienne quietly. Luc, on the floor, was sweating and starting to cough blood. His hands and feet were quivering. "Finish it, girl," he said, his voice choked. "You can get better," Five protested. "I can't," he gasped. "Just ... you won. You fuckin' won. Just end it. Please." "How?" said Five, feeling helpless. Everything Freya had told her about where to strike to kill had gone from her head. She was tired and in pain and all she could think about was how to get through the next moment with this man expiring on the floor. Thanks to her. Freya growled and strode forward, pulling her bloodstained knife from her sheath. She quickly knelt by Luc and cut his leather tunic along one seam, and tore it open. His shirt was darkening with blood. He watched her. She ripped open his shirt, exposing his torso. He had the ample belly of a beer drinker. His skin fluttered as he breathed. Freya grabbed Luc's right hand with her left, lowered her head and muttered a quick prayer for the dying. He coughed and closed his eyes, then opened them again. She looked him in the eye. He nodded weakly. She leaned over him and Five saw her slip the knife between two of his ribs. He gasped, shook for a moment, and then the life went out of him. She pulled the knife out of him and wiped it on his shirt, then rose, scowled at Five and turned to the other guards. "Honour," she grated, "is satisfied." "It is," said Etienne. "But what do we do now." Freya looked at Five, who was standing nursing her wounded hand and trying to stop herself from throwing up from the pain, and angrily waved a hand at the guards and walked away. Five swallowed. "We came here to get rid of that thing," she said. "Not to get into a fight with your men." "I believe you," he said. "But three men lie dead, one is wounded and the worm still lives." "The worm lives because you let the boy dupe you," said Five. "Your men are dead because they attacked us." "Agreed," said Etienne. "Strangers, I know my limits. We have failed the city. Marc and Mathieu and I will take the consequences, and I will vouch for you. But if you think I'm the leader, you are mistaken. I have a joiner's shop in the city. I guard the chamber part-time, or I did until that boy started his sorcery. God knows what has come of my business, my family. I just want to get back to them." "No-one's stopping you," she said. "My point," he said, "is that we here are men of good will, but some will not yield so easily. When that boy came, he made many promises through the mouth of the Provost. Some of them, he had already begun to keep. The others have not seen you fight. You will have to get past them, or persuade them of your good faith." "She's the fighter," said Five. "I'm rubbish." "For god's sake, girl," he snapped, "a man is dead because you stuck a sword in his belly." She glanced at Luc's dead body. "Forgive me," she said quietly. "The question is," said Etienne, "how are we going to get out of here." Five looked around the room. The worm lay curled up against the end wall with the windows. Below the narrow windows, a dozen feet up or more, there were two huge doors in the wall. The great ceremonial doors of the chamber, through which the worm had got into the chambers in the first place. But they were chained shut, and no sword they had could break the chain. The windows themselves were too narrow for anyone but a child to get through. Five looked around the room and there, in a corner, was Merion, huddled with her knees up against her chest. Freya, along with Marc, the other guard, was kneeling over the wounded guard and bandaging him. She and Marc helped the man to his feet and she looked at Five. Five indicated the windows, and then indicated Merion. *** Good, young one. Very good. *** Five watched as Freya handed the limping man over to Marc, and came over to her. "I think we can do it," she said to Freya, who gently took Five's hand and inspected the mangled tip of the finger. She glanced up sharply at Five, who knew what she meant. "Oh. Yes. Fine," she said. "Do it before I change my mind." Five knelt and placed her hand palm up on the floor. Freya knelt beside her and took a clean dressing and wiped her knife on her own sleeve, then placed the knifeblade at the top joint of Five's finger. She lifted her fist and offered it to Five to bite on. "I'm all right," Five muttered, and Freya instantly whacked the blade down, cutting off the mangled fingertip at the joint. Five screamed. Freya ignored her and quickly bandaged the finger. "All right," said Five after a moment of collecting herself. She looked up and saw Merion still sitting there, looking at her with a strange expression. "All good there, little one," she said in an attempt at hearty good humour. "Did you just cut off your fingertip?" said Merion. "Yeah," said Five. "It's better this way. It could have gone bad on me. Listen, I think I know how we can get you out of here." A while later, Etienne and Marc stood against the wall, supporting Five on their shoulders. Five leaned over and grabbed Freya's wrists, and Freya pulled herself up onto Etienne and Marc as well, then Five gave her a leg up and Freya climbed up until she was standing on Five's shoulders. "Got it?" said Five. Freya made an affirmative grunt. Merion stood on the floor, a rope around her waist which they had taken from Five's pack. She looked up apprehensively at the tower of people. "Now," said Five, "I want you to climb up on these lads, then on me, and the lady will lift you up to the window. Then, once you're through, we can lower you down as far as we can, but then you'll have to jump the last bit. Think you can do that?" "Do I have a choice?" said Merion archly. "Yes," said Five, "you can sit here and get accidentally killed as part of the big fucking battle there's going to be in a little while." "All right," said Merion in a small voice, and Etienne held out his hands, cupped together. She stepped up on them, and he lifted her up, and Five took her hands and raised her, and made her own hands into another step for her feet. Merion's put her weight in Five's hands, and light as the child was, the pain made Five's eyes stream. Freya reached down and picked up Merion and lifted her until the girl stood on her own shoulders, and the tower of two men, two women and a girl wobbled. "I can't ..." said Merion. "I can only just reach." "Maybe the lady can lift you," said Five. Freya raised her hands, palms upward, and Merion gingerly stepped onto them, and Freya hissed through her teeth as she lifted Merion higher. "I've got it," came the girl's voice, and she made a strained grunt, and then Five felt a bit of the weight come off. "Good girl," she called. "We've got the rope. We're going to lower you. What's going on out there?" "Nothing," said Merion. "It's a normal day. Wait, someone has seen. Hello?" "Tell them what's going on," said Five. "Tell them to open these doors. We have to get light and air in here." "You will not," rumbled a voice down at the floor. Five looked down, and saw the worm finally uncurling itself, groaning and creaking as it stretched its bloated body and rose to its feet. It flicked its tail and glared at them with its bloodshot eyes. "What's going on?" said Merion, frightened. "Might have a bit of a problem," said Five, and Freya jumped off her, drawing her sword as she sailed through the air, and landed in a crouch on the floor, then straightened up and regarded the worm. "It's too high to jump," said Merion. "Can you lower me?" "We'll have to do it quickly," said Five, as Etienne and Marc lowered her to the ground. "Worm's woken up." The worm slapped the ground with its tail, and the tiled floor cracked and a cloud of dust went up. "No one leaves," it snarled. Freyas Saga Ch. 19 Five held onto the rope. "Curl up in a ball!" she shouted, and she started to lower Merion, dangling outside the window, as quick as she dared. The worm hissed, and spat a thin jet of fire at the stretched rope. It started to burn. Five tried to go quicker, but then the burning rope snapped, and to her horror she heard a thin, receding wail from Merion followed by a couple of cries from outside in the street. Well, now people knew something was up. Now it was on. Five dropped the rope and turned to Etienne. "Where's my fucking sword?" she said. He looked around, and seeing it on the floor a few yards away, he made a dash for it. The worm's head snapped around and it spat fire at Etienne, engulfing him in a cloud of flame. He screamed. "No!" Five cried, and the worm looked at her. She managed to duck out of the way of a second burst of flame. It would take the beast a moment to gather itself for another, and she pulled off her tunic and ran to Etienne, who was rolling on the ground, his leather clothes on fire. She blanketed him. She saw Freya gesturing to Marc, and she grabbed Etienne and dragged him out of the creature's range. When she had got the fire out she unwrapped him and looked. He was burned but he was alive, his skin blistered. Maybe he would pull through. There was no time to look after him. Freya and Marc were on opposite sides of the worm, giving it two targets it could not strike at the same time. Freya was grinning up at it, dancing from foot to foot, daring it to shoot fire her way. Marc was actually striking it with his sword, distracting it from concentrating on Freya. The worm whipped its hide from side to side, unable to decide which to kill first. Five ran to her pack and fumbled her bow and quiver. She could just pull it; her finger throbbed. The worm paused, staring at Freya with hate. Five got as close as she dared, staring up at the worm's big green eye. She saw the worm's throat glowing as it worked up flame for another attack, and she aimed for the ridge just above the eye. The worm snorted and drew back to spit fire. She let go. The arrow travelled up and as it fell in its course, its arc made it hit lower than her aim. It plunged into the worm's eye. The worm bellowed and thrashed. Its wing smacked Five backwards, breaking her bow and causing her to slide across the floor. Dazed, she looked as Marc hacked at the worm's tail. It tried to look at him but black jelly was squirting out of the wound in its eye. Freya took a step back, then ran forward and leapt onto the worm's back. It whipped its neck. Freya almost lost her balance, but stood there, raised her sword and plunged it into the nape of the worm's neck. It sank in, and she moved it from side to side, growling with the effort, and the worm made a desperate hacking sound. Then Freya's sword cut something, the beast's spine, Five guessed, and its neck went limp and its head crashed to the floor. Freya jumped off, grabbed Marc and pulled him out of the way. The worm thrashed and shrieked and flapped its wings, and its great tail beat against the heavy wooden doors, but did not open them. It coughed, and a cloud of flame belched from its mouth and set fire to the wooden panelling on the wall by the door. Freya and Marc ran over to Five and Etienne. "We have to get out," said Marc. They looked up; the high walls were hung with dusty old banners which, if they caught fire, would rain burning fabric down on them. Five and Marc managed to lift Etienne and Freya helped the other one over to the other door. It was locked. Freya picked up a sword from the ground and shoved it in the door jamb and levered the door open without too much difficulty. They went through, and found themselves in an antechamber which opened on a long corridor, which in turn led into darkness. They could still hear the worm shrieking and thrashing around in the main chamber. "How can we get out of here?" said Five. "It's easy enough," said Marc. "All you have to do is get to the ..." He stopped, and choked, and fumbled at the crossbow bolt that was suddenly sticking out of his throat. Five cried out and they dropped to the floor, but another crossbow bolt struck Etienne in the arm. The other wounded man, pale from loss of blood, waved at the darkness. "Stop fucking shooting!" he shouted. "There's a damn worm! We were tricked! They're here to ..." He gasped as a bolt struck him in the chest, and he coughed, and blood came from his mouth. "That's how we deal with traitors," said a voice from the darkness. Five knelt by the man and futilely tried to find some way of saving him, but he was coughing up his life's blood. She got up and, before Freya could stop her, she walked a few paces down the corridor and faced the darkness, angry and without hope. "You fucking idiots," she bawled, "you're shooting your own men." "They're not our men," came the voice. "They're enemies of the provost." "Your provost is dead!" Five said. "He's been replaced by a bloody kid! You've been tricked!" "You cunts are the tricky ones," said the voice, "but we'll soon knock that out of you, when we get our hands on you." "What's stopping you, fuckers?" said Five. "You just gonna shoot us from your mousehole?" Five looked at Freya, who was staring into the darkness with narrowed eyes, side-on to make herself a smaller target. "No," said the voice, "we're gonna chase you." A hidden door in the wall swung open, revealing a passageway that culminated in a spiral staircase that went both up and down. "Oh, what shit is this?" said Five. Freya ran forward, grabbed her by the arm and indicated the passageway. Five cursed and headed in, and Freya followed. They ran to the end of the passageway and went down the staircase. It led to another passage that took them to a large, empty kitchen. Freya scattered as many pots and pans as she could behind them. They ran on, through an empty larder scattered with old fruit crates and sacks. They heard the sound of running feet behind them. There were many. Maybe a dozen. "What's the point of this?" Five panted, wiping her eyes. "What's this for?" "The man," Freya whispered. "He wants us to fear, so that the worm will sweat one last time. He is still here." Five cursed silently to save her breath. They came to a crossroads of three passageways and Freya quickly chose the leftmost. They ran down a sloping, curved corridor until they came to a door that had a window. The other side of it was the city garden, a large, neatly cut walled place for doing deals in private. Freya opened the door and they slipped out, and closed it behind them. It was good to be out in the fresh air, but it didn't take Five long to realise that the garden was as much a prison as the house had been. Apart from a thick, locked door in the wall, there was no way out but the way they had come in. Freya was furiously barricading the door, shoving improvised wedges into the jamb and dumping bits of the rockery in front it. Five helped. Then they retreated the length of the garden, up the sloping lawn, to a small wooden structure at the opposite end. They sat against the wall and got their breath back for a moment. Five clutched her wounded hand. The wooden house was a small, old temple to the gods of the city, now superseded by everyone's worship of the one god, but for superstitious reasons it had been allowed to stand. "Well," Five said, "this is gonna be interesting." Freya sat and stared at the opposite wall. "Maybe we can tunnel out of here," Five said. "Or climb the wall." "No," said Freya. "We have bought some time, is all. They will find us." "We'll have to talk to them," Five said. "Make them see sense. So that they'll see that we came here to get rid of the worm, not to get into a battle. I know we can do it." She stared at Freya, who stared grimly and impassively at the bare wall before her. "We can do it, lady," Five said. Then Freya looked at her, with a look she'd never seen before, and she was chilled. "What," she said, her fear making her say it quietly. "You think ... they won't listen to us?" Freya looked at her, her eyes full of pity, and she shook her head no. Why are you pitying me? thought Five with horror. What do you think is going to happen? "What?" said Five. "What's the worst they can do?" *** It was the only way. She had been considering it ever since they were in the chamber. They would have to fight. Both of them. Five with her wounded hand. And if they wanted to survive, if they did not want to be made to suffer agonies before being killed, they would have to win. And for that to happen ... ... O, young one. I wish I did not have to do to you what I am about to do. I had hoped you could learn what you must learn in the natural way. I had hoped you could go on being you, who I love. Not who you will become, if I do this, if we even survive. Someone who will find it a great deal harder to love anyone. "We have to fight," she whispered. "Both of us." *** "Why?" said Five. "Because they want it," said Freya, "and there are more of them." "But, come on," said Five. "Can't we make them see sense? Or, or, you're the greatest warrior of the age. Can't you take them on, and I could sort of ... distract the others? Slow them down a bit?" She felt like a bloody coward for saying it, but her hand hurt, her head and body ached and she had no stomach to face so many men. "If there were a few, maybe," said Freya. "But against so many, we will lose." "But what if they're men of good will, like the others?" said Five, and it sounded stupid even while she said it. "They're not monsters." "They are not as they were," said Freya. "If they beat us, they will punish us. And what you and I both suffered will be as nothing to what they will do." Five felt herself losing her grip. The fear rising inside her made her almost gag. Her heart was pounding, her skin clammy. Freya's quiet voice was hinting at things she didn't even want to think about. "O god," she whimpered, clutching her legs. "God, I'm sorry. I'm scared." "I know," said Freya, laying a hand on her shoulder. It didn't help. "If we take a place either side of the door," Freya was saying, "we can take them as they come out. It will be easier. Come." She handed Five a sword. Five recognised it as her own. Freya had somehow picked it up in their flight. She looked up at Freya's strong, certain face. "We can do this," Freya said. Five thought of Luc. Of how she had been helpless at the sight of him lying there, skewered by her sword. I'm not a killer. I did just enough to fight him off. I couldn't finish it. I'm not a killer. "I can't," she said. "I can't do it, lady, I'm sorry." "We have to," Freya rasped. "I can't," Five said, half sobbing. "I don't have it in me, Freya! You've been here before, you can do it, but I can't fight like you!" They were silent for a moment, Freya staring at the floor, Five chewing her knuckle to stop herself from giving in to her panic. "Isn't there anything else we can do?" she said. "Yes," said Freya. "We can do naught, and die a long, slow death." "Right," said Five. "Then the best thing would be that you kill me, and then yourself. Spare us what they would give us." Freya closed her eyes for a moment, and Five thought she saw her face fill, for a moment, with grief. Then she opened them again, and her grey eyes were level. "There is another way," she said. "What is it?" said Five, miserable, ashamed of her own cowardice. "I could take away your fear," said Freya softly. "Take away your pain. Give you courage. You could fight, with me. We could beat them." "How?" said Five, scared but excited. "Let's do it. If it'll save us, do it." "There is a price," Freya said. "You will be changed. You will not be quite who you are." "If you can make me fight with you," Five said, clutching Freya's hand, "Do it. I'd rather go down at your side than ... than anything. " Freya reached into her pack and pulled out a small crystal vial, sheathed in some dull grey metal. It contained a clear purple liquid in which some berries were steeping. "These are the fruit of the mountain aster," she said. "Take them, and they will do what I said." Five looked at them closer, and with slow dread she realised what they were. She'd seen blokes eat these before. Worn-out soldiers at the end of their lives, who needed a push. They ate them, and then they groaned and moaned, and when battle started, they went mad as fuck, tearing off their clothes, shitting and pissing, grinding into the enemy like animals, hacking and flaying and laughing like madmen. More often than not they were so fucking terrifying that they came out the other end. Not always. But they always put the wind up the enemy. Some of them came down again. Some not. Some were led away in chains. None of them led any kind of life you'd want to lead. "Death's Tears," she said, giving them the name they were called by the soldiers. Freya nodded. "These are what berserkers take, aren't they," she said. Freya nodded once more. "You want me to be like them," she said. "I need you to take a leap," Freya said. "I will do what I can to save you, and if we live, to heal you. But I need you to fight. And if this will do it ..." Five nodded. She stared at the berries. She looked up at Freya again. "Aren't they poisonous?" she said. "The fruit?" said Freya. "No. What you should fear would be ... what they make you do. And these are old; I have carried these for long, and they may have lost some of their potency. I see no other way. But it is your choice, and if you would sooner we both die now, then ..." Five sat and stared at the vial. God. I wish I had time. I wish this was something we were talking about on the road. That I could think about. But there's no time. Probably just as well. I'd put off deciding forever. "Well," she said, "even if I don't come back, at least you'd have a fighting chance, right?" she said. *** Freya stared at the girl. So hopeless, yet so defiant. Willing to do this to herself, if she thinks it will save me. O god. O my love. *** "Yes," Freya said, her voice hoarse. "Right then," said Five, "best not piss about, eh." She held out her hand, and Freya looked at her for a moment, then unscrewed the lid of the vial and handed it to her. She downed it in one. The fruit were in some sort of very strong but sweet spirit that didn't disguise their bitterness. It burned a trail down her throat to her stomach but it wasn't that bad. She waited. Nothing happened. She attended to her internals: nothing odd. "Don't feel like anything," she said. "A moment," Freya said, and she clutched Five's hands, which immediately made Five nervous. "No," she said, "I still don't ..." And then she stopped, because her whole stomach was trying to leap out of her mouth. *** Five's eyes bulged, and Freya saw her about to vomit. "You cannot be sick!" she rasped. "I have no more! You must not!" "Oh god," Five mumbled through her hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled onto all fours and her stomach spasmed again. "No, Five," Freya said. "No. You must not. You must keep it down." Five turned her disbelieving eyes to her, and Freya saw her wince and close her eyes tight and swallow her gorge. The girl fell on one side and stared up at the ceiling and moaned. "O god," she said. "It's fucking agony." "Talk to me," Freya said. "Tell me what is happening." Five rolled onto her back and shut her eyes and gasped with pain, and then moaned. "It's like a fire," she gasped. "A fire in my head." She opened her eyes, and there was a black film covering them. "I can't see," she whimpered. Freya gathered Five into her arms, so that the girl lay between Freya's legs, and she clamped one hand over Five's unseeing eyes. "Keep your eyes shut," she ordered. "O god," Five gasped, and her back arched, and she raised herself up in a bow shape, her face a rictus of agony. "Five," Freya whispered, "Five, come back to me, come here, be with me, my love. Be with me." "O god," Five moaned. "You are with me," Freya urged her. "Feel my hand, my love. You are with me." "Yes," said Five. "Breathe," Freya commanded her. "Breathe." *** She heaved in a breath. The pain was appalling. It was like having a red-hot poker up through her guts and her lungs and throat and into her brain. Her ears were full of a swirling roar of sound and colours were boiling behind her eyes. Everything was off, was tilted. She felt dizzy, the universe spun crazily about her like a wheel coming off its axle. Something in her was being killed. "Please," she whimpered, "no, please." She felt herself being held and wondered who would do such a thing for such a piece of shit as her. The wrath of god was tearing her body limb from limb. She tried to scream but could not. But it was growing in her, the pain, it was growing and settling down and making itself comfortable, and as she weakly got to know it, she suddenly felt that it was all too well known. It stopped being a pain hurting her, a pain that made her feel weak and worthless, and became a flame inside her, a flame that had been burning her whole life. A flame of anger. It was flooding her limbs, her head, her face, her loins. Blood was flowing through her and giving her life, and her life was one of rage. She felt her hands becoming fists, the urge to strike was paramount, her teeth yearned to cut through live flesh. She screamed, and this time it happened. *** Freya's ears rang from Five's terrible scream, and she held Five's trembling body tight, and saw Five's face change and darken, and felt her heating up, and she knew that it was working. This was where they got lost, this was where they got in so deep that they could never find the way back. Five snarled in broken and gritted syllables of hate, trying to force out curses she could barely articulate. O god, young one. Do not get lost. I know what is happening to you. Stay true. Then she had an idea. "Five," she hissed. "Five." *** She heard the voice, whispering through the terrible music of hatred that was urging her to get out there and draw blood. Some part of her grabbed it and held on. "Freya," she panted, her heart racing. *** She held the girl tighter. "Listen," she said, "Listen. You are with me. It is a normal day. We are in the countryside. It is just you and me." "Yes," Five panted, clutching Freya's hand fiercely. "We are travelling. We woke up this morning. We trained. Do you remember? We ate breakfast. It is a good day for riding." Five nodded, Freya's hand still clamped over her eyes. "It is you and me," Freya said. "Just us. Together. It is a normal day." *** The music was subsiding and becoming more tuneful and Five felt herself on the green grass, with Freya a little way off, smiling at her. The tune quietened down into something lilting and pretty, a little melancholy. Five smiled at Freya, enjoying the peace, sad that it wasn't going to last forever. Freya smiled and nodded back to her, as if she knew what Five was thinking without her even having to say it. Five felt the warm air on her face and looked forward to camping that night, a few miles on, with all they had to worry about being a bit of fresh meat for the pot. Freyas Saga Ch. 19 *** Five stopped muttering strangled curses, and her fists unclenched. Freya could barely believe that it was working. She stared down at the girl. "But," she said, "there are some midges. We have to swat them down. Do you see them?" "Yes," said Five, calmer. "That's all we shall do," said Freya. "We are swatting midges. Nothing worse." "Just midges," Five said. *** Five heard the thin whine of the midge and she slapped it with her hand. It sounded like wood snapping. *** Freya heard a crack of wood, from the other end of the garden. She knew what it was. She took her hand off Five's eyes. Five blinked. Freya looked down; Five's eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her pupils enormous, but . Five was looking up at her, recognising her but with her mind very clearly on something else. "Come," said Freya, and she put out a hand to help Five get off the ground. Five stood up and blinked again. She was oddly calm, but breathing steadily as if readying herself for something. Freya led Five to the entrance to the shrine and they looked out, down the sloping terraced lawns to the bottom-most one. "There," Freya said. "Do you see them?" They looked at the door as it was finally forced open, and the men began to emerge onto the grass. "Yeah," said Five. "Here," said Freya, and she took Five's hand and placed it inside her own shirt, over her heart. Five looked at her, wide-eyed. "You hear it?" she said. *** Five heard it. Freya's heartbeat. The distant drumming. She felt very calm, very strong. Everything was becoming clear. The music was winding its way to the end. "Yeah," she said. Freya put her own hand in Five's shirt and touched the girl's chest, over Five's heart. "Put yours with mine," she said. Five found it was easy. The beating was in both of them. They had the same rhythm. Freya was looking at her, tense, wary, but there was nothing to worry about. They were one. "You know who those men are?" Freya said. "Yeah," said Five. "They're the guards from the city chambers." "You know why they are come?" "Yeah," said Five, calm. "They've come for us." *** Freya fixed her with her gaze, to be sure she understood. Five's dark brown eyes had a glint of something in them. Something metallic, and full of harm. *** "You know what we have to do," Freya said softly. Five looked at Freya, and turned her head and viewed the men spreading out on the grass, starting to run up the hill towards them. The music slowed and changed and became a huge, tense, almost-harmony, waiting for her to accept it, and as she said yes to it, and let it into herself, it resolved, and it all made perfect sense. All of it. She breathed in, and it was sweeter than roses. *** "Yeah," said Five. She looked at Freya and smiled. "Kill 'em all," she said. Freyas Saga Ch. 20 Five doled out the stew from one pot and the swedes from the other, and the soldier gave a nod and shuffled on. The next one held out his plate. Oskar Grimsson. He had helped pack up the kitchen once, when they'd had to move in a hurry. For that, Five swirled the ladle around inside the stew in such a way that, without letting it look like it to the man behind, Oskar got a couple of extra bits of meat. Five doled the swedes in as well and looked up at Oskar with a tentative smile, but Oskar just nodded and moved on. Well, another day gone; still not dead. Always a blessing when you're on campaign. Not that the day was over. After everyone had eaten there was the washing to do, and then Erik had said to come and help break up a cow so it could be salted. Five had never helped cut up the cow before, but had lifted and carried plenty of hunks of freshly-butchered animal from the stockyard tent to the salting bins. You got covered in blood and you got cuts on your hands from the jagged edges of cleaved bone, and then by the time you'd finished it'd be just before dawn and you'd to make dough for the day's bread. No sleep, oh no. Sleep in the cart when we're moving again. At least there was that. The line kept moving, and steadily Five doled out each man his supper. There was laughing further down and Five looked to see. Oh god. Goran and a friend. As the baron's youngest son, Goran was probably a bit older than Five. Five didn't know exactly how old Five was, because no-one kept track, certainly not Five. Goran was older, if not bigger, and everyone kept track of how old he was. He had celebrated his fourteenth birthday days ago, and there had been much rejoicing. Not least by Goran, who'd drunk much ale and got sick. Five had cleaned up the sick; some of the time, anyway. Goran by himself was just a shithead. He would look at Five in a funny way and he'd call Five 'Bitch' and make jokes about being fat. But that you could ignore, more or less. Goran with a friend was a poisonous little prick. He always seemed to be want to show the friend that there was nothing posh and reserved about him, even though he was a baron's son. He'd do pranks and play tricks and be out-and-out cruel, and nobody really wanted to tell him off, because, well, he was the baron's son. They were at the end of the line and that made it worse, because they would feel that they could arse about and there'd be nobody behind them. Five tried to pretend not to have noticed them. But their whoops and cries of "Hey! Fatty!" were impossible to ignore When Five did look at them, Goran was waving and smirking and blowing kisses. Five blushed. Wankers. Just keep your head down, serve the food. There was a good bit left in the pot by the time Goran and his blonde, handsome friend reached Five. "I want lots," said Goran. "I'm starving." "So am I," said the friend. "Everybody gets the same," said Five. "No," said Goran. "I want more." Five doled him out a portion of stew and a portion of swede. "That's nothing," said Goran. "I need much more than that. I'm a growing boy." "Sorry," said Five. "The rest is for breakfast." "Just give me some more, will you," said Goran. "No one will know." "Us'll know," said Five, holding tight to the ladle. Goran glared at him. "Fat fuck wants the lot," said the friend. "Yes," said Goran, "that's it. Fat bitch." Five stared back at them and said nothing. "Fat and stupid," said Goran. "Do you know what the word 'wit' means? "Being funny," said Five. "Something you have only heard of," said Goran. "Can't give you extra," said Five. Goran looked down at the plate in his hand, and his face went dark. "Sod you, fat bitch," he said, and he put the plate on the table and ducked under the table to emerge on Five's side of the line. "Get out of here," said Five, starting to panic. Only cook staff were allowed on this side. "You'll get us into trouble." "You mean I'll get you into trouble," said Goran, and made to grab Five's ladle. Five held onto it. They wrestled for a bit and then the friend ducked under too and grabbed Five from behind. Five was forced to let go with one hand, and Goran easily got the ladle and started spooning stew from the pot into his and the friend's bowls, while the friend held Five back. "Stop that," said Five, near to tears, but determined not to make a big fuss that would make people come running. "That's not fair. That's for breakfast." "Shut up, you fat shit," said Goran. "You don't mean anything around here. You're a bloody cookboy." Desperate and unable to move, Five felt more and more helpless until it burst out and he brought his boot down hard on the friend's right foot. The friend yelped with pain and let Five go. Five spun around to face them. "Give us that ladle," he demanded. Goran stared at him, and flicked hot stew with the ladle. Five grabbed Goran's wrist and gave him a quick burn. Goran winced and Five grabbed the ladle from him and turned to face the two of them. "Now," he said, "get back there," jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the other side of the line. Goran stepped up, right in his face, glaring at him, and slapped Five in the face. Five blinked. In the instant of the blink, Goran shoved Five backwards. Five fell against the stewpot, knocking it off the table with a huge crash, and landed arse-first in the mud. Hot stew spilled all over the muddy ground and over Five, who gasped with pain. He heard the sound of boots, and Goran and the friend quickly made to duck under the table again, but it was too late. Erik came in and found them. "What the fuck is going on?" he barked. "What are you two doing behind this line?" "He wouldn't give us any dinner," said Goran in a hurt voice. "We were just ..." "That's crap," said Erik. "I can see you've been helping yourselves. What happened here?" He indicated Five, who was still sitting in the mud, wiping stew off himself and trying not to lose the little bit of composure he had left. "He fell over," said the friend. Erik came over and hauled Five to his feet and inspected his face. He scowled at Five, and then turned and glared at Goran and the blonde boy. "Everybody gets the same," he said, "I don't bloody care whose son you are, and I'll tell you what else, your father will agree with me. Everybody gets the same, unless they piss about, in which case they get nothing." He looked over to the entrance to the tent. "I am right, am I not?" he said. "You are right, Erik," said the baron himself, coming forward. "You," he said to Five, who stood there muddy and filthy, face still stinging, "what happened here?" "Nothing," said Five. "Your loyalty is commendable," said the baron, "but tell the truth." "Nothing happened," said Five. "Tell the truth," said Erik. "Did you give them extra?" Five looked at Goran and the blonde boy. Won't rat on them. But don't see why I should lie for them. "No," he said. "I knew it," said Erik. He turned to the baron. "He didn't give it them. They took it," he said. "This one's a pushover. But he wouldn't break rules." "Goran," said the baron, "go to your tent and take Arne with you. You will have no meal tonight." "But we're starving!" Goran whined. "I said, go to your tent," said the baron quietly, and he turned and glared at the boys until they slunk out. Then he turned to Five. "You," he said, "on behalf of my son, I apologise for his behaviour. He needs to be stood up to. Learn to do so. Is that clear?" "Yes sir," Five mumbled. The baron nodded, turned and left. Erik turned to Five. "All right," he said, "clean all this up. That pot's wasted and it's your fault too. And look, just ..." He regarded Five with exasperation. Five felt guilty. "Just, fucking, grow a pair, will you? Be a man. You heard the baron. Stand up to him." Easy for you to say, thought Five. You're a man. You scare the shit out of everyone. Us don't scare anyone. Erik looked Five up and down. "Look," he said. "Never mind about that cow. I'll do it. When you've finished tidying here, have a bite and get some rest. You're up early to make the bread anyway." Five nodded. Erik left, and Five got down on hands and knees and started to tidy up. Later that night, Five finished putting away the pots and pans and closed up the mess tent and stepped out into the night. "Hello, fatty," said a voice. It was a vicious punch. Five sprawled in the mud. Two figures loomed in the darkness. Five rolled onto one side and tried to get up. "That's for taking away my dinner," said Goran, and kicked Five in the stomach. "That's for making us look bad to the baron," said Arne, the blonde boy, and kicked Five in the back. Five lay there and whimpered. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" said Goran, and he rolled Five belly-down and pushed Five's face into the mud. Five choked and coughed. "You are nothing," said Goran. "You're a stupid, fat little shit. You will never be anything. And when you die, nobody will remember your name, 'cos you don't even have one." He punched Five in the kidney and Five gasped and swallowed some mud and wept. "From now on, fat boy," said Goran, "watch where you go. 'Cos we're waiting for you." Goran got off. Five lifted a blinded face from the mud and there was an explosion of pain as Goran's boot connected with Five's head. "Come on," said Arne, and they ran off. Five lay curled up, and sobbed for a little while. Then. Sit up. Wipe face and rose. Rub eyes on sleeve. Five went into the tent and found the crock of lukewarm water left over from washing the pots. Wash face and hands. Then Five took off the muddy tunic and walked, aching, to the stockyard, and went into the tent. The first thing Five noticed, because it was a bit hard to avoid, was that the cow was not an already-dead carcass, but was standing there chewing cud, with two blokes behind it holding ropes. Erik was standing off to one side, sharpening a knife. He turned around and when he saw the bruises on Five's face and the muddy shirt, he stared. "What happened you?" he said. "Nothing," said Five, looking him in the eye. "Well," said Erik, "what you want? Told you to get some rest." "Came to help you with the cow," Five said, dry-mouthed. "Didn't realise it wouldn't be dead." "Life's full of surprises," said Erik. "I mean it, though, you don't have to. Bit of a job, this. Be here all night." Five looked the cow in the eye, and it stared back at him placidly, clearly without a clue as to what was about to happen. I've already been a coward today, Five thought. Better not be one twice. "I'll do it," said Five. Erik paused. "All right," he said. "First things first; you need a really sharp knife. Don't need to tell you how to get that." Five watched as Erik went fwip-fwip-fwip-fwip with the knife on the steel. "When it's good and sharp," said Erik, "give it a wipe, and now." He handed the knife to Five and picked up a basin. "What you have to do," he said, "is cut the blood tube. There's a big tube carries blood all round the body, and it goes through the neck." "What's the blood for?" said Five, who had only ever had as much schooling as had been deemed absolutely necessary. "There are competing theories," said Erik in his mock-scholarly way. "One is that blood lubricates the body and keeps it from seizing up. Another is that the magical pixies who live inside us ride the blood in their invisible fairy boats. Everyone agrees that if you lose a lot of blood, you die, so don't matter greatly either way. But you got to let as much blood out the beast as quick as quick, so it dies fast. If it takes a long time to die and panics, it spoils the meat. All clear so far?" Five nodded. "Now," said Erik, "experience has demonstrated that if you cut the blood tube in the throat, the beast will pop off sharpish and then it's all over bar the skinning, gutting, butchering and salting." He tapped the animal's throat with his finger. The cow turned its head and looked at him inquiringly. "This is the spot. To be sure of a good cut, go in at the front and pull round to here." He drew an imaginary line with his finger. The cow stepped backwards a little and he patted it absently. "We'll be keeping it still," said Erik, "and this thing is to catch the blood so's we can have dumplings for breakfast." Five smiled. He loved the black dumplings but they didn't keep, and were usually served to the baron, who had a passion for them. "Right then, Five of Diamonds," said Erik. It was the only affectionate nickname Five had and only Erik used it. "Reckon you can step up and deliver?" Five nodded. They slipped the ropes around the cow's legs, loosely so it wouldn't notice yet, but no so loosely that it could easily step out of them. "Don't forget," said Erik, and pointed upwards. Five nodded, and held the knife pointing at the floor, the sharp blade facing behind, and stepped over to the cow. Five put a hand on the cow, and with closed eyes muttered a short benediction, Thank-you-oh-lord-for-the-gift-of-your-bounty, Bless-this-beast-which-gives-us-its-life, and then opened his eyes. Erik stepped up next to him and, remembering where Erik had pointed, Five nodded. The men tightened the ropes. The cow's eyes widened and it mooed loudly. Erik held up the basin and Five stuck the knife in and with every ounce of strength, pulled it around to to one side. The hot blood fountained out in a fine mist which rained over Five's face, before Erik got the basin into position, and the basin rattled as the jet of blood played into it. The cow's knees gave and it tried to moo again but couldn't. Five blinked the blood from his eyes and took the basin from Erik, who stood by the cow and murmured quietly to it, kneeling as it sank to the ground. The cow's eyes blinked and dulled but it didn't take too long before its chest stopped moving and the breath stopped whistling through the gash in its throat, and the blood flow slowed down to a trickle. Five manhandled the now heavy basin onto a nearby table and stood there, watching, as the cow's life dwindled away. Then Erik stood up, his knee joints cracking, and looked at the other two blokes. Then the three of them turned and grinned at Five. "Good job, young one," he said. "Welcome to the art and science of butchery." ***** They were running down the hill, towards the men. Five was smiling. She looked at Freya and saw that Freya was smiling too, and then Freya laughed, and she laughed too. She looked down at the men watching them approach, some of them stopping where they were and waiting, some of them taking up a stance, some of the ones at the back moving back towards the door. Then Freya gave her war cry, and she found herself joining in. Her throat filled and she let it out, and while she yelled she couldn't even hear her footsteps on the grass, or the shouts of the men. But she saw what it did to them. Closer and closer they were getting. She clearly saw one of the men drawing his bow and shooting at her and she had plenty of time to swerve out of the way of his stupid fucking little arrow. What was he thinking? She looked at Freya again, and Freya made a gesture, and she understood and they swerved away from each other so that they came at the men from different angles. Freya had said that if the men were clever they would divide into two groups and tackle them each that way, and if they were stupid then they would clump together. They did both. Some of the men huddled together and a couple of them broke off and started running up the hill towards them. Five looked at the man coming at her. He had a spear. He was a big bloke. He was powering up the hill towards her but she was coming down the hill towards him. She slowed and turned so he was side-on to him, and she grinned at him, delighted. He pounded up the hill with his spear, aiming to skewer her. The point was closer and closer and as it reached her she stepped aside and brought down her sword, shattering his spear. The broken tip came off and the spear itself went down and plunged into the earth. He stared at her stupidly and she paused and stared back at him, smiling. She saw behind him that another one was coming up the hill. She could see everything. They're taking their time, she thought. He roared at her and started to pull his knife from his sheath, and she cut that short by swinging and cutting into his arm, dragging the blade through the muscle. He yelled and staggered, and she pulled out of him. He tried to hit her with what remained of his spear but she knocked it out of the way, stepped back and slashed his stomach with the tip of the sword. It caught in the fabric of his leather tunic. That made him stop. He started to raise his hands to fend her off, and she took her sword in both hands and pushed the sword into his stomach, then wrenched it from side to side so that it cut a big gash. He choked and fell over. She pulled out of his stomach, and then lifted the sword and drove it right down into the middle of his face as he writhed in the grass. He stopped writhing and twitching. She yanked it out of his face and ran to meet the next bloke. He had a sword like hers. He had wated the first one go down and he looked at her, scared. He had his sword up and was running at her that way. She knocked it out of the way and tripped him up and he went flying. She twirled and looked down at him where he lay on his belly in the grass, and she raised the sword over her shoulder, swung downwards and whacked it into the bones of his skull, half-severing his head. Boot on the skull, pull sword out, look up. On the other side of the garden, Freya had already done two and was starting on a third. The other men were gathered in a tight knot by the door. One of them was shouting orders and the others were ignoring him, just staring at the two women. "Come on!" Five bawled as she walked towards them. She saw an arrow coming at her and she knew it was going to miss so didn't bother to duck, and it sailed past her head a good couple of feet to the right. Her eyes, her ears, her limbs, everything about her felt strong and in command, everything was vivid. "Come on, fuckers!" she shouted at them. "You scared? You want to go home to your fuckin' mum?" One of the men, a bit younger, cursed and broke off and ran up to her. He looked scared indeed, but he had his sword up in a sensible way and she guessed that this one had had a bit of practice. Freyas Saga Ch. 20 She walked sideways, breathing the fine air, and waited for him to get nearer. He came up to her and took a defensive stance. "Off you go," she said happily. "Take a swing. Dare you." He looked baffled. She stood there and twirled her sword over her right hand a couple of times as they circled each other. She had gone about five steps when she noticed him glance over at the men by the door and she realised he wanted to get her with her back to the other men. "Ooh," she said, "you're clever," and she grabbed her sword with both hands and gave a good swing. He parried it and the clang shook her arms up to her jaw, but this was more like it, a bit of a fight. He swung at her and she leaned back to avoid the sword, but it gashed her jaw and she felt the pain as a heat in her face. "That's enough," she said, annoyed, and she feinted, making him parry a blow that never came and opening up his lower body. She swung and glanced the sword in the muscle of his thigh. He yelled and she tried to hit him again and he knocked it away. He swung at her and she parried, and he kicked her in the leg. She stumbled, and he followed with another kick to her stomach, winding her. She sank to her knees and he swung at her neck, and she let herself topple over so he wasted the swing. But before she could get up he kicked her in the chest, the fucker. She gasped, in real pain now, and rolled away from him. His sword thudded into the earth where she had been. She rolled some more and then scrambled to her feet in time to see her come at her, lunging. She parried it with a move Freya had taught her, and used her legs as pistons and hurled herself at him, head-first. Her head cannoned into his stomach and he went over. She sat on him and hit him in the face with the hilt of her sword, twice, three times. Her anger was all she had. Then when he lay there, dazed, she stood up and was careful to stand on his right wrist, the hand that held the sword. He looked up at her in terror and shook his head and she looked down at him. "No," she said, and she stilled his head by putting her booted foot on it, and shoved her sword into his mouth. He feebly grabbed at her leg and she pulled the sword out and stepped away from him. He lay there, choking on his own blood. She turned and looked, just in time to see another one of them coming at her with a spear. "For fuck's sake," she said disgustedly, and knocked the spear down so that it sank into the earth, then quickly stepped up to the spearman before he had time to stop, and ran him through with the point of the sword in his belly. He sank to his knees and she pulled the sword out and shoved him over with her boot. Five men left. One of them ran towards her and threw his sword away, dropping to his knees and flinging out his arms. Five looked at him. Saying something about surrender. "I yield," he cried. "I yield." She halted, though every muscle in her body told her go on, keep killing, knock this cunt down like the others. But you don't kill a man who wants to surrender. No matter how much you want to. She knew that. She controlled herself with a great effort, sheathed her sword and walked up to him. "Put up your hands," she said. He raised his hands and placed them behind his head. She reached for the rope on her belt and took it off. He linked his fingers together, staring up at her. She took her knife from its sheath and sawed at the rope until she'd cut off a bit long enough to tie his hands. He was smiling in an odd way, she realised. It was almost like he wasn't, but she was seeing everything so clear that she caught the sweat on his forehead and the slight upturn of his mouth. She could see the tiny lift of his elbow as he reached down with the fingers of his right hand, behind his neck. The corner of the hilt of the knife that he had hidden there. As his fingers touched it, she dropped the rope, grabbed him by the hair, and as he started to shout No she stabbed him in the throat and pulled the knife round to the side of his neck, stepping out of the way of the blood that gushed out of him, and she shoved him over. He lay on the grass, gargling, twitching. There was a shout from one of the men by the door. She looked up at them. They were shocked. She looked at Freya. *** Freya was walking towards the remaining huddle, wiping the blood of six men off her sword, when she saw the man yield to Five and kneel down. Good, she thought. She needs to rest. She can bind him and we will take the surrender of the last few. She eyed the men by the door, who were staring at both of them. She realised that one of the men had got inside the chamber and had barricaded the door shut, trapping the other men outside. The leader, Freya thought. The men by the door had dropped their weapons and were holding up their hands. Five advanced on them, her knife drawn. Then she looked back at Five, and saw the girl take rope from her belt and cut it. Then Five abruptly dropped the rope and quickly stabbed the man in the neck. There was a moan of horror from one of the men at the door. Five cut the man's throat and pushed him away from her and looked up. "He had a knife," Five said. "He was shamming." Five stood and stared at the men, her knife in her hand, breathing heavily. She looked each of them in the eye. *** They were staring back at her, all four of them. The one on the end was a big bloke with red hair and red-rimmed eyes, and his face was twisted with loathing. But the other three were looking at her in a way that nobody had ever looked at her before. They were terrified. She breathed in, deeply. Her muscles and nerves were still singing from what she'd just done. Five men dead. As quick as that. Bang bang bang bang bang. *** Freya eyed the redheaded youth, and Five, who was standing there before them, her knife still dripping blood, her own face still encrusted with dried blood from the cut on her forehead, and bleeding from the gash in her jaw. Her shirt was soaked in blood not her own. Five's chest was rising, falling, rising, falling. Her nostrils flared like a racehorse and she was glistening with sweat. Freya saw her jiggling the knife in her hand. "You cunt," said the redheaded youth. "He had surrendered, and you killed him." "He was shamming, I told you," said Five. "He had a knife." "He had no knife," said the man. "You just killed him." Five stared at the man, and Freya saw her stop jiggling the knife. *** She breathed in again, and looked down at the body. She put her boot to it and rolled the man onto his belly. The knife wasn't there. But she hadn't dreamed it. She looked around in the grass, but there was no sign. She looked up at the men again, and at Freya. "He had a knife in his collar," she said. "He was reaching for it. You saw, right?" she said to Freya. Freya frowned. "Where is it?" said the redheaded bloke. "Show us this knife." "It was in the back of his collar," she said, keeping her voice steady. "He had yielded to me, and I was going to bind him. After you've yielded, you don't pull a knife. That's not on." "You call yourself a soldier, bitch," said the redheaded bloke. "Call me what you want," she said. "I saw what I saw." Her blood was singing. The drums were pounding. Don't push me, mate. Don't. I don't want to lose it. She trembled with anger and clutched the knife to steady herself. *** Freya saw the danger signs in Five's face and stance; she was glaring at the redhead, clearly itching for an excuse to cut him. She sheathed her own sword and came up to the men, pointing at the ground before them. They all obeyed, stepping forward and lying prone. She held out her hand and Five tossed her the coil of rope. She cut lengths of it, then tied the hands of one of them behind his back, then another, then another. Five came over and stood over the men. The redhead glared over his shoulder at Five as Freya knelt on the back of his legs. "You fucking cunt," he said. "You fucking evil cunt." "You started it," she said. Freya gave her a look: Do not provoke him. Five seemed not to notice, but stared back at the redhead. "This what you do cause you can't get a boyfriend?" he said. Five was silent. Freya noticed that the man had presented her his hands thumb-to-thumb, in such a way that he would find it easier to get out of the binding. She shoved him, to chide him for playing stupid tricks, and twisted his arms so that his palms were facing away from each other. "You're fucking playing at being a soldier," said the man to Five, "but you're not one. You killed a man who'd surrendered. You should be strung up." "He had a knife," said Five through gritted teeth. Freya looped the rope around his wrists and pulled tight. He swore at her and tore his wrists from her grip, rolling and throwing her off. She rolled onto her back and her head hit against the flagged paving stone, and the pain made her vision boil briefly with stars. The redhead hurled himself at Five, hitting her in the stomach. She flew backwards, droppi her knife. Freya saw it land by one of the other men. She shook her own head to clear it. Five and the redhead were grappling, he on top of her. He was landing heavy blows in her stomach, cursing her, and she was gasping. Freya saw the other man, the one lying by Five's knife, grab it and roll over, sitting up, sawing at the rope around his wrists. She got up and kicked the fool in the head, and he fell over backwards. Five raised her knees and, gasping, threw the redhead off her, and as he rolled aside she got to her feet, grabbed him by the hair and dragged him over towards the stone path that led out of the door and into the garden. He yelled with pain, fumbling for her hands, calling her every filthy name he could think of. Freya stood over the three bound men. She grabbed by the collar the one she'd kicked and sat him up, picking up Five's knife with her other hand. One of his wrists had a cut from the blade, not serious. He moaned. She dragged him and the other two up too, so that they could see what was happening. Five dragged the redheaded man until he was lying with his face over the flagstone. He looked down and started to yell something in panic. She gritted her teeth, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and smashed his face down hard onto the stone. One, two, three, four, five, six times. On the sixth one, there was a crunch of bone. She lifted him up and looked at his smeared ruin of a face. "You done?" she screamed at him. "You fucking done now?" He was convulsing. She let him drop and he lay face down, twitching. She looked down at the man, and her shoulders sagged and she lowered her head for a moment, closing her eyes briefly. Then Five rose up and looked down at the three men sitting and watching her. She looked at Freya, who tossed the knife to her. Five let it fall into her hands, rather than try to grab it from the air. She turned and walked over to the man she'd stabbed, grabbed the collar of his leather tunic and started to cut downwards, cutting the tunic to halfway down his back. She tore it open, peered inside, reached in, took something out. She walked back to the men, sheathing her own knife as she did so. She was bloodied and sweating and trembling. She stood before them, and paused, then held the knife up so that they could see it. She held it there for a long moment, before their eyes, so that there could be no doubt. "He had. A fucking. Knife," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "Any questions." It was not an invitation. Freya, kneeling behind the men, looked down at them and then looked up at her. "I yield," said one man. "I yield," said the next. "I yield,'" muttered the last one. Freya smiled at Five. Good job, little one. Five looked at the men, then looked around at the bleeding bodies of the other men, scattered across the garden, and lastly at Freya. She was breathing heavily and she rubbed her nose and wiped her eyes. Keep her moving, thought Freya. Keep her occupied. Do not let her start thinking about what she has just done. Freya pointed to the man before her and pointed to a metal bootscraper by the door. Five blinked, then nodded, and Freya nudged the man in the back. She helped him stand up. *** Ten minutes later, all three men were tied to fixed points in the garden, too far away from each other to be in physical contact and out of reach of anything they could have used to untie themselves. Freya and Five had worked in silence but when they had finished, Freya turned and looked at the chamber building. A thin trickle of smoke was coming from the other side of it, but even as she watched, it died away and they heard voices shouting outside the walls. Freya went up to the door and used her knife to get the jambs out of the door frame, then also to lever it open. She turned to Five, who nodded and went in. Freya followed her. They walked through the echoing corridors in silence, looking in room after room. There was nothing; the pantries were empty of food. They went up the stairs to the ground floor. Freya was careful to move as quietly and cautiously as possible. She glanced behind at Five, who was also setting down her feet with great care. Five's face was a grim, bloodstained mask. "Freya," said Five. Freya turned to face her. "Tell me honest," said Five, "the man with the knife. What would you have done." "What you did," said Freya. "What about the one who didn't believe me?" Five said. "I would have not let him attack me," said Freya, "but you did right to beat him." "I didn't want to," said Five. "I don't know why he didn't just shut up. I gave him my word but he wouldn't stop. Had to do something." "Of course," said Freya. "But why didn't he just believe me?" Five burst out. Freya gave her a don't-be-an-idiot look. What? Why didn't he? Did I look like not a real soldier or ... Oh. Freya nodded. She stopped walking and turned to face Five. "Did I not tell you? Do you not know this now?" Freya rasped. "We cannot be kind. We have to be five times faster than a man. Five times more keen of eye. Five times more cruel. Ten times." Five looked up at her. Freya's face was bleak, but she wasn't trying to bully her. Five knew that Freya knew all too well the truth of her own words. Freya looked down, searching for the words, and then looked up again and took Five's hands in her own, and spoke more softly and urgently, her face pleading with Five to understand. "The man was stupid, but he only thought the way all men think, and many women. He saw you were a woman, and assumed you are a fool. He will know better when he wakes." "If he wakes," said Five. "And if he does not," said Freya bitterly, "he will be a lesson to the others." She turned and walked on. *** After that there was a lot more walking, and they trudged up and down many corridors before they heard something, and they opened a panel in the wall which freed some old people in posh clothes who spoke to them in posh voices until they realised that Freya and Five was all there was, that the worm was gone and the boy was gone who had enchanted their chambers and turned their men, and they shook Freya's hands and Five's hands and praised their bravery, and they told Five that she had done the city a great good, and she looked back at them and nodded and thanked them and let them talk. And then they left the building to find people putting out the fire, and there was the partly burned body of the worm, and there was the girl whose name Five now couldn't remember for some reason, and she had her leg in a splint and was on a crutch but she came over and hugged Five and had her dad with her and said, This is the girl who saved me, and the man just looked at Five and nodded at her and looked from her to Freya, and Five didn't know what he was thinking but then he said things to Five that Five knew were meant nice, and he offered them a place to recover, and Freya said yes. And then there were speeches, from the posh folk, and they were called the brave warrior women come from the south to rid them of the pestilence that had taken over their city, and Five thought, that's not right, we're from the north, but she didn't say anything. And there were cheers, but not from everyone, and Five knew what they were thinking, that she and Freya had killed their sons and fathers and brothers, and everyone knew it, and everyone probably even knew they'd had to do it, but they weren't happy. Five looked at their faces and wondered what was going on behind them, how many of the cheering ones secretly wished them dead by the worm, so that their own loved ones might have lived longer. She couldn't tell from looking at them. She couldn't tell anything from looking at anyone. And after the speeches it was announced that there would be a feast to celebrate, and Five didn't feel like feasting, not at all, really not at all, but even if nobody really wanted a feast there was going to be one anyway, because that's what you did. And healers came and bandaged Freya's scalp and Five's jaw and hand, and they took away their bloodstained clothes and gave them fine dresses instead, and Five could tell that Freya wasn't going to wear any fucking dress so she asked if they could have just ordinary travelling clothes instead, with breeches, and they got them. But in the meantime women came with water and soap and clothes and oil and Freya and Five let themselves be washed all over, and Five had her eyes on the women, all the time, looking for the knife hidden in the towel, the vial of poison discreetly poured into the water, but nothing happened, and when they were clean they dressed in the clothes and went to the feast. The feast was held in a big room in another building. And they sat and ate. And Five found that the food tasted of nothing. She put it in her mouth and chewed and swallowed it and felt less hungry and less tired, but she couldn't even tell what it was and after a while she stopped. She wondered vaguely if this was all some enchantment of the boy, and she was going to wake up to find a guard standing over her, about to finish her off, to cut her throat, stab her in the belly, shove his sword into her mouth. But that didn't happen. And there were more speeches, and there was wine, and she drank it. And then they were asked for a speech, and Freya simply shook her head no, and everyone looked at Five, and she sat there for a moment, then stood up. She looked at them for a moment, then said "Thank you for the food," and paused to gather herself. She looked out at them, and a vast gulf of silence opened up between her and the listeners. First of all, ladies and gentlemen, I want to say that I know you must be very cross that we killed all those men. No. We only came to kill the worm. Put that first. We came to kill a worm. We didn't know that there was a, a bloke with tricks, who could play with your mind and make you see folk who weren't there, and I'm not saying he's why we did what we did. I'm not saying we didn't do it, if you wish I hadn't killed your sons and brothers and dads then what can I say, except, so do I, but I did do it, and I can never undo it. But this is who I am now, you see, ladies and gentlemen, like my mistress here, who I love, and who I follow, and who sometimes terrifies me, and now I'm like her, now I'm terrified of what I can do. Of what I did do. Do you understand, ladies and gents? It's a bit difficult to explain if you've never done it. I've crossed over, I've become someone else, in a bit of a way, and I don't know what to do. I just killed five men, maybe six. I am lost. I haven't had time to think about what I've done. I haven't talked to anyone yet, not really. Do you understand me? Can you see why I can't find the right way to say things? Freyas Saga Ch. 20 Do you want me to say sorry? I'll say it if you want. I'll do whatever you want, if it'll make you feel better. Or do you want me to be sorry? Do you want me to be somebody else? Do you want me to go back to being someone you're not scared of? She blinked, and realised that the whole mass of people staring at her was swimming before her eyes. Somebody was coughing. Not coughing. Something else. Sort of gasping for breath. Somebody get that person some air. Seriously. Then she realised it was her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, an arm around her. She looked to her right. Freya was standing next to her. Five wiped her eyes and when her vision cleared she realised that everyone was staring at her with horror. What? she thought. Have I still got blood on me? Did my jaw open up? She touched her own face and was mortified to find that her nose was running like a river and she'd snotted all over her lips and chin. She rubbed it on her sleeve. Freya gave her an encouraging squeeze and whispered in her ear. "Tell them," she said. "We hope you enjoy the peace and security that we have restored to your city." "We hope you enjoy," said Five, and her voice sounded cracked and awful, "the peace and security that we have restored to your city." "We are proud to have served you." "We're proud to have served you." "But we need rest." "But we need rest," Five said. She looked at the faces of the people closest to them and one or two of the women were weeping. It was bloody embarrassing. "As you can see," she added, and one of the weeping women managed to crack a smile. "Long live the city." "Long live the city," said Five, her voice giving out on the last word, and there was a long silence. Then they all started to clap, and they stood up, and the clapping became deafening and the noise hurt Five's aching head, but she and Freya remained a moment, then Freya firmly turned her and they walked out of the room. Freya walked her down a corridor and they kept going, past guards who saluted them, until they found a quiet chamber with a wooden door. Freya and Five went in and Freya kicked the door shut behind her and then turned to Five and put her arms around her and held her, and Five buried her face in Freya's shoulder and let herself go. They stood like that for a very long time. *** Later on, much later, they were in the girl Merion's house. The girl's father, Guyam, had made good on his promise. He had been a soldier once, and his wife Marie a healer, and they each recognised in Five the signs of one who had seen too much blood too soon. They welcomed she and Freya in, and gave them a room with a bed, and had them sit by the fire in quiet. A little later, Five sat at the table with a blanket around her shoulder and ate soup. It was very good soup. She could taste it. Merion was telling her father for the hundredth time what had happened in the chamber. "And Five took me into the Night Walk, and we got such a beating, dadda, it was so horrible, but she protected me and she took most of it herself, and then later on, when she saw through all the magic, it was wonderful what she did, dadda. She saw through all that wizard's tricks." "I can't help thinking," said Guyam, "that a wizard whose tricks can be seen through is no wizard. Isn't true wizardry meant to be unbeatable?" Freya nodded. She had finished her soup and was sipping a goblet of wine. Marie came through from the kitchen wiping her hands. "So what do you think he was?" said Guyam. "This boy with his tricks." Freya shrugged. "Sounds like if it wasn't for him, the chamber guard wouldn't have been turned to the bad," he said. "Don't waste too many tears on the chamber guard," said Marie. "Most of them were pets of the Provost. Members of his family and such. On feast days you get to hold a spear and wear a shiny hat, and the rest of the time it's standing around and farting." Merion laughed. "I would ask where you come from, friends," said Guyam, "but I think that if you wanted us to know, you would already have said. But wherever it is, if they produce women of such valour as you, I can only wonder what your men are like." "Typical man," said Marie to them. "It does not occur to him that you might be more valorous than the men." Freya smiled and Merion hooted and clapped. "A fair point," Guyam said. "I happily withdraw it. I take it that you must be soldiers?" Five looked at Freya. Freya looked back at her, challenging her to admit it. "We are," said Five, and went back to eating her soup. "Well, for skill and boldness you surpass any in this city, I must say," he said. "But you have understand that Venceborn was hardly touched by the war. We are traders, not conquerors. When the king's peace was announced, many didn't realise that there had been a war on at all. Did you fight in the war?" Freya nodded. Five remained silent. "What did you do if you didn't fight?" said Merion. "Cook," said Five. "You were a cook?" said Guyam. "So when did you first take up arms?" Everyone looked at her. She wished they wouldn't. She wished they'd change the subject. "Today," she said softly. "Today?" said Guyam, thunderstruck. "This was your first combat?" Five nodded. "How did she acquit herself?" he said to Freya. Freya looked over at Five and their gazes met. "I am proud of her," Freya said. "So you should be," said Marie, drawing Merion to her, "for she saved our girl." She went over to Five and knelt before her, taking her cold hands. "Whatever else," she said, "take comfort in that. I know fighting is a shock to a gentle soul, but you did a good deed and we will always be grateful." "Thank you," said Five. It was no comfort at all. *** Five carefully peeled the clothes from her bruised, bandaged body. Freya had already undressed and was lying on her back in the bed, her eyes closed but not yet asleep. Five turned so that the candlelight shone on her body, and she examined herself. God's wounds, I am battered. Bruises on the stomach and chest. My breast still tender from where that bastard punched me. My hands: raw and cut. My jaw throbbing from the gash he gave me, and a black scab on my brow where I butted his mask. She inspected the bandage they'd put on her left hand. The first, second and third fingers were bandaged together into one big wedge-like paw, to help her fingertip heal. I'm going to look bloody lovely in the morning. She pulled back the cover and slipped into bed beside Freya. What a luxury, twice in one fortnight to sleep in a bed next to a warm body. Freya was less bruised and cut than she was but she looked spent; she was pale with exhaustion and one arm was outflung on the covers. Five pulled the cover up. She was drowsy and aching. Freya slid her left arm around her and she leaned into Freya's warmth. Wine had helped. She had drunk a lot and it didn't seem to have much effect other than dulling the pain, and she was less able to see the faces. She lay there in silence for a long time. Then Freya detached herself, got up on one elbow, blew out the candle and the room went dark. *** Freya lay back again, feeling the girl's body against her own. Five was silent. Freya turned her head and looked at the girl's dark profile in the dim moonlight from the window. "Five." "Mm." "In Memika, Sophy taught me something." "Mm." "After an ordeal, it helps to speak of it aloud." "She's wise, is Sophy." "She is. Do you wish to?" Freya felt Five's fingers reaching for her own beneath the covers. She took the girl's hand. "Not much," said Five. Freya stared hard at the girl, until Five turned and looked back at her, her face hidden in the darkness. "Are you tired?" "Very." "Me too. In quite a lot of pain, as well." "Your hand," said Freya, "is it worse?" "No, it's all right," said Five. "Think it'll mess up my fighting?" "It need not." "That's all right, then." They were silent for a while. "Funny," said Five slowly. "I used to think I'd just follow you round and hold your bag while you did the rough stuff." Freya laughed silently. "Is that what it's always like?" Five said. "Death's tears?" Freya shrugged. Five raised herself on one elbow and Freya could tell that the girl was looking down at her. As her eyes adjusted to the light she could see Five's cropped head silhouetted against the moonlit window. "Don't you know?" said Five. "I have never tasted them," Freya admitted. "Never?" said Five, sounding incredulous. "I have no need." Five considered this and lay back down. "I can still feel it," she said after a time. "The ... the sense of power. When we were running down the hill, towards them. You and me together. That's what it was. I felt ..." She fell silent. "Happy," said Freya. Five nodded. "That's why I'm ashamed," she said. "It does not last," said Freya. "No," Five admitted. "It didn't last much beyond the first one. Then it was just bloody hard work." Freya squeezed her hand. Five lay down again, by her side, and looked up at the ceiling. "If someone meant to kill one whom you love," Freya said, "what would you do?" "Before," said Five, "I'd have begged and pleaded and offered them my life." "Now?" "Now? I'd kill 'em," said Five. "But ..." She rose up on one elbow again so that she could see Freya's face in the moonlight. "Yes," she said, her voice hoarse with tiredness and emotion. "I understand, Freya. I can do this. I see now I can kill, if I must. But I don't have to like it. You were born to do this, but I weren't. And ... yeah, maybe a bit of me took pleasure in it. But ..." She looked up, as if the stars would give her guidance, as if heaven had any help for her. Then she looked down, back at Freya, stricken and unhappy. "I may not know much about meself," she said, "but I do know, if I've any good in me, it's not that bit. I don't like that I was happy to kill a man. Before, I thought I'd just fold up and get massacred. Now I know I can be as much of a cold bastard as anyone. And that'll be my trouble, now. Not for a little while. For the rest of my fucking life. Even if I never kill again." Freya reached up and stroked the girl's face. Five was trembling. "If you do have to fight again," Freya said, "it will be easier." "You'd know," said Five. Freya nodded. "I am sorry," she said. "I did not want to do it." "I don't blame you," said Five. "I'd rather be here with you and feel like shit, then be lying dead in that fucking garden." Freya smiled at her. Five did not smile back. "So, is this who I am, now?" said Five. "A killer." "You do not have to be," said Freya. Five looked down at her. Freya stroked her face until Five took her hand and held it and summoned up her courage. "Lady," she said. "I'm sorry. I have to call you 'lady'. Just for this. It's important." Freya looked at her, puzzled. "Speak," she said. "I think you know that I admire you," said Five. "And that I respect you." Freya nodded. "I think you even know that ... that I love you," Five said, flushing scarlet. "I mean, as a soldier should love her leader." Freya nodded again, more and more mystified. "And maybe," said Five, looking more and more mortified, "you even know that I ... well, just that ... I mean, also, as, as a friend, I also love you that way too." Freya smiled and nodded. What was the girl's meaning? For what was she saying this? She saw Five force herself to look her in the eye. "Do you also realise," Five said, "that up 'til now, I've been fucking terrified of you?" It pierced Freya's heart. "Of me?" "Yes," said Five. "Why?" "Why d'you think?" said Five. "You've killed so many men. You've got the tattoos. I always thought I could never do that. I've always been scared. I've hid underneath stuff in battles, sooner than fight. And today you made me fight, and I killed five men, just like that. And now I see that all along, it was just a matter of, of ..." She stopped, helpless, unable to find the words. Freya looked up at her, aching for her, wishing there was something she could say that would make it easier for her. "A few fucking berries," Five said bitterly. "A handful of fruit in some spirit of wine. That's all it took to change me into you." So that is what it is, little one. Well. "I am sorry," said Freya coldly, "that you are so repelled by the thought of being like me." "But I'm not!" exclaimed Five, clutching her hand. "D'you realise, I've been looking up to you me whole life? I've always wished I could be more like you. I've bloody worshipped you since ... whenever. But there's a deal of difference between looking at someone from the outside and wanting to be them, and going and acting likewise. D'you not see what's happened, now? I've always wanted to be braver, I've always wanted to be stronger, but I had no idea, lady. I had no idea what it would be like to face a man down and, and ..." "And take his life," Freya said. "Exactly," said Five. "My first time out. Not just one man, but five. Maybe six. Even you didn't do that." "No," said Freya, "I did not." The girl wiped her nose with the back of her hand, miserable, on the edge of tears. "Come here," Freya murmured, and she held out her arms. Five let herself lie in the embrace and her body shook, briefly. "I'm sorry," she snivelled. "You must think I'm a fucking whiny cow. I know it's not right." "It is who you are," said Freya. "You said I had to be more cruel," said Five. "Well, this is me being more cruel, and see, I'm crap at it. I can't even do it and have the decency to not moan about it." Freya thought. "Maybe I was wrong," she said at last. "What?" said Five. "Maybe I was wrong. Why should you have to be cruel? Why should anyone?" Five lifted her head and looked at Freya. "It's the real world," she said. "Everyone isn't always lovey-dovey." Freya gently pushed Five off her. Five knelt on the bed, and Freya sat up and got off the bed. She picked up the candle, walked over to the dying embers of the fire, and thrust the candle end into it. It smoked and lit, and she carried it back to the bed and placed it on the table. Then she she got on the bed and sat, her legs folded beneath her, facing Five. "That is the way people talk when they want to be pardoned for what they have done," she said. "Maybe I do want to be pardoned," said Five. "Who will pardon you?" said Freya, cocking an eyebrow at her. "The families of the dead men?" "Doubt it." "But what will they do? Challenge you? You are a hero. A saviour of the city. You proved yourself today, Five. People must reckon with you, the way they did not before." "You were there," said Five, dismayed. "Those blokes were idiots. They didn't know how to fight, apart from that third one. He nearly had me. But you'd taught me everything I know, so I'd the edge on them, besides which I was out of me head on Death's Tears and didn't give a fuck. They didn't even have the sense to all come at once. They just lined up to get killed. There's no glory in that." "No-one wishes to think so," said Freya with a sardonic look. "Their families will want to think that their sons and husbands died because they met a great warrior. The men who lived will tell themselves that they did not just lie down and give up, but yielded only after a long struggle. You and I know the truth. But of all the men I have killed, how many do you think gave me a real fight?" "Don't know." Freya shrugged. "Maybe nine or ten." "So is this what it all comes down to?" said Five, looking bleak. "This is where glory comes from?" "Most of the time," said Freya. "Do not think ill of yourself. You think yourself a coward. I would say rather that you are at heart kind, and gentle. And that is rare. But that is not all you are. There is great rage within you, and you swallow it because you do not wish to hurt people, and it gnaws at you and tells you you are weak and stupid because it can find no other way out. But you are neither. Most men on Death's Tears lose themselves, but you never did. You mastered yourself and you fought well and bravely, and I truly am proud of you. But the world will crown you with glory, not because of ... of how much it cost you to fight at all. It will call you a hero simply because those men are dead, and you are not." "I've seen you fight," said Five. "I've seen you defeat bigger and stronger enemies. Everyone says you're the greatest warrior of the age. You telling me you don't deserve the glory?" "I have done more than most to earn it," said Freya, shrugging. "I have never had to be anything else. I have done it for long; I have had more worthy opponents than most. I have had more chances, and I have worked harder, and I have had great luck. That is all. " Freya looked down at her folded hands in her lap for a moment, and then looked up, and her quiet voice was low and harsh. "But if I once thought that my life was charmed, that my glory would protect me, then I was worse than a fool. Because when I was helpless, and needed someone to come to my aid, you see what became of my luck." And at last, Five understood. Be strong, and everything will come to you; glory, friends, supporters, everything you need. Show weakness, and no-one will help you. And anyone who tries to will be despised. "It was Sir Ulf," she said wonderingly. Freya looked at her quizzically. "At Casman," said Five. "I remember, now. I watched it happening to you and ... I couldn't see why he wasn't giving the order, and so in the end I just ... I started out meself to tell them to stop, and that's when I got knocked out. I always just thought it happened in the scuffle, but there was no-one near us. It was Sir Ulf did it. Or Sir Snorri. One of them." "It would have been Ulf," said Freya calmly. "Why do you say so?" "Snorri is not so quick to cover his mistakes." "You think Sir Ulf letting them do that to you was a mistake? I saw it, remember. I was with him. I saw him do nothing, while that thing caught you up." "I will not judge him until I have looked him in the eye." "You plan to go back, then. Soon." Freya nodded. Five was silent. They looked at each other. "So why do it, then," said Five. "Why do what? Why fight? Why conquer?" "If glory is all just what people think of you," said Five unhappily, "if it's not ... I dunno, not in here," she tapped her chest, "then what's the point? I always thought it would be a sort of feeling. Not just people thinking you're great, when you're just faster or harder or madder than anyone else." "It is," said Freya, "for a while. But all things change, and if we live long enough, we grow. It is also the feeling of being with friends. But not all friends stay loyal." Five looked at the bedspread. "Well, then, that explains why I feel so bad," she said. "You had an army behind you. You had friends to cheer you on. You had a family to go home to when the war ended." Freyas Saga Ch. 20 Freya nodded. "I've got none of those things," said Five. "You have me," said Freya. Five's face creased into a sad smile. "Yes, lady. I have you. But, forgive me ... you're the reason I'm in this fucking mess in the first place." Freya grinned. "But one thing I do know," said Five. "The best thing I ever did was to take you from that village and look after you when nobody else would. If I die tonight, at least I did that." Freya reached out and took Five's hands. "It was a great deed," she said. "I was broken. You healed me." "No, I didn't," said Five. "That was Sophy at the House of Healing, and all them baths she gave you." "No," said Freya. "You did it, Five. You healed me. You still do." Five looked away, embarrassed, afraid she was going to start snivelling. "Well, I got a sister out of it," said Five, holding their hands palm upwards, the scars no longer livid but pale against the tough skin. "So there's that." "Five," Freya said softly, "I am not just your blood sister. I am your army. I am your family. I am your friend." "I am your pet," said Five, smiling wryly. "I am your dishwasher." "We will both wash the dishes," said Freya, nodding. "You are right. Partners should share duties." "Partners?" said Five, arching an eyebrow. "I thought I was the fool of the Serpent Queen. I thought you wanted a squire." "I am Freya Aelfrethe," said Freya coolly. "I need no squire. I need a partner." "You mean ... me." "You." Something in the way she said it made Five's heart start to pound. "You want me," said Five. "I want you," Freya whispered. Five felt dizzy. Freya was sitting there before her, cross-legged, her grey eyes rimmed with dark circles of tiredness, her body pale in the candlelight, still and serene. Here goes the second stupidest thing I've ever done, Five thought. Abruptly she leaned forward, took Freya's face in her hands and kissed her passionately on the lips. *** Freya gasped, shocked, and then it dawned on her, the range and depth of her stupidity. She closed her eyes and parted her lips and tasted Five. She tasted of wine and salt. It was like a door being opened on a room in her heart she had not known was there. This was dangerous, this was more terrifying than any worm or enchanter. Because the point of this fight was to yield. She trembled and she felt Five doing so too, and then Five gently withdrew, and they broke apart. She stared at Five, feeling at the same time utterly lost, and also like she had found somewhere she could call home. *** Freya stared at her, emotions storming over her face. "Last time I did that," said Five, "you broke my nose." "There is only one," said Freya, "who would dare do that to me, and not be made to pay for it." Oh shit, Five thought. I've gone too far. "... Mistress Sophy?" she said in a weak voice. Freya clouted her on the head. "Ow!" she said, and then Freya grabbed her and pulled her in and kissed her back. *** Yes, little one, yes, sing me the songs, tell me the tales. I want to know them. I want to share everything with you. *** Freya put her hands on Five's arms and caressed her, and Five sighed into Freya's mouth and gave in to the kiss, and when Freya broke away she was melting, almost literally; she blushed at how sticky she was. "Oh my," she gasped, and blinked at Freya. They knelt on the bed for a moment, face to face, staring at each other, tense; Five saw that Freya was breathing fast and then realised that so was she. She saw the muscles in Freya's shoulders bunching, as if she were going to spring. The moonlight fell on Freya's face, lighting the side of it; the other side was in shadow. Five saw the drop of saliva beaded on Freya's lower lip; her grey left eye staring at her, boring into her with such need as Five had never seen in anyone else, certainly never seen in anyone looking at her. "You ..." she started, then faltered, not knowing what she wanted to ask. Freya tilted her head slightly, in a gesture that reminded Five scarily of the wolf. "I always thought," she started again, and fell silent. Freya widened her eyes, questioning. "Always thought you'd go for a handsome prince, or a knight," Five said. "Some tall strong bloke." Freya looked briefly thoughtful, then frowned slightly and shook her head. "You went with that Marten bloke, back in Memika," said Five. Freya shook her head dismissively. "That weren't nothing," said Five. "He was sweet on you. I could tell." "I was curious," Freya said. "About what?" "Men." "And now you're curious about women?" said Five, and ducked the clout that she knew was coming. She looked up at Freya, who had snatched back her own hand in mid-swing, and who looked contrite. "Sorry," said Five. "But if you were me, you'd know what it's like to be messed about with." "I do not 'mess about'," Freya rasped. "I know," said Five. "But ... I really want to, but ..." "There are always reasons to not do things," said Freya, then she narrowed her eyes slightly. "But ... do you prefer men or women?" "I would say 'women'," Five said, "but, tell the truth, there's only one." Freya had leaned forward. Their faces were inches from each other. Five looked up at the dark crust of the scab on Freya's fuzzy scalp. "I hurt," Five murmured, managing to smile. "All over. I'm really tired." She knew she wasn't going to back out. She just wanted to admit it. Freya's gaze unlocked itself from Five's eyes, and she looked Five all over with compassion, then reached out and touched Five's shoulder, stroking her. "You have done this before," she whispered, giving Five a questioning look. "I mean, willingly?" "More or less," Five said, breathless. "Never quite managed to go the full way." Freya looked up at her, and there was something quite unfamiliar in her look. It took Five a while to realise that Freya was nervous. "Can ... you show me what to do?" Freya whispered. "Um," said Five, and she couldn't help it any longer but smiled, "yes. Think so." Freya smiled too, and Five gingerly lay down on her back and looked up at Freya. "Right," said Five, "well ... I mean, the kissing was nice. We could do more of that. If you want." Freya nodded and leaned over her and they kissed again, and Five felt Freya's long warm body against hers. Freya's rough fingertips stroked her belly and bare hip. She gasped, and she felt herself arching her back, giving herself up to Freya. "Is that ...?" Freya whispered into her mouth, and kissed her. "Mmmm," said Five, nodding. It was all melting, all coming down, the resistance, the fear, the doubt. She knew. The helpless love she'd been feeling all this time was not helpless at all; it was welcomed. There were countless ways that they were bonded to each other. This was just the one that they hadn't wanted to look at. And now they were looking at it. And it was there, as radiant and as undeniable as the sun. If only, Five couldn't help thinking, I wasn't so fucking knackered. Oh well. There was never going to be a good time for this. She reached up and tried to find Freya's right breast, and she touched it. She moved her hand up it and Freya gasped into Five's mouth. Five felt her nose tickle, and thought, oh bloody hell, no, and then she had to stop kissing Freya and turn her head and sneeze. She reached down and let her left hand run down Freya's body, feeling the scars, until she came to Freya's taut right buttock, which she squeezed gently. Freya lifted her head and stared down at Five, startled. "Did you not like that?" said Five. Freya considered for a moment and then nodded. "Tell me if I do anything you don't like," said Five. Freya nodded again and they went back to kissing. Freya's right hand moved between the tops of Five's thighs and before Five could warn her to be careful, Freya's calloused hands had brushed the still-tender scab over the gash on her inner thigh that the wolf had given her. "Ow," said Five, shutting her eyes tight and wincing. "Aaaah. Sorry." Alarmed, Freya said "What?" "Got a cut there," Five said. "From the forest. Still hurts. Should have warned you." Freya lifted herself off Five and moved on the bed so that she knelt between Five's legs, and looked down at Five's exposed body. Five felt herself reddening as Freya looked at the oversized bits that had always been a source of shame, and that she now had to tell herself firmly were nothing to be ashamed of, but habits were hard. Freya traced her fingers delicately around the half-healed wound, being careful not to touch the sore parts, and she glanced up Five's body. "What happened to you in the forest," she said. "Fought a wolf," Five murmured, revelling in the moment. "And won," said Freya. Five nodded. Freya smiled slightly. She shifted her hands and parted Five's legs gently, then leaned over her, and Five felt Freya's lips on her flesh. Five was dizzy; she clutched the sheet and sighed as Freya's lips and tongue pushed at her, at first delicately, then with increasing confidence. Five made an inarticulate moan and she felt Freya stop. "Don't stop!", Five gasped, shutting her eyes again. Freya went back to it, and it only took a few minutes before Five felt her whole body flooded with warmth, spreading from her loins, and she heard herself crying out quietly, and then she basked in the glow of it for a moment, but Freya kept going, and she she bit her lip and wanted Freya to stop so that she could return the pleasure, but her appetite wouldn't let her and a few moments later it happened again and she let out another stifled cry of pleasure. Then she lay there, panting, and she recovered enough self-possession to reach down and pull Freya up her. Freya kissed her, her mouth sticky with salty juices, and Five even forgot about the cut on her her forehead until their faces bumped at the wrong angle and pain stabbed her and she winced again. "Ow! Fuckin' hell!" "Forgive ..." "It's all right, my love," Five said, kissing Freya, "it's all right, it's all all right, it's just, we chose a bad time to do this." Freya was laughing and she grasped Five's face and kissed her deeply, and they lay down again, Five this time rolling onto one side and looking down at Freya. I've done this more than she has, Five thought. At least, I've bluffed and blagged my way to getting a girl to let me touch her, and it's never been like this. Never with someone I know and love and trust. Freya looked up at Five, smiling but wary, a little nervous. I know, love. I'll be careful, she tried to say with her eyes. Five leaned over and gently kissed her, stroking her belly, and Freya rubbed her own thighs together, her body squirming gently. She made soft sounds of desire. Five moved her hand down Freya's belly, kissing Freya's neck, and she carefully placed her fingers between the tops of Freya's thighs. Freya parted her legs and Five pushed gently with a finger. Freya stiffened slightly under her, and when Five pushed an exploratory fingertip between the folds of flesh, Freya gently but firmly took her wrist and drew her out. "Not in me," she whispered, looking ashamed. Bugger, Five thought, wanting to slap herself. "I'm sorry," she whispered back, holding Freya tight. "I didn't think." "Do not worry," Freya said. "I ..." "I understand," said Five, and she decided she was going too fast anyway. Lord love us, there had been vastly more skilful lovemaking than this in the annals of heroes, that much was something she'd have put money down on, but Five didn't give a stuff. She looked down at Freya's anxious, desiring face and wished she could sprinkle magic dust over her that would heal all her wounds. Instead she would have to work with them. Five half-rolled onto Freya instead and put her arms around her, holding her, feeling Freya's muscles slowly yielding as they just kissed and rolled over each other, their bodies wrapped into and around each other. As they did so, getting lost in each other, their breath mingling, sharing each other's spit and sweat and tears, Five felt Freya's breathing getting more and more intense, more and more deep, and she drew back with her head and saw that Freya's eyes were closed and she was ... Five reached down once more, carefully, and when she felt the spot that she was looking for, the hair that fringed it damp with all kinds of moisture, she very carefully aligned her fingers to apply a little pressure to either side of one bit. Freya shuddered, and she moved her hips so that she was riding Five's hand, and Five buried her face in Freya's neck and worshipped her, kissing her throat and collar and jaw, and Freya rode harder, and Five held on, and quietly whispered to Freya that it was all right, it was all right, it's just us, you and me, you can do it, and Freya cried out and shuddered. Then Five just held her as she lay there, shaking, panting, and at last Freya lifted her head and stretched like a cat and took Five in her arms and held her, and they lay on the bed, sweaty and utterly exhausted. Five was almost stupefied with tiredness. We'd better not do this too often, she thought. I wouldn't want to do anything else. Freya squeezed her, then Five rolled off her and they got under the covers, and Freya just about managed to blow the candle out before passing out. *** In the pre-dawn, Freya awoke. She thirsted, made to open her lips and found they were stuck together. Her face was stuck to the pillow. She peeled it off and looked down at the dark stain of blood that must have trickled from her mouth while she slept. She looked around for something to drink. There was a flask on a side table. She got out of bed, went over and sniffed it; it was heavily watered wine. She would have loved cold, clear stream water, but it would do. She took some in her mouth and swilled it around, then went to the window and spat it out, then drank some. It was warming without being intoxicating. I will not tell her that I bled. I do not want this night to be tainted by this for both of us. She gasped as she felt a hand on her bare back. She turned and there was Five, blurry with sleep, staring at her. "You all right?" Five said, and squinted at Freya's face. Freya reached up and touched the crumbling dried blood on her cheek. Five clicked her tongue and took a cloth and dampened it in the rainwater crock. She wiped Freya's face and then stood on her tiptoes and kissed her. "Come back to bed," Five said. Freya let Five lead her back to bed, and they lay down, holding each other. "All that talk," murmured Five. Freya nodded. "Glad we said what we said," Five added. Freya smiled. "Glad we did what we did," Five whispered, and Freya nodded again, and then shut her eyes tight and shuddered, and Five ached to see that Freya was weeping. Freya tried to suppress it, choking it back, but Five held her. "What's wrong?" she said. "Why are you crying?" I know why you're crying. It's the same reason as I want to. "For so long," Freya sobbed, "I wanted this. Just this." Yes. God, yes. So much. Never dreamed it would be with you. Five had to bite her lip to stop herself from joining in. One of us has got to be the calm one. Freya swallowed with an effort and wiped her eyes, and Five saw her putting herself back together. "Freya," she said. "Freya." Freya paused, and looked at her, uncertainty in her wide eyes, as if she wanted Five to answer some great question. "Look," said Five, and she felt herself tongue-tied again, in the face of the looming bloody destiny that seemed to accompany Freya wherever she went. It was almost as if she could see it, the great portentous millwheel that it was, always threatening to crush them. She took Freya's face in her hands. "Have no fear," Five said. "Set your mind to what you have to do, whatever it is, and do it, and I'll be by your side. No matter what." Freya nodded, and she put her arms around Five and held her tight. When they disengaged, Freya was back to herself. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you," said Five. They kissed, and then stumbled back to bed, entwined themselves into each other, and let sleep take them. Freyas Saga Ch. 21 In which, for the first time in a long time, we introduce some new major characters. Well, at least two. It was drawn to my attention some time ago that pretty much all my female characters were reasonably complex, three-dimensional, flawed but more or less kind of interesting, whereas pretty much all my male characters were bastards, or weak, or both. I resolved to do something about this. This winds the chronology back some time ago, to the immediate aftermath of Freya and Five killing the worm in Torina. When this chapter starts, Freya and Five have just left the city, and are on their way along the road, where they will shortly stop for a bath. The air was tinged with the smell of greasy smoke, and a tall pillar of it swayed against the blue sky, further up the street. The knight reined his horse to a halt, and looked to his right at the inn, the first one they had come to which was not shut and boarded up. "Right," said Sir Boris. "Go and find the city elders and tell them of my presence. I will await them in this hostelry, where I will be quenching my thirst. Help me down, boy." Norbert got off his pony, took the stool from the saddlebag, walked over to Sir Boris's horse and placed it on the ground. The knight made to lift his left leg over the rear end of the horse, but he was stiff, and it took him three goes before he managed to swing himself onto one stirrup and, wheezing, lower himself onto the step. Then he stepped down into the mud and looked around. "Are you going to be drinking?" said Norbert. "Of course I am," said Sir Boris grandly. "I have ridden far and I thirst." "It's just that we have no gold left, and little silver," said Norbert. "Really?" said Sir Boris, startled. "How can we have come to such a pass?" Because you keep drinking it, thought Norbert. "Expenses are expenses," he said. "Then I am relying on you," said Sir Boris, "to secure for us the commission to kill the worm. Then we may recoup our expenses and cover ourselves in glory." "I will do my best," said Norbert. "That is all anyone can do," said Sir Boris, and he lifted his head and walked with all the considerable dignity he could muster into the inn. Right, then, Norbert thought, and he put the stool back into the saddlebags, tied up the horses and trudged off in the direction of the fire. As he approached the square and saw people unboarding their houses and clearing up rubble, he began to get a sense of foreboding about what he'd find. On reaching the square, he saw not a frightened crowd witnessing the depredations of a rampaging worm, but knots of people standing about looking relatively cheerful, and a large pyre with a burning object on it giving off thick oily smoke. Nobody paid much attention to the small, dark-haired, olive-skinned youth standing on the edge of the square, not even when he reached into his pocket and took out a small wooden tube with glass lenses in each end. He put it to his eye and turned it on the pyre. With the tube to his eye, he could see the pyre much more clearly, and could easily tell that burning object on it was some kind of large creature. He could make out the charred limbs, the blackened wings and see the thing's guts fizzing and hissing in the flames. As he watched, a large blister on the creature's hide burst and smoke hissed as liquid issued from it. Expressionless, he put the tube back in his pocket, turned around and walked back to the inn. He entered the inn and found the knight on his second round of drinks with four or five locals seated at his table, laughing at his jokes. "Ah," said Sir Boris. "Squire. What news?" "The worm is dead," said Norbert. Sir Boris stared at him. "What?" "It's dead," said Norbert. "They're burning its body in the marketplace as we speak." "How do you know?" said Sir Boris. "I saw it," said Norbert. "Did you speak to anyone?" "I didn't need to speak to anyone. I can see perfectly well." "How do you know that you saw what you saw?" said Sir Boris. "You could be mistaken." "I am not," said Norbert. "Go back there and speak to them, and tell them that I am come to slay their worm!" cried Sir Boris. The locals looked at each other. "You're too late for that, sir knight," said one of them. "The lad's right. The worm's dead. Killed this very day." Sir Boris turned to the man and stared at him, all the bluff good fellowship gone. "I am a knight of the king," he said. "In matters of importance I do not rely on the word of a common man." There was a silence around the table. The man looked at Sir Boris carefully, then glanced at Norbert. Norbert gave the man a tiny shake of his head: no. "Begging your honour's pardon," said the man. "Didn't mean to speak out of turn." "Do you presume to speak for the elders of Torina?" said Sir Boris. "Certainly not," said the man. Sir Boris turned back to Norbert. "Go and speak to the city elders and announce me to them, and we shall see what we shall see," he said. "Yes, sir," said Norbert after a tiny pause, and he turned and trudged out of the inn again. On the way back to the marketplace, Norbert reflected that this was Sir Boris's most exasperating way of dealing with the world: telling Norbert to do something, finding fault with how he did it, getting him to do it all over again, and finding fault with that, too, until he ultimately did it himself. This would be a lot easier, Norbert thought, if he just let me do it and concentrated on staying in shape and doing fighting. Sir Boris had always been more in love with the whole fol-de-rol around being a knight than with the actual hard work of being one, namely physical violence. It was, to Norbert's mind, actually one of the better things about him. The fact that Sir Boris really didn't like fighting people had meant that Norbert's apprenticeship had been longer and more peaceful than it would otherwise have been, giving him plenty of time to do the things that he really liked to do, namely, read books, study the world, figure out how things worked, and make interesting and useful objects. On the other hand, Sir Boris's dislike of fighting people also worked for Sir Boris, up to a point. He so disliked the physical effort of fighting people that he was keen to end his combats as swiftly and decisively as possible. His fighting style was crude but undeniably effective. He waded in, hit hard and often, and didn't turn his back on his opponent until the opponent was in no position to do anything to Sir Boris's back. Norbert walked back to the marketplace and looked around. Who to talk to? Not anyone carrying anything or doing anything involving labour. A group of men were standing and talking and looking relieved. Norbert eyed their clothing; rich, modest, discreetly embroidered, clean. If they were not who he was looking for, they could at least tell him where to look. He approached them and stood at a distance. The men paid him no attention. He coughed discreetly. The men went on talking. One of them said something that looked like a brief farewell, and broke apart from the group. Norbert quickly moved to intercept him. "Excuse me," he said, "might I be addressing a member of the city council?" The man paused, startled, and looked the travel-stained youth up and down. "You are," he said. "What is your business? Make it quick." "I serve Sir Boris of Coulomb," said Norbert. "He presents himself at the pleasure of the council, and wishes to apply for the commission to slay your worm." "Whoever he is," said the man, "he is too late. The worm is slain, as you can plainly see." "I can plainly see that," Norbert agreed. "How did it happen?" "It is a mystery," said the man. "But someone must have done the deed," said Norbert. "Indeed, boy, someone did," said the man. "But who was she? That is the question." The man seemed oddly elated, as if the experience had raised his spirits to some strange pitch. "A woman did this?" said Norbert. "I saw her do it with my own eyes," he said. "She walked in here and said not a word. She was with a youth who spoke for her. The woman refused payment, and when we insisted, she made us promise that if she succeeded, she was to give the money to the squires of the previous man who had tried his chances, and who had been taken out of his armour like someone peeling a nut, and eaten by the beast. The woman walked up to the worm, stared it down, dared it to breathe fire at her, and when it did ..." The man stared into the distance, smiling faintly at the memory. "I never saw anything like it. And I have fought in the Torinian guard. Perhaps not with very formidable opponents, but I have seen my share of combat. That woman danced with the beast. She danced with its fire. She dared it to burn her. And when it could not, and it landed a blow on her, and cut her face, she ..." He went pale for a moment and swallowed, then looked down at Norbert, who was small, even for his age. "Well, boy, call yourself lucky for not seeing what that woman in her rage did to that worm. Because I can never unsee it." "She killed it, then," Norbert said. "She killed it, indeed," said the man. "And she walked away from it, in all her terrible beauty, and she and her youth got on their horses and rode out of the city. And we never learned her name. But those over there are the youths who got the money that she refused. She spoke to them, but not to us. It is a mystery, plain and simple. All I know is that we are delivered." Norbert glanced over at three larger, well-dressed youths who were counting out gold between them. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I'm sorry to have detained you with my questions, but Sir Boris would not like me to have failed to introduce him." The man's attention seemed to come back from a long way off, and he sniffed and blinked and looked down at Norbert, slightly annoyed to have realised that he'd been standing chatting. "Well," said the man, "unless he wishes to make a charitable contribution to our city and help pay for the repairs, we have no use for your Sir Boris," and he walked off. Norbert watched him go with a feeling of dreary inevitability. It was going to be another lean week. He looked again at the three squires counting out money, and ambled over to them. They were all large, well-fed, muscular and clearly excited by the prospect of all the unearned gold that had been handed to them. In common with a lot of people Norbert had noticed who had grown up with money and power, they talked very loudly, as if they believed everybody in the area needed to know what they thought about everything. "Good luck to you, my lords," said Norbert. One of them glanced up at him. "What do you want?" he said. "Just a moment of your lordships' time." The other two looked him up and down. "Go away, wog," said the middle one. Norbert blinked. "I will, I promise," he said. "I wished to give my condolences on the loss of your knight." "Oh, him," said the third one, and they all looked at each other and suppressed a laugh. "I gather he was killed by the worm," said Norbert. "Yes," said the first squire. "We warned him. But his balls were always bigger than his brains." "Now piss off," said the middle one. "May I ask one question," said Norbert. "What?" said the first one, annoyed. "I heard that the woman who killed the worm instructed that the reward be given to you." "What if she did?" said the middle one. "If the stupid cunt doesn't want the money, we'll find a use for it." "Can you describe her?" he said. "What, the filly?" said the first one. Norbert blinked again. "Yes," he said. They looked at each other, furrowing their brows. "Tall," said the third one. "Short hair." "But damn fine." "Oh yes. Very shaggable." "Very." "Anything else?" he said. "Any distinguishing marks or features?" "Ummmm," said the first one, "now you mention it, bit of, ummm ..." "Yes," said the middle one. "Touch of wog about her." "Yes," said the last one. "Definitely wog blood. But not so to put you off." They grinned at each other. "Horrible voice, though," said the third one. "Oh yes." "In what way?" "Hoarse. Like someone gargling nails. Bit of a turn-off. And that accent." "Not that you'd want to make conversation with a filly like that." "If you're doing it right," said the first one, grinning, "she wouldn't be able to make conversation, anyway." They had a good laugh. Norbert smiled. "You said she had an accent?" "Northern. Money, but northern." "One last thing," said Norbert. "You saw her fight the worm?" They nodded. "Her fighting style must have struck you in some way? After all, she killed it." They looked blank. "Not particularly," said the first one after a pause. "She got lucky." The last one nodded. "Now fuck off and stop asking questions," said the middle one. "Your servant, lords," said Norbert, and bowed as he backed away from them. He turned around and walked off. Clues and hints. But as the man said, a mystery. Then he looked at the still-smouldering ruined buildings, and thought: well, there is one benefit after all. One of the buildings was a mere shell, left to burn with no attempt to put it out. Norbert walked up to it and inspected the charred beams and joists. Good, he thought. He looked for where the wood had not been burned, so that he could identify it. He ran his finger along the grain of the unburned wood. Very good. Excellent, in fact. He swung his bag to the ground, reached inside and took out another bag. Then he set to work breaking up the lumps of charcoal and putting them into his bag until it was full. When he was satisfied, he swung the bag over his shoulder and set off back for the inn again. That should keep me going, he thought. *** When he got back to the inn, Sir Boris was in full swing, knocking back the ale, roaring at the jokes, the centre of attention, as usual. Norbert edged his way into the room and made his way over to the door out the back, keeping his eye on Sir Boris as he went. He could see Sir Boris's gaze roving the room even as he laughed at one joke and told another, and sure enough, the knight caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. Norbert returned the look with no expression at all. Sir Boris laughingly excused himself and stood up, threaded through the crowd towards Norbert, who slipped out into the back yard. After a moment, Sir Boris joined him, and shut the back door. "So," he said, soberly. "It's true," said Norbert. "Someone has killed the worm. A woman, apparently." Sir Boris paused, and sighed. "A woman," he said. "Yes." "It's a world of changes, indeed," he said. "Any idea who?" "Apparently, she spoke barely a word and left without giving her name." Sir Boris considered this, shrugged, looked at Norbert, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Never mind, lad. You tried. Thank you for going back. Appearances matter, you know." Norbert nodded. Sir Boris reached for his money pouch and looked in it. "We've got enough for a few beers and a bite, and somewhere to put our head down," he said. "Let's write this one off and be on our way tomorrow, eh?" "Yes, sir," said Norbert. "Good lad," said Sir Boris. "Come along. I've already talked about you as the brains of the operation. There are some quite interesting chaps here, in fact." Norbert let Sir Boris guide him back inside the inn. "Here he is," Sir Boris said as they reached the table. "This is my boy." Norbert sat down opposite two men, youngish, about half the knight's age. They weren't the two who had been sitting with Boris earlier. These were dressed in good clothes that had seen much wear, and they were both dark-haired, large men. One of them sat square-on to the table and smiled at Norbert, holding out his hand. The other sat side-on and regarded Norbert coolly through the smoke he puffed from what appeared to be a short stub of vegetation that he held between his teeth. "So you're the smart one," said the smiling man. "Allon Tanit, at your service." "Norbert Gris," said Norbert, shaking the man's hand. A firm grip, but not one of those handshakes that was meant to crush your fingers. "My ugly friend here is Robert Falco," said Allon Tanit. He pronounced 'Robert' to rhyme almost with 'clobbered', unlike Norbert's pronunciation of his own name, which rhymed with 'more bear'. Norbert wondered where this Robert Falco was from; he'd never heard a name that was so like his own, pronounced thus. Norbert nodded to Robert Falco, who waited a moment before giving the merest inclination of his head in acknowledgment. "These chaps have been in the war too," said Sir Boris. "Indeed, yes," said Allon. "Good to put it behind us, but it does make work a bit thin on the ground." "Very much so," said Sir Boris. "Young Norbert here has been scouting out to see if there's anything doing in the city, but every man jack has come here to have a crack at the worm, and it appears that some woman's gone and killed the damn thing." "So they say," agreed Allon. "And a very thorough job she did, too, if rumour is correct." "Is that so?" said Sir Boris. "It's a strange day when we find a woman warrior beating a man to the prize," said Allon. "But not unheard-of," said Boris. "A woman can wield a sword with the best of 'em, if she puts her mind to it." "True," said Allon, raising his mug to Sir Boris and sipping his beer. "Nowadays we behave like it's some newfangled thing," went on Sir Boris, "but I'm old enough to remember when we met those wild women in the field at Hamazole, and I can tell you chaps, they were no rest. Quite vicious, and very disciplined." "The wild will always fight harder than the civilised," said Robert Falco. "They have not the manners that we prize so much." "That's what makes them wild," said Allon, smiling tolerantly at his partner. "But men of honour do not fight so. It's the manner of fighting that marks out the man from the animal." "Exactly so," said Sir Boris. "Exactly so. And on that note, let's drink to it. Here! Girl!" A serving girl, walking by with an empty tray, stopped and regarded them. Norbert glanced up at her and quickly glanced down again. She was dark and well-shaped, her face and exposed neck glowed with the heat and exertion, and a lock of her black hair hung in front of her eye in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable. "Four ales," he said. "You'll have one, won't you?" he asked Norbert "A small one," muttered Norbert. "Just get him a regular one." "Shy, is he?" she said. "Yes," said Sir Boris, "but he knows much." "Does he know how to please a girl?" she said, grinning. "I'm sure he's read something about it," said Sir Boris, grinning back at her, and the girl and Allon laughed heartily. "He's very pretty," she said. "I like his hair." Norbert wanted to crawl under the table and die. "He's young," said Sir Boris. "I was once as handsome myself. If you can believe it." "Maybe," she said, "when the world was young, and the gods were many. That'll be sixteen." Sir Boris counted out the coins and she took them, then tapped the table in front of Norbert. Involuntarily he glanced up at her, flushed crimson and looked down again. The girl had another good laugh and walked off. "Well," said Allon, "the king's peace shows us that the worst the wild has to offer is no match for good men with a good commander." Freyas Saga Ch. 21 "Exactly right," said Sir Boris. "With the right men, any foe can be defeated." "So I've always thought," said Allon. He finished his beer and inverted the mug on the table to show that it was empty. Many a mug had been inverted on the table over the years. The wooden tabletop had absorbed so much beer dregs that it had a curiously spongy texture. Norbert pressed the wood with his finger and saw it make a shallow fingermark which then quietly pushed itself up and flat again. "The trouble is," said Allon, "since the war ended, it takes more than a man's word to earn the trust of lords. Falco and I fought for the king, and though I say myself, we earned our bread, and then some." "Of course you did," said Sir Boris. "And yet," said Allon, "there is distrust in the air. We cannot find good honest soldier's work, which is what we are fittest for, because now that the lords can have their pick of the soldiery, they won't accept anyone who is not of noble birth." "I detest snobbery," said Sir Boris. "A true nobleman should show favour to all." "So you would think," said Allon. "And yet, the work is there, but we cannot be entrusted with it. The lords of Torina smile and thank us for our service, but that is as far as their favour extends." "Which work is this?" said Sir Boris. "No small task," said Allon. "The city's taxes lie unpaid to the king, because the lords will only trust a knight of the king to deliver them. And knights are few in these parts." Sir Boris looked interested. "The city's taxes? Well, it is churlish, of course, not to entrust a job like that to sturdy chaps like yourselves, but perhaps the city fathers have a point. A knight's loyalty is always to the king. A job like that demands absolute honesty." "You are saying we are not honest?" said Falco, through the smoke from the burning thing in his mouth. "Of course not," said Sir Boris. "I can see you are honest, as plain as I see the nose on your face. But if you have none to vouch for you, then ..." The remark trailed off. There was a silence. Falco gave Sir Boris a hard look, then shrugged, and the tension eased a little. "You say you can see we are honest," said Allon, smiling. "How can you be sure?" "First, I am a tremendous judge of character," said Sir Boris airily. "So think all." "Also," said Sir Boris, smiling, "I can see inside your shirt that you fought for the king, unless my eyes deceive me. I am not quite so foolish as all that, you know." Allon laughed and Falco smiled, and Allon pulled open his shirt to reveal his marks of honour. Norbert's eyes widened; he saw the sigils of many battles, but one of them in particular caught his eye. The image of a plain, bare stone tower that, to anyone who could read it, told him that Allon had been at Festeburg. Allon glanced at Norbert, and smiled. "Yes, lad," he said. "We were there." "What was it like?" Norbert asked. Allon's smile faded and he looked out the window at the grey sky. "It was like nothing else," he said. "There is nothing to compare it to, for never before had men descended to such depths. Nor will they again, it's to be hoped. I pray you never see the things I saw there." Norbert looked at him, waiting to hear what Allon had seen, but then he felt Sir Boris's foot nudge his under the table, and he glanced up at the knight who gave him a tiny shake of the head. "What?" Norbert said, confused, but then Sir Boris said "Well, what's past is past, as they say, and those of us who are still here can be thankful that we've lived to see the sun come up, eh?" Allon's gaze came back to them and he smiled. "So we have, sir knight," he said. "I tell you, having seen what I have seen, there is much to be said for the small things in life, such as a fine tale, or the smile on a woman's face, or a mug of ale taken in good company." "Wisdom indeed," said Sir Boris. "And for two out of three ... where is that girl?" He looked around. Norbert sat back, disappointed. It was a source of frustration to him that although plenty of older people knew, or claimed to know, what exactly had happened at Festeburg, they seemed very reluctant to talk about it. It was as if talking about it could make it happen again. But how else are we to know what not to do? Norbert thought. If we do not know what to do, we might easily find ourselves doing it. Unless whatever had happened during the siege was so atrocious as to be beyond imagination. Norbert doubted that. He had a fairly strong imagination and could stomach the thought of serious dismemberment. Unless Festeburg had been somehow worse than that, but what where the things you could do to people that were worse than chopping them up? At times, when he thought such thoughts, he began to get a vague idea of something so grisly and horrible, so intimately wicked, that even his mind shied away from it, and he would feel cold and alone. He looked up, to see the man called Falco eyeing him across the table. Since it was clear that nobody really wanted to talk about Festeburg, he decided to change the subject. "What's that thing in your mouth?" he said. "Herbs," said Falco. "Why would you stick burning herbs in your mouth?" "It calms me." "You're not scared of catching fire?" "You put it out before it burns so short that that becomes a danger," said Falco. He took the wrapped leaf out of his mouth and viewed it. "You want to try it?" he said. Norbert viewed the short, stubby twist of leaves, one end giving off an aromatic smoke, the other damp with the man's spit. "No thank you," he said. "It's an acquired taste," said the man. The waitress returned with the tray of ales, and Sir Boris took a mug and placed it in front of Norbert. "There you go," he said. "Cheers." They all lifted their mugs and touched them to each other, and then Norbert raised the mug to his lips and had a sip. He hated ale, but he wanted to be polite. From the first time Norbert had drunk clean spring water, off in the mountains a few years previously, he had wanted to drink nothing else, but everywhere you went, ale was the drink and pure clean water was rare and costly. He hated ale's sour, bready taste, the little bits you found floating in it, the way it had of making you feel muddle-headed and sleepy, but unless you wanted to risk getting lung-burn from drinking milk, it was ale or wine and if anything wine was worse. Once, on a long journey, Norbert had experimented with drinking his own piss, but it had been hard to conceal the fact that he was collecting it, and he didn't like the taste in his mouth. Allon took a long pull from his ale, then put the mug down and sighed with pleasure. Then he wiped his mouth and spread his hands. "Well, anyway," he said, "in the meantime, an easy job will probably be snapped up by the next scoundrel who can boast any sort of a pedigree." "The tax job," said Sir Boris. "Yes." "It angers me, I don't mind saying," said Allon, "that good men must go hungry because fools of rank are given privilege." "Speaking as a man of some rank," said Sir Boris, with a thoughtful look on his face, "I can only agree. Alas, birth no longer confers upon a man the virtues that it once did." "Do you think the bloodlines are diluted?" said Falco quietly. "Is that it?" Norbert looked at the man and wondered what he was getting at. But Sir Boris was at his most judicious. "Rather, the opposite," he said with a smile. "My people were cattle breeders long ago, and I'm sure you know that the noblest line needs from time to time to be strengthened with a dose of good peasant stock. Some of these chaps nowadays, their parents are cousins going back to the days of the prophets. It's not good for the sinews, not at all. Now, this chap," he said, indicating Norbert, "he knows what I'm talking about." "Do you?" said Falco, turning his eyes on Norbert. "I can see it in his face," said Allon. "You've got some fuzzy blood in you, haven't you, boy?" He smiled. Norbert blinked. "My grandmother," he muttered. "Nothing to be ashamed of," said Allon. "I've seen some fine specimens." "She was splendid," said Sir Boris. "She learned our tongue, and spoke it like a native. Well, not a native, but, you know." "And you took him on as a squire," said Allon. "Very modern of you." "Well," said Sir Boris, looking at Norbert, "bit of a family tragedy there. His parents died in the war." "Oh?" "Yes, a bad turn for all concerned, so since I knew them, I made a promise to look after the lad. This was after he'd been rejected from the alchemists' guild, mind." "Alchemy?" said Allon. "Oh yes," said Sir Boris. "Told you he was brainy. Mind like a shark; eats knowledge for breakfast. In fact, he would eat knowledge for breakfast if I didn't make him take food now and again. The guild accepted him aged ten, he was top of his class, teaching the tutors their own job, and then when he turned fourteen the bastards kicked him out for, among other things, misrepresenting his parentage." "Indeed," said Allon. "Yes," said Sir Boris, getting indignant about it all over again. "I told them, look at the boy, when you didn't know he was smarter than you are, you accepted him, and now that he shows you up, you turn your backs on him just because his grandfather wedded a fuzzy? Disgraceful behaviour. Simply unmeaning bigotry, nothing less. I told them I was proud to, well, that is ..." He paused, as if he'd been letting his tongue run away. "I told them," he went on, calmer, "that I was proud to have known his grandmother, and that for a savage of her background she did as well as could be expected at fitting into decent society. It's true." "I believe you," said Allon. "So, lad. Alchemy?" "It's nonsense," said Norbert. "Nonsense?" said Allon. "The pursuit of the philosopher's stone? It's only what the wisest of us have been seeking for these whatever it is, many hundreds of years." "Bits of it are true," said Norbert. "But they trick it up with a lot of silly words to make it sound like it means something, when it has no basis in things. Real things." "You're very sure of yourself," said Allon, amused. "I can back it up," said Norbert. "Me and a friend used to talk about how stupid it was. He taught me everything I know, not the alchemists. He was brilliant." "Now, now," said Sir Boris, looking hard at Norbert, "there's no need to go over all that again." "Sorry," said Norbert. "What sort of thing did he teach you?" said Falco, rather rudely ignoring Sir Boris, Norbert thought. Norbert looked from him to Sir Boris uncertainly, until at last the knight turned to Falco. "Forgive us," he said, "that's a bit of history we like to leave behind. It was all rather overblown at the time, but young Norbert made a, shall we say, questionable friend in the academy, and there was a bit of trouble." "What kind of trouble?" said Falco, interested. "Just youthful recklessness, but it had to do with why they fired him. Fired them both, in fact. There was some ill-considered behaviour, but a lesson has been learned." "I see," said Falco after a pause. "Sorry to pry." "Not at all," said Boris. "Nothing wrong with ordinary human curiosity. But when it goes beyond the boundaries of decent behaviour, well ..." Norbert felt irritated, partly because deep down he felt Boris was right. "Fine," said Falco, and turned to Norbert again. "So, real things, anyway. You understand real things." "I try to. I study things. I make things out of other things." "What sort of things?" said Allon, smiling broadly. "Flying machines?" "No," said Norbert. "That's ridiculous. You can't make a machine that can fly. It would be too heavy." "Hm," said Allon. "Interesting." "That's the sort of thing that little boys think they can make," said Norbert. "No. I make ... other things." "Such as what?" Norbert eyed Allon and Falco, who were both watching him, equally interested, but Allon was smiling, and Falco wasn't. "I'm sorry," Norbert said, "I'd prefer to keep them secret for the moment." "Ah," said Allon, after a tiny pause. "Good idea. Keep them secret." He thinks I'm making it all up, Norbert thought, and stuffed his thumbnail into his mouth and tore at it with his teeth. "Don't underestimate this lad," said Sir Boris. "He's got more brains stuffed in his noggin than most of us." "I'm sure," said Allon, and winked at Norbert. "Getting back to the topic under discussion," said Sir Boris, "the city's taxes. They have to be collected from the chamber here, yes? And delivered to where?" "To the king's agents," said Falco. "Who are to be found in the usual place, I take it?" "Indeed. Some thirty miles hence, the shortest path crossing a corner of the wild. It is a job for men of action." "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement," said Sir Boris, smiling broadly. "If all you need to get the work is, shall we say, a figure of some tone, I would happily lend myself to your purpose, with of course due remuneration." "Then let us shake on it," said Allon, "and drink to partnership." Boris, Allon and Falco shook hands. Norbert watched them. Then they drank from their mugs. "Where exactly are the king's agents?" said Norbert. "Where they always are," said Allon. "The biggest city in the region." "That's right, lad," said Sir Boris, twinkling. "We're going to Venceborn." *** It all went as smoothly as flattery into the ears of a priest, as Sir Boris put it. Sir Boris, with Norbert in tow, approached the city elders and made some discreet enquiries about the job of transferring monies from Torina to Venceborn. He spun a line of pure gold concerning his exploits in the war, his trustworthiness, his descent from a nobler family than he had in fact descended from. He had hinted that he was comfortable with the tough and craggy northerners as he was with his own folk, the folk of the hills, for are we not all but a couple of generations removed from the soil, gentlemen? The rich loam of our native land, which binds us to it and nourishes us even as it compels us to find new lands to explore, new folk to encounter ... Norbert lost interest at one point and found himself mentally calculating how much the money would weigh, depending in what denomination they had to carry it in. But at last the city elders were satisfied, especially after seeing Sir Boris's pedigree. Norbert observed to himself that there was nothing like blind prejudice to prevent people from exercising their brains. The city elders of Torina were convinced that Boris was the man to carry their money, mainly because he insisted with his particular accent that he was. Then again, Norbert thought as they loaded the money (gold coins in saddlebags) onto two horses on a fine sunny morning, Boris really was what he claimed to be, more or less: a straight-up, plain-dealing knight with no more than the usual degree of moral flexibility. He cared too much for his name to besmirch it by not being a man of his word. Now that he was no longer much of a fighter, his word was all he had. They hit the road. Norbert's horse was too big for him, but it had to be big to be able to carry the heavy saddlebags. It was good weather for travelling. When they were outside the city walls, Norbert said "May I ask a difficult question?" "You can ask. If it's one that requires learning to answer, I'm probably not your man." "It's about Allon and Falco." "Ah," said Boris, and nodded wisely, smiling. "Do you know what I'm going to ask?" "Of course I do. No, lad, I don't trust them quite as much as I let on. There's clearly been some misbehaviour in their pasts, or they would have been won advancement in the war. Goodness only knows what. We'll just have to keep our eyes open." "Allon seems all right. It's Falco who worries me." "Precisely because Allon seems all right, he's the one you should look out for," said Boris. "Some of the biggest scoundrels I've ever met have seemed like splendid chaps. Then, count on them in the crisis and they only look after themselves. Look at that magnificent ash. My word. That must be easily a hundred years old." Norbert looked at the tree, but apart from its size there didn't seem to be anything special about it. "They'll be keeping an eye on us, too," said Boris. "Assuming that they are honest, they'll be wondering about us. In this way, we keep each other in check. If they're not, we're watching them anyway and they will know it. We're not rubes, after all." Norbert thought for a moment. "You know," he said, "there's nothing to stop us taking the money to Venceborn ourselves. We could just avoid them on the road, and cut across country. Why are we giving them half the fee when we're doing more than half the work?" Boris's face darkened. "I never thought I would hear a squire of mine actually suggest stealing," he said. "How is it stealing if we're owed more than we're getting?" said Norbert. "We made a deal, lad," said Boris angrily. "We shook hands on a figure. A real man doesn't go back on a handshake." "But it's not fair," said Norbert. "We deserve more than half." "Deserve has nothing to do with it," Boris cried. "If everyone in the country got what they deserved, there'd be a gibbet on every corner. A deal is a deal. I don't wish to hear another word about it." Norbert shut up, and the ride passed in an uncomfortable silence until that evening. When they had stopped to camp for the night, and Norbert was seeing to the horses, Boris came over to him. "I'm sorry I shouted, lad," he said. "But I meant what I said. I just get upset when I hear talk of breaking deals. It was going back on a deal that got us into the last war." "I'm sorry," said Norbert, feeling awful. "I shouldn't have suggested it." "It's in you young folk," said Boris. "You're more interested in getting a thing done than in getting it done the right way. I don't blame you. But, you know, the world only keeps turning as long as men of good will are willing to stick to their word." "Yes, sir," said Norbert, nodding. Boris said things like that a lot. Norbert never really knew what he meant. "Good lad," said Boris. "See, this is part of your education. This is why you're with me in the first place. Now, we'll say no more about it. Let's have a bite and a rest, eh?" He smiled, clapped Norbert on the shoulder and went over to the fire. Not for the first time, Norbert was glad that Boris hated fighting so much. Norbert didn't like it either, and a happy Boris was a good deal better company than a grumpy Boris. They had a pleasant evening. Boris had ensured that Norbert had properly provisioned them, with the result that they had plump chicken with bacon and leeks to eat, and not dry, charred rabbit with cornmeal porridge. There was plenty of wine for Boris, and Norbert had even secured a couple of skins of spring water. Then Boris slept, and Norbert took the first watch. *** Norbert woke up to find the next day grey and rainy. They breakfasted on tea, and bread that had been toasted and smeared with the rendered fat of the chicken. Then they were off again. They hadn't gone far, and were approaching a bend in the road, when they heard a cry and the galloping of hooves which soon died away. Boris spurred his horse into a trot, and they rounded the bend to find a horse standing a little way down the road and, in a ditch, a girl in a yellow dress wearing a grey shawl, apparently unconscious. "Great god," Boris exclaimed, and he reined his horse in. Norbert stopped too and dismounted and brought the steps, but Boris, his gentlemanliness temporarily getting the better of his stiff legs, dismounted without it and hurried over to the fallen girl. Freyas Saga Ch. 21 "She must have been thrown," he said. "Poor lass." He knelt by her and brushed her blonde hair out of her face. She was a pretty, apple-cheeked girl with dark circles under her eyes, perhaps no thundering beauty but very pleasant-looking. Her dress was cut low and tight across her breasts. She was breathing. Boris quickly looked for signs of blood or broken limbs, but there were none. He took out his flask and put it to her lips, and she rocked her head from side to side and her eyelids fluttered. "There, there," said Boris. "Think you've had a bit of a fall." "My horse," she murmured. "Bonnechance ... He bolted suddenly. Where ..." "He's over there," said Boris, pointing. The girl put a hand to her head and blinked. "Oh, my goodness," she said. "I'm so sorry. I've held you up." She was very well-spoken, a true lady, but Norbert couldn't help noticing that her fingernails were bitten right down to the quick, and her hands were surprisingly large, rough-looking, scarred and in one or two places, burned. "Are you all right?" Boris said. "Do you think you can stand?" "I can try," said the girl with a brave smile, and he helped her to her feet. She stepped onto the road and brushed herself off. "What a blunderer," she said. "I cannot even keep control of my steed. I do apologise." "You've not been riding long, then?" Boris took a step back from the girl and Norbert noted that the knight was discreetly eyeing her figure. "Only a few months," she said. "Forgive my manners. I am Amber de Haverley, lady-in-waiting to Lady Rosaline Fitzjohn." A lady in waiting. Which sort of explained the condition of her hands. A bit. Norbert realised he was staring at the girl and made himself look at her feet instead, then he decided that that too wasn't a good idea and he looked at her horse. "I am Sir Boris of Coulomb," said Sir Boris, "and this young rascal is my squire, Norbert." "Very pleased to meet you," said Amber breathlessly, and she curtseyed. "I was riding to Tour de Mont-Supplice, and my horse decided to ..." She looked at them and laughed. "Dear me," she said, "I've told you that already, have I not? I'm sorry. I'm still a little dizzy." "My dear girl," said Boris, "it's quite possible you have a concussion. Do you feel ill?" "Not at all," she said, "I just, um." She put her hand to her forehead, swayed for a moment and then sank to a sitting position on the road. Boris picked her up and offered her his flask again, but she declined with a smile. "A little rest and I shall be as right as rain, I think," she said. "But what a pity, for now my message will be delayed." "Well," said Boris, "could you not ride with us? Young Norbert's steed is big enough for the two of you, I think." Norbert experienced a brief moment of panic and thrill at the thought of sharing a horse with her. He suppressed it. He didn't want her to think he was as excited by the idea as he really was. She looked anxious. "Would that be all right? I don't want to inconvenience you." "I'm sure it won't be inconvenient," said Boris, and Norbert shook his head. Five minutes later, they were riding along the road in single file, Boris at the head, Norbert with Amber behind him in the middle, and a rope from Norbert's saddle tied to the muzzle of Amber's horse, which plodded peacefully enough behind them." "You are kind," Amber said. "If you hadn't come along, I'd still be lying in that ditch." "Ditches," said Norbert, "contain some of the richest variety of creature in the wild." There was a pause. "Is that so," she said. "Oh, yes," he said. "Voles, shrews, rodents of all kind, spiders, worms, centipedes. Things that like dark and damp." "Oooh, I can't bear spiders," she said cheerfully. "Creepy crawly things. They bite." "It is not true that spiders bite humans," said Norbert, "or at least their bite is far from harmful. They bite flies to keep them still. It used to be thought that the spider's bite killed the spirit of the fly and enslaved it because the spider was of a higher order of being, but I prefer the explanation that the spider's bite injects some kind of venom into the fly and immobilises it. It is possible that in other lands, spiders exist that have bites that can harm humans. I have heard tales of spiders in the eastern kingdoms that can kill with a bite, but not having seen one, and without having had credible report of one, I think we should treat such tales with scepticism." He waited for her to compliment him on his expert knowledge of spiders' eating habits. When she did not, he turned around and looked at her. "Can you not hear my voice," he said. "Yes," she said, staring past him at the road ahead. "I can hear you perfectly well." "Oh," he said, and turned around to face forwards again. It took him a moment to understand what she meant and when he did so, he wanted to thump himself. You're being boring, he thought. Nobody except you is interested in the eating habits of spiders. He rode on for a while in silence, quietly cursing his own tongue-tied-ness. At the same time, he was very conscious of the fact that what for want of a better word he thought of as her chest was pressing against his shoulder blades. "You're very clever," she said, and he was startled. "You are kind," he mumbled. "Oh, come," she said, "you are. I wonder how such a young boy came to be so learned." "I am not as young as I appear to be," he said. "I am fifteen." "Really? I would have thought you younger. You look about ten." "So I have often been told." "So how did you come by all that knowledge?" He looked over his shoulder at her, to see if she was mocking him, but she looked merely friendly and curious. "I read a lot," he said, "and my grandmother taught me not to believe everything I read." "She sounds wise," said Amber, "but surely you didn't learn all that from books." "I went to the Academy of Alchemy," he said. "Only for one year." "My goodness," she said. "That is impressive. Why only for one year?" He hesitated, but Boris was up ahead. "I was not very happy there," he said. "A lot of the things that they taught I had already read, and I had already come to think them false, for in other books I had read arguments against them." "Such as what sort of thing?" "Well," said Norbert, "the Academy teaches that the world is at the centre of the universe, and that all the celestial objects, such as the sun and the moon and the planets and the constellations, are attached to spheres that revolve around the world." "Everyone knows that." "Yes," he said, "but some thinkers believe that the world goes around the sun." "But that's ridiculous. It's obvious that the sun goes around the world." "Why?" "Because it looks like it does." "Yes," he said, "but supposing the world went around the sun. How would it look then?" She thought for a second. "It would look different," she said. "The sun would hang high in the sky, and it would neither rise nor set. The same way if I walk around a candle I can always see it." "Ah yes," he said, feeling immensely pleased, "but what if the world were spinning around all the time?" "Why would it do that?" She just looked puzzled. "If it did do that," he said, "the sun would appear to rise and fall, just like it does now." "But if the world were spinning around," she said, "we would fly off. Like when you shake drops off wet fingers." "And yet," he said, "we do not." "Yes," she said, "because we are not spinning." "But we must be," he said, beginning to feel mildly desperate. "Why must we be?" "Because otherwise, as you said," he said, fumbling, "the sun would not have the appearance, as it does now, of rising and falling in the sky." "So how is it that we do not fly off the spinning world?" "Perhaps," he said, "um, the ... the ... we, like, like water on hands, we cling to the world thus." "Then how is it possible that we can walk about and jump in the air?" He couldn't think of anything. "It seems to me," Amber said mildly, "that this world-goes-around-the-sun idea of yours requires me to accept an awful lot of other ideas, whereas if I think that the sun goes around the world, then everything is a good deal simpler." "It does seem like that," he said, sweating. "But it is interesting to speculate," she said. "You would enjoy some of the conversations at Lady Rosaline's. She delights to entertain thinkers and wise men. So how came you to leave the Academy after just one year?" "I fell into bad company," he said, feeling annoyed and embarrassed. "Oooh," she said, wriggling behind him. "What kind of bad company?" "I am forbidden to talk about it," he said. "Really? It sounds thrilling." He thought, she thinks I'm thrilling. "Well," he said, "it was certainly a ticklish situation to find oneself in." "I'm sure it must have been. What possible reason could the Academy have had to throw you out?" "I was not thrown out," he said. "I was asked to leave." "Oh?" "I understand why they did what they did," he said, trying to sound wise. "They were in an impossible position." "What in the twelve kingdoms did you and your bad company get up to?" She was laughing. "Did you find the philosopher's stone and tell everyone about it?" "The philosopher's stone is a fairy tale," he said. "Did you and your bad company find that out?" "Yes," he said, and caught himself, and thought, Damn. "Truly, miss, I should not be talking about it." "But you haven't told me a thing," she said. "I am utterly in the dark. Except that you and your bad company were clearly very much smarter than the Academy, which a dunce could take away from the little you have let slip. I assure you, you have been most discreet." "Really?" He was sweating, with her pressed up against his back, her arms around his waist, her chest pressing into his shoulders. "To be frank," she said, "I have met some members of the Academy at Lady Rosaline's, and they have not struck me as being overly endowed with brain power." "They are idiots," he exclaimed. "They pore over their old books and seek to bend the world to fit what men wrote centuries back, but they have not the wit to open their eyes to what is in front of them. The world is far more interesting than they teach in the Academy, but they are so old and everyone looks up to them so, and they get the tithes and they consult with kings and queens and everyone bows the knee before their so-called wisdom. It is a scandal." "Dreadful," she said. "You'll be telling me next that they think the world goes around the sun." "The world does go around the sun!" "Yes," she said, with a smile in her voice, "but you yourself admitted that it looks as though it doesn't. 'Open your eyes! See what is before you!'" He opened his mouth, faltered, and looked over his shoulder at her. She was grinning at him. "I am serious!" He was annoyed. She laughed. "I can see that. Don't be. The world is much funnier than you think it is." He tried to think of a comeback and could not, and finally he laughed. "All right," he said, "I'm sorry. I get carried away." "Is that why you were asked to leave the Academy?" "I cannot ..." "I know, I know, you can't talk about it. So it is just as well that you have not told me that you and another student were asked to leave for pursuing your own course of study and in the process, I assume, learning secrets that man was not meant to know and possibly awakening some form of hideous nether-life that went on the rampage and killed several people before it could be stopped?" "No," he said, "no, no. No." They rode in silence for a moment or two. "Well," he said, "yes. The first part. But we did not awaken anything. We simply proved that the Academy's teaching was questionable." "Goodness." "And we did destroy a building." She burst out laughing. "It is not funny," he said. "Someone could have been killed." "Was anyone hurt?" "Fortunately not. It happened at night and everyone had gone to bed. But it was a valuable lesson in ..." He caught himself once again. "No," he said. "I had -" "You had better not," she said. "I understand. I will stop talking about it. Tell me about something else. Tell me about ditches." "You do not want to hear about ditches," said Norbert, smiling despite himself. "Even I do not want to hear myself talking about ditches." She laughed, and he felt much more relaxed, and they soon talked of other things; the trees, the animals in the field, the history of Sir Boris, the legends they had heard. By the time they halted for the night, Norbert had what was for him a rare feeling: he had made a friend. *** Norbert made them supper of bread and cold sausage and wine, and the girl ate with appetite. Norbert found it difficult to stop himself from too openly admiring her person. Her low-cut dress drew attention to her bust, and the more wine she drank, the merrier she became, laughing freely at every quip of Sir Boris and every one of of Norbert's dry interjections. Sir Boris had the saddlebags chained to a tree as an anti-theft measure. When the fire died down, they rolled themselves in their bedrolls, Boris contributing a heavy coat to Amber, and they slept. They awoke the next morning and as Norbert was boiling water for their porridge and Amber was making her toilet, he saw Boris discreetly weighing the saddlebags with his hands. He must have had his suspicions, Norbert thought, but he saw the knight smile quietly. Then Boris looked up and saw him, and came over. "Well?" Boris said. "You think me an old cynic?" "Are you satisfied?" "They have not been touched. In any case, the lock is strong, and the seals are unbroken. It seems our guest is as honest as she seems to be." Norbert nodded. "I think you've taken a bit of a shine to her, no?" Boris said. "Her conversation is very stimulating," said Norbert, feeling himself go red. Boris chuckled. "Maybe in a couple of years ..." Boris said, and then Amber came out of the bushes and Boris walked off, laughing to himself. "What were you talking about?" Amber said, smiling. "Nothing," Norbert said. "You are a terrible liar," she said. "But I will not push you. Mmmm, porridge." They rode all that day, and once again she sat behind him on his horse, and Norbert listened to the sound of her voice and heard her tell about the doings of the family she worked for, and all he knew was that he'd never been so happy. To watch her eat a piece of bread seemed to him like entertainment fit for a king. The angle of her jaw, even the redness of her chapped hands, filled him with joy. By the time they stopped to rest again that evening, Norbert felt that he knew what people felt like when they believed in god. For himself, he could see in her and her slightly travelstained dress all the beauty and majesty of creation. It was hard not to make a complete fool of oneself around her; he made a conscious effort to listen to Sir Boris as well, and occasionally even smile at his terrible jokes. But after only a day and a half, the small part of his brain that always stood back and watched the rest of him was despairingly admitting to himself that he had fallen in love with Amber. Once again they dined on bread and sausage and wine, augmented a bit by some herbs and mushrooms Norbert had found; the study of mushrooms had been one of the few things in Academy life that he'd enjoyed, feeling like it amounted to some sort of mastery of the world, however insignificant. They were having a most enjoyable evening when Amber stopped in mid-sentence and cocked her head to one side. "Are those hooves I hear?" she said with interest. Norbert got up and stepped over to the road, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he made out two figures riding from the north. They slowed as they drew nearer, and he stood in silence, waiting. Finally the riders drew level, and Norbert decided that they hadn't seen him, and waited for them to pass. But then a brusque voice said "Make yourself known, boy." Norbert recognised it immediately: it was Falco. "I am Norbert, squire of Sir Boris of Coulomb, and we expected to meet you further down the road." "Norbert," said the other rider in a hearty voice, after a tiny pause. It was Allon. "Well met indeed, lad. We rode to meet you, for there are rumours of thieves on the road." "There are always rumours of thieves on this road," said Norbert. "All the better that we came to meet you, then. Have you the bags from the city elders?" "Safe and sound." "Excellent. Perhaps we might join you for food and drink. We've ridden hard and without rest since leaving Venceborn." They dismounted in the darkness, and walked the horses over towards the fire. "We have a guest," said Norbert. "So I see," said Allon. "We shall have fine company, then. Who is the lady?" "A lady in waiting of a local house. We found her thrown from her horse, and Sir Boris insisted she accompany us." "Sir Boris is as gallant as he is hospitable," said Allon. As they approached the fire, Boris stood up and beamed at them. "Why, friends! This is a fine chance meeting. We did not expect to see you until tomorrow at the earliest." "We rode out to meet you," said Falco. Amber rose and smiled. "May I present Amber de Havely? She is lady in waiting to Lady Rosaline Fitzjohn." Amber curtsied and blushed. "Delighted," said Allon, bowing and taking her hand and lowering his face over it, but not, Norbert noticed with relief, actually kissing her fingers. "I shall feel safe indeed," she said, "with four fine men to guard me from the terrors of the night." "It is the duty of a gentleman to protect the fairer sex," said Allon. "It shall be an honour." He smiled warmly at her. Norbert helped Allon and Falco to secure their horses. Then he cut more bread and sausage and poured more wine, and they sat down around the fire again. "And how is the Lady Rosaline," said Allon to Amber. "Tell us her news." "In the pink of health," said Amber. "May I ask how the gentleman knows her?" "I was billeted in her house, briefly, in the late war," he said. "I know her to be a woman of great honour and fine judgement." "That she is," said Amber. "Is she quite recovered from the ague that had been tormenting her?" Allon said. Amber wrinkled her brow and smiled, puzzled. "I think the gentleman may be confusing my lady with her sister Selmaline," she said. "Lady Rosaline's only health concerns lately have been a twisted ankle gained in hunting. But my lady Selmaline is wracked with ague, and the surgeons can do nothing. It is a torment to her, but her good spirits in distress are an inspiration to us." "Selmaline," he said. "Of course. But tell me more - does Lady Rosaline still convene with the wisest and most skilled? The last I heard she would have nobody to dine with her except bookmen." Allon laughed. Boris smiled. Amber smiled as well. "Thankfully," she said, "the lady's taste for conversation ranges in a less eccentric sphere, at the moment. Between ourselves, I did not enjoy constantly having bookmen staying with us. Their dietary requirements were peculiarly vexing. Not to mention their beards; we were always finding hairs in the soup." "Does her house fare as it used to?" "Her fortunes have been mixed," said Amber, "as have all our fortunes, in the late war. You know of course of the death of her second son." "Alas, yes," said Allon. "Indeed, I was there, although I did not witness his last hours." Freyas Saga Ch. 21 "You were at Festeburg?" Amber's eyes widened. "I was," he said. "And I would not darken the mood of the company to tell much of what I saw there. But, yes, I was there." "Then you know of the manner of his death," said Amber quietly. "Yes," said Allon. "We will leave it there. The lad does not need to know every detail." Again, Norbert thought. What on earth are people not willing to talk about? "Quite so," said Amber, and she dabbed at one eye with her sleeve and smiled brightly. "Still, Lady Rosaline's spirits have been buoyed somewhat by the birth of a grandson." "Indeed?" Allon said. "Yes," Amber said. "The lady Mariam had a fine boy a week ago, both mother and child in good health." "Excellent news," said Allon, chewing sausage. He raised his cup. "To mother and child." They all toasted the birth, and when Amber went to clink her cup against Allon's, she stumbled slightly and hit his cup so hard with her own that wine splashed onto him. She was most apologetic and made to wipe it off with her kerchief, but he insisted that it was no matter. "What news from Venceborn?" she said as they sat down again, Norbert having refilled Allon's cup. "The Provost is as reclusive as ever," Allon said. "He has apparently taken to dining alone, although meetings still take place." "What takes you to Venceborn, if I may ask?"Amber said, smiling at them all. "Just business," said Allon. "The same reason everyone goes there," she said. "I take it your saddlebags are part of the business? They look most capacious." "Civic business," said Sir Boris cheerfully, "of such a level of dullness that it tires me even to contemplate it. Bureaucracy, my dear. There is no end to it, but the lines of communication must be kept open." "You are messengers?" Amber said. "Oh, but you must not allow me to slow you down." "The message will take as long as it takes to send," said Allon. "It will be none the less welcome for being conveyed with due care. Even riders must rest." "Very true," said Amber. "My own head is heavy with sleep, and your excellent wine. I hope you will not be offended if I turn in shortly." "Not at all," said Sir Boris. "In fact, we all should." "To where are you riding," Falco asked Amber. "To Venceborn," she said, "like you." "And what is your own business there?" She drew her brows prettily together, as if startled with this line of questioning. "I am on the business of Lady Rosaline," she said. "Why would she send you," he said. "Why not a man." "I am her trusted lady-in-waiting," she said, frowning. "She knows I will be swift and discreet. And I may be of the weaker sex, but I assure you, I am quite able to look after myself." "It is odd to me," he said, "a lone woman travelling at night." "We have all had to adapt ourselves to a changing world, sir," she said. "The war saw to that. While you men were out fighting for the king, we at home had to do your jobs, and more. I am no delicate flower." "Is that why you have scars on your hands?" Norbert said, and Amber smiled at him and nodded. "You are a very observant boy," she said. "I have had to learn many skills that I never thought I would need. Woodcutting, carpentry. I have helped kill a pig, more than once. The war has schooled us all in hardship." "Where are you from," said Falco. "These parts, sir," she said, turning to him. "Born and bred in the Allamont hills." "How came you to Lady Rosaline's household?" "I have lived in the lady's household since I was a child," she said. "That is odd," he said, "for I have spent much time there, and never seen you." "Were you backstairs with the women and children, sir?" she said. "No," he said. "Then there is your explanation," Amber said, and there was a definite tone of annoyance in her voice. "I, for my part, have never seen you there." She turned to Allon. "One meets many strangers these days, with the upheaval of the war," she said, "and it is not always easy to reassure oneself about people. I take it, sir, that you have no reservations about what I have told you?" Allon hesitated and glanced at Falco, who was looking irritated by the implication that he himself had not been truthful. "One must always be careful," Allon said. "But surely," said Amber, smiling, "concord may be had between passing strangers on the fringe of the wild?" "Of course, of course," said Sir Boris. "Let's all be friends, eh? We'll be doubting our own names next." "I do not doubt your trust, sir," said Amber to Boris. "But it is this gentleman to whom I addressed my question." "Concord," Allon said. "Agreement," said Amber. "Not to tread on one another's toes. Mutual cooperation." Norbert looked at them both, and had the oddest feeling that they were not just talking about being friendly, but about something else. She was looking at Allon in a pointed way, and he felt a raging stab of jealousy, until his more sensible self told him, no, that wasn't a lover's look; but it was something, all right, and he had to know what. "You will forgive me," said Allon after a pause, "but my partner and I are unaccustomed to such notions." "What do you mean?" Sir Boris interjected. "The lady engages in double talk," said Falco. "If I may say so," said Amber, frowning, "I find your comments more than a little impertinent. Sir Boris has offered to help me and if you have some reservations about my credentials, or otherwise object to my accompanying you on the road, you might wish to speak to him." "Yes, dammit, Falco, what's the problem?" Boris said, smiling but annoyed. "I offered the girl my help, and the least we can do is afford her protection. This is a dangerous stretch of road." "It is indeed," said Falco, staring at Amber. "Well, Falco?" Boris said. "Explain yourself." There was a pause. "Let us forget the whole matter," said Allon. "No," said Falco, glaring at Allon. Then he turned his gaze on Amber. "No agreements," he said. "Nothing." There was a silence, as she looked from Allon to Falco, then at Boris, and lastly at Norbert. Then, slowly, she smiled; and Norbert was unnerved. For it was not Amber's smile, wide, mischievous and cheerful. Her mouth stayed closed, and her gaze seemed to be directed inward. This smile was sour, gloomy and resigned. "He's no gonnae help me, big man," she said calmly to Boris, in a completely different voice; sharp, strongly accented and nasal. "Ah've fucked him off." Norbert saw Allon give a start, and reach down to his side. Amber glanced at him. "Leave the shiv," she said in a level tone. Allon paused. To Norbert's astonishment, Amber reached inside her mouth and took out two small pads from her cheeks and stowed them in a small bag hanging from the belt around her waist, then she rubbed her cheeks hard with the palms of her hands, and wiped her eye sockets with her fingers, massaging her face and moving her head from side to side, as if loosening herself up. When she lowered her hands from her face, it had changed. It had been glowing, round, apple-cheeked and bonny. Now it was sallow, thin-lipped and rabbitlike. Her eyes had been wide and friendly; now they were narrow and guarded. She looked at them all. "Well," she said, "this is a right bag of cocks, eh." Norbert was so stunned he couldn't speak. Amber looked at him. "Sorry, pal," she said, with a faint smile. She abruptly rose to her feet. Falco stood up too. He and Allon were the other side of the fire from her. She even stood differently; before she had been upright, her chest thrust forward, her hands clasped at her waist, but now she stood with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She looked thinner and more wiry, her dress hanging off her instead of bulging delightfully at her curves. "What?" Boris said at last. "Ah've fucked up their plan, big man," she said cheerfully, eyeing Allon and Falco. "They wir gonnae kill yi, and like as not the wee man, and take the dosh themselves." "What?" Boris said again. Amber smiled, and cleared her throat. "Forgive me," she said in her fluting cut-glass tones. "I think your associate planned to kill you and the boy and take the money. His line of questioning suggests as much." She smirked at Allon. "But what nonsense is this?" Boris said. "Why would you say such a thing? And why are you talking like that?" "Sometimes I need to pass for a different sort of girl than I am," she said, in her crisp accent. "But nae point when I'm fuckin' rumbled," she added in her other voice. "Is this ..." Boris said, looking from the girl to Allon in amazement. "She is making it up, surely." "She is lying," said Allon. "Ah'm no," she said. "You kidding me? Yi get the old cunt to get the cash from the elders and haul it oot intae the middle ay fuckin' nowhere, then yi ride out ti meet them just cos it's nice tae be nice? D'you think ma head has buttons up the back?" She was staring at Allon and Falco with contemptuous amusement. But if this is true, thought Norbert, if she is right, why is she saying this? Does she not know they must now kill her? And Boris. And me. "She is lying," said Allon. "We are lucky that we caught her before she made off with the money. She will pay for daring to steal from the king's messengers." "King's messengers," she scoffed. "Don't give me that shite. Yir no more a king's messenger than a king's arse-monkey, ya fuckin' bawbag." Falco snarled, walked over to her quickly and grabbed her around her neck. "What was the plan?" he barked at her. She merely smiled at them all. "Tell us. Before we beat the impertinence out of you." "Plain and simple," she said. "Dress up in the glad-rags, do the wounded deer routine, get to know yi, wait till yi trusted me, then get the cash out of the bags and bury it while yi slept, then go a bit further down the road so yi wouldnae suspect nothin' straight away. Then when yi found the cash was missin', make a big fuss out ay pretendin' to look for it. Then, when yi'd givin' up hope, fuck off, recover the cash and make it to Venceborn before youse cunts figured it oot." Allon drew his sword and pointed it at her face. She looked at it, and at him, and raised her eyebrows. "Put. That. Down," she said calmly. "You had better wipe that smile off your face," he said, visibly angry. "Your plans have come to nothing. Lucky for us we can still tell a thief when we see one, which is more than I can say for some." He glared at Boris, who glared back. She laughed. Allon stared at her. "Yi fucking dowp," she said, "did yi think I'd tell yi ma plan if I thought yi could stop it? I did the hard bit last night." Allon went pale, thrust his sword into his scabbard and ran over to the saddlebags. "The key! Give me the key!" Boris hurried over to him, pulling the key from his pocket and handing it to him, and Allon unlocked the first bag and opened it. He reached inside, and pulled out a cloth bag. He ripped it open, and dull metal discs poured out of it onto the grass. Falco tightened his grip on the girl's throat. She winced and looked briefly annoyed. "Tell us where it is," said Allon. "Tell us where you buried it, or you are a dead woman." "Fuck off," she said. "This is your fault, you bloody fool," said Falco to Boris. "I said we could not trust you to do the job properly." "I'm only tellin' yi all this so's yi know these cunts were gonna take the cash and kill yi both," said Amber, or whoever she was, to Boris. Boris looked angry, dismayed, confused - Norbert knew he must feel mortified not to have realised her treachery, but now he could not trust Allon and Falco, either. "You will shut up," said Falco, twisting her arm up behind her back. "We have had enough of your lies." "Yi don't understand," she said, still maddeningly not panicking at the prospect of the violence they were about to deal her. How can she not be terrified? Norbert thought. "What do I not understand, bitch?" Falco said to her. "Yi better let me go," she said, turning her head to look over her shoulder at him, "or yi'll regret it." "Just shut up," he said. "Warned yi," she said, and before he could stop her, she untwisted her arm from his grip, twisted her head around so that she half-faced him, stuck her fingers down her own throat and vomited. Most of it went over his chest and some of it went in his face. He instinctively slackened his grip on her, crying out with disgust, and even as she coughed up the last of her puke she used her free hand to shove two fingers up his nose and pull. Falco cried out and staggered, blood coming from his nose, and she squirmed out of his grasp, grabbed him and hurled him with startling force into the fire. He yelled and rolled out of it, frantically patting at his smouldering clothing, and she was wiping her mouth and stepping back, keeping her eye on Allon. Allon raised his arm, and in the same instant the girl made a gesture with her left hand, causing a stiff rod to extend itself from her sleeve, and when he threw the knife at her she knocked it out of the air with the rod. It clattered uselessly on the stones. "Thought I told yi to leave the fuckin' shiv," she said. "You are dead," said Allon, and he raced around the fire towards her, drawing his sword. She leaned over backwards, did a backflip and then sprang into the air, grabbing the bough of a tree. She hauled herself up into it before he could get to her and then climbed even higher, out of reach of his sword. Allon swiped at her with the sword, futilely. "Put that down," she said coolly. "Yeah, I'm a thief. I'm no a killer, though. Well, I wouldnae have killed you two, anyway," she added, glancing at Norbert. "These cunts, now, that's a different fuckin' story." She gestured at Allon and Falco. "What," said Boris, thunderstruck. "You're a thief and a lying whore," said Allon. "If you think you're going to get out of here alive, think again. I will burn that tree down with you in it." "Nah," she said, and whistled. Her horse whinnied. Falco ran over to it and then cowered as it reared in the air, its hooves missing his skull by inches, then it broke into a run and came around to the other side of the tree she was in. I tied that horse up, Norbert thought. How did she do that? Allon circled around the tree, his sword drawn, clearly with slaughter on his mind, and the girl scrambled easily through the branches until she was directly above her steed, then dropped down into the saddle. She grabbed the reins and made the horse rear at Allon again, its hoof striking his arm. He dropped the sword and cursed. "Just fuckin' leave it," the girl said. "Pair of fuckin' small-time men. This what yi do when yi can't find nobody ti fight? Rob an old bloke and a kid?" "Coming from you," said Allon, clutching his bruised arm, "that is rich." "Dinnae come that with me, fuckhead," said the girl, unsmiling. "I wasni robbin' them, and well yi know it. They were never gonnae get a groat. Shiv in the throat while they slept, was that the way?" She glanced at Falco and quickly ducked as a bolt whizzed past her head. "Wanker," she said, crossly. "Mind what yi do wi that thing." He slipped another bolt into his pistol crossbow and aimed. She reached into the bag at her waist, pulled something out of it and hurled it into the fire, pulling her hood over her head as she did so. There was a loud bang and a blinding flash. Falco yelled. Norbert was blind; all he could see was a sea of white, and his ears rang. He vaguely heard yells and curses, and when his vision came back, Allon and Falco were both lying on the ground, clutching their heads. The girl was standing in her stirrups, surveying them, the long black rod in her hand. "You call me a thief and a whore," said the girl levelly, looking down at Allon. "I've been both, right enough. In the courts of the nobles ah can pass for a lady. If ah land among priests, ah can seem a novice. And ah can walk intae any bar in the twelve kingdoms and drink any man under the table." She sneered at them. "But you two? Nae matter where yi go, nae matter who yi meet, every cunt's gonnae think yir cunts." Allon rolled over and fumbled for his sword. She reined the horse around, turning it towards the road. "Listen, chaps," the girl said in her posh voice, "thanks for the super hospitality, but I have to say toodle-oo." She looked at Norbert and smiled. "No hard feelings, youth," she said. "I liked our chats. If yi survive these fuckin' numpties I'll maybe see yi on the road." She called to the horse and it broke into a run, and she was gone, apart from the receding sound of hooves. Norbert's ears were still ringing and a huge white blob still floated in his field of vision. Allon was coughing. So was Boris. Norbert's heart gave a lurch. It had all been a lie; there was no Amber. 'Amber' was a part she played, whoever she was. He had thought her a charming, fresh-faced, educated young woman, and all along she was a scheming, foul-mouthed ... And yet, he thought. And yet. She faced down two men bigger than her, and never even pretended to be frightened. Also, I would give much to know how she caused that bang. They all looked at each other, blinking, and then Boris drew his sword. "All this while," said Boris, "you planned to rob us? Eh?" "Don't tell me you believe that whore," said Allon. "I am no longer sure who to believe," said Boris. "The real question is, how offended will you be if my squire and I decide to stay awake all night." "Very much," said Allon, rising stiffly to his feet, looking angry. "I do not like a whore's word being taken over my own." "Then let us discuss the matter no further, but exchange light banter until daybreak, and then make with all speed to Venceborn," said Sir Boris. He was smiling, but Norbert could see that he was very far from amused. "The sooner we conclude this business the better." "I will take that as a personal affront," said Allon. "I'm afraid, sir, that your delicate sensibilities are no longer my foremost concern," said Sir Boris. "I am all for trust, but as the girl has shown, I have been too confident in my own judgment lately, and I intend to take no more chances until we are among civilised folk once more." "What cause have you to take her word against mine?" Allon exclaimed. Boris eyed him, and then glanced at Norbert. "Well, lad?" he said. "Can you see any reason why I should believe the girl over Mister Tanit?" Allon turned to Norbert and glared at him, offended to his core. Norbert wondered for a moment what he was meant to be looking at, and then he saw it, and Falco's angry mutter of "Tanit, you bloody fool," only confirmed it. "You were not at Festeburg," Norbert said. "You call me a liar?" Allon shouted. "I do not," said Norbert, "but the king's herald's tattoos do not come off when they are splashed with wine." Allon looked down at his partly open shirtfront. The wine the girl had spilled on him had caused the 'tattoos' on Allon's chest to smudge - only a little, but noticeably. His sigils, his battle honours, his dark words about the unspeakable horror of Festeburg: all a lie. Allon looked up, and Norbert could see that he knew that it was all up. "Not bad, boy," said Allon. "Not bad." "I'm disgusted," said Boris. "Two of the king's men, turned common robbers." "We were never of the king's party," said Falco. "We fought with the Duke." "Traitors!" Boris cried. "I have been a blind fool, indeed. So you admit you were never at Festeburg." Freyas Saga Ch. 21 "Of course not," Allon scoffed. "But it's amazing how you can convince people. A few dark hints and heavy silences." "You won't get away with it," said Boris. "We have," said Allon, "and we are." He went in with an attack, and despite the wine and the lateness of the hour, Boris was quick to parry him, and had little difficulty in beating him back. Then Boris gained the initiative, and Allon was forced to defend himself while Allon battered him, pushing him around and around the dying fire. Allon cursed as Boris' force and power prevented him, again and again, from launching a counter-attack of his own. Norbert did not know much about swordplay but he could tell when someone was doing well. Allon finally managed to halt Boris long enough to make a swing, and Boris parried, went in, swung, came up against Allon's sword, then swung again and succeeded in cutting Allon on the arm. They both stopped, breathing heavily. "Yield," Boris said sharply, "and I may show you mercy." "For god's sake," said Falco, and he lifted the pistol crossbow and shot Boris in the ankle. Boris gasped with pain, looking up in surprise and shock, and Allon lunged forward and stabbed him in the stomach. Boris fell over in the dirt. And, just like that, it was over. Norbert's heart was pounding. He ran over to Boris and examined him where he lay on the grass. "Why couldn't you have done that sooner?" Allon said to Falco. "I thought it would be interesting to see if he could best you," said Falco. "He's cut my fucking arm." Boris sat on the grass, gasping, and he coughed, and blood came out of his mouth. He looked helpless. "Are you all right?" Norbert said, but he knew the answer. "Not my finest hour, lad," said Boris, looking dazed, but he managed a smile. "But you'll get better," said Norbert. He turned on Allon and Falco. "You cheated," he said. "It was a duel. You had no right to interfere." "Shut up," said Falco, and he walked over to Boris, leaned over and pulled the bolt out of Boris's ankle. Boris gasped and coughed. "This entire jaunt has been nothing but a waste of fucking time," said Falco sourly as he wiped the bolt on his coat and reloaded it into the crossbow. "I'm inclined to agree," Allon said. He looked down at the old knight and the boy on the grass. Norbert felt dizzy. Everything was moving too fast. One minute they had been having a pleasant meal with a girl beneath the stars, and then the men had come, and the girl had been unmasked and had escaped, and his master had started a fight, and had lost, and now it was all slipping away from him. He clutched Boris's hand to feel more safe. "Any last words," said Allon to Boris. "Never mind about me," said Boris, "spare the boy." "What use have we for a small boy," said Allon. "Even one who can 'make things'." He looked down at them with undisguised contempt. "He's done nothing to harm you, and he's clever," said Boris, and coughed up more blood. "All the more reason to take him with you." "All the more reason to kill him, I'd have said," said Allon. "Tell him to stop making that noise, first," said Falco. Norbert realised he was rocking back and forth. Boris squeezed his hand. "Have to be brave now," he said, "there's a good chap." Norbert stroked it. "Don't die, uncle," he said. "Just, hang on. Nobody has to die." "Bit late, lad," said Boris, patting his hand. "Think this is me gone, to tell the truth." "No," said Norbert. "No." "Oh god, stop crying," said Allon. "Say your goodbyes." "You don't have to go, you know," Boris whispered. "You're bright. You'll think of something." Norbert stared at the rumpled face he knew so well, the knight he found so irritating and yet who'd been the one fixed point in his life for so many years. Wherever Boris was, was home. But the old man was dying, and there would be nowhere for Norbert to be. "I can't," he said. "You can," said Boris. "You don't want to die. Trust me. Go on. Use that noggin of yours." And then Norbert saw it. Whether it was what Boris had in mind, he didn't know; but it meant living. He turned around and wiped his eyes and looked up at Allon. "Wait," he said. "I can make things." "I know," said Allon. "I don't care." "I can make things you can use," said Norbert. "Poisons." Allon paused. "Poisons, you say?" "Yes. I can make them. It's easy. I can make a poison that'll kill a man in the time it takes to tell you about it. Just ... Don't kill him." "Lad," said Allon, "he's going to die either way. So are you, unless you can prove you're not lying." Boris nodded his head yes, and gave Norbert a weak smile. "I'm not," said Norbert, and wiped his eyes again. "Look ... All right. All right." He looked at Boris, who looked back at him fondly, and he held the old man's hand tight. "Let me do it," said Norbert. "Let me kill him." He looked from Boris to Allon. "I can give him something that'll just make him slip away," he said. "No pain." Allon looked at Boris. Boris stopped smiling. "No pain," he said, and coughed up more blood. "That would be rather splendid. What does it taste like?" "It's dissolved in brandy," said Norbert, weeping. "Better and better," said Boris. "I like this plan. And if it works, you'll let him live?" Falco stood stroking his chin, and looking at Allon. Abruptly, he shrugged. "If it works," said Allon, "he's rarer than gold. Certainly we'll let him live." "Excellent," said Boris, and coughed up more blood. "I know you are not men of your word, but you'd have to be even stupider than you've shown yourselves to be, to throw a chap away who could do that." "Don't push it, old fool," said Allon. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Norbert raced over to his pack and took out his case. It was a large wooden box with a hinged lid and many compartments. He brought it over to Boris and placed it on the ground and opened it. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for: a small crystal vial full of a clear bronze liquid. "That it," Boris gasped, his face grey with pain, but still smiling hopefully. "Yes," said Norbert. "All right then," said Boris. "Well, suppose I should give you some advice." "Yes," said Norbert. "Fucking get on with it," Falco muttered. Allon made an impatient gesture at him. "Don't know what to say, really," Boris whispered. "Be a good lad. First chance you get, find better company than these two, and be a loyal friend. Um ... help the weak. Don't drink too much. You know the sort of -" He had a fit of coughing and his face twisted with agony. "Could use a bit of that slipping away, now, lad," he gasped. "Yes, sir," said Norbert, crying. He lifted the vial to Boris's lips. "Goodbye, uncle," he said, and poured it into Boris's mouth. Boris drank, and after a moment, he relaxed, his whole body easing, and he stopped gasping for breath, and smiled. "Good lord," he said. "You weren't making it up about sl -" He paused, staring into space for a moment. They waited. He didn't move. Norbert stared down at him, knowing the truth. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. After a long moment, Allon leaned over and picked up Boris's wrist. He held it for a moment, then dropped it. "Impressive," he said. "You're hired. Just one thing." He took the vial off Norbert, put the stopper back in it and placed it in the case, then he closed the case and held out his hand. "The key," he said. Norbert handed it to him. Allon locked the case and tucked it under his arm. "I think we're going to be very successful," he said. *** They rode back the way Norbert, Boris and Amber had come, but the horses were tired and they couldn't risk tiring them further. When they finally reached the site where the three had camped, it was late in the morning of the following day and Norbert was hollow-eyed with exhaustion. After a lot of searching, they found a patch where there was soil in the grass. Allon lifted a giant divot and uncovered broken-up soil. They dug, and after some minutes they found a small, cheap wooden box. Inside was a rolled-up piece of paper. Allon unrolled it, read the inscription on it, glanced at Norbert, muttered "Fucking bitch," and dropped it on the ground. Falco picked up the divot and hurled it at the nearest tree. Norbert quietly picked up the scroll and slipped it into his pocket. They ate - Allon and Falco had commandeered the supplies Boris had made Norbert buy - and then they lay down to sleep, Falco with his arms around Norbert's chest of herbs and elixirs. Norbert felt frozen with grief and tiredness. As he lay wrapped in his bedroll, he pulled the scoll out of his pocket, unrolled it and peered at it. It was in a graceful, loping, educated hand, which belied the bluntness of the message: 2 SLOW CUNTS! Norbert stared at it. The first time I fall in love, he thought, and it is with someone who does not exist. A creation, made by someone who cared so little for me that she was willing to use me. Why did she write '2' instead of 'too'? Because she could not spell? But nobody who could write in a hand like that could not also spell. He tried to think of what she had said to him. Mocking him. 'I liked our chats.' No, you did not. I bored you. You just wanted the money. Or maybe she meant it literally. Maybe she meant that two of the three of them were slow, and the other one not. Maybe she meant it as a message to him. Maybe she really did like him. But she was not a pretty lady-in-waiting with a merry laugh; she was a smirking thief, hood-eyed and ruthless. Not totally ruthless. She hurt them, not me. She probably thought I would not try to hurt her. She was right there. He eyed the sleeping men. I will make you pay, he thought. - Well. I killed Boris. Not them. - But they wounded him. He would have died. I merely sped him along. - Yes. You tell yourself that. Norbert lay on the grass and stared into space for a long time.