by Denali Day
The common area, typically lit in the soft glow of a half-dozen fires, was now illuminated by an enormous pyre in the center of the open cave. Joselyn’s face burned from the heat. She took her seat a good distance away upon one of the many stone benches rearranged around the bonfire, making it the new focal point of the enormous space.
Joselyn threw her damp braid over her shoulder as she sat, glad to have washed the day’s grime away in the hot springs. She watched as Dokiri men, women, and children filed their way into the common area from their boks or from outside the cave’s sheltering roof. The amber glow of a hundred torches filled in the periphery of the cave, making the faces of the clansmen as easy to see at night as they would be in the day. Joselyn nodded to the many who greeted her, though she didn’t return the feminine gesture they used.
Where was Hollen? In the time since she’d arrived, Joselyn hadn’t been left alone for more than a brief moment, a fact that made planning her escape inconvenient, to say the least. Though he was a busy man, Hollen was relentless in his attentions.
His hours were filled with introducing her to clan members, offering her a variety of new foods, explaining the rules to various games the Dokiri children played, and guiding her on tours of the village’s complex tunnel system. When Hollen’s duties drew him away, he always made sure to assign her a “companion” who’d pick up wherever he’d left off in teaching her about Bedmeg and its people.
More like a guard.
Joselyn sighed and leaned on one propped hand. If she was going to escape, she’d need provisions, weapons, and privacy. None of these was forthcoming. She was going to have to be crafty.
“M-mu Saliga.”
Joselyn looked up to see Lavinia and another woman named Rosemary. They greeted her in the Dokiri fashion. Joselyn smiled.
“Ladies. Please, come sit with me.”
Rosemary, who was as boisterous as she was beautiful, plopped down to Joselyn’s right, leaving enough room for Lavinia to sit between them. Rosemary was a Morhageese peasant woman from a province south of Fury’s lands of Tirvine. When Joselyn met her, she’d been hopeful that a woman like her, one who understood what a man like Marcus Fury could offer, would be willing to provide some form of assistance. She couldn’t have been more wrong, and Rosemary was quick to let her know it.
“Maybe a fancy lady like you don’t see it this way,” she’d said, her hands planted on her hips, “but the world down there don’t hold anything for a woman like me. If it did, I’d be long gone by now.”
The brunette woman held herself with a sort of defensive pride, as though she were afraid Joselyn might be tempted to look down upon her. Joselyn had put a soft hand on the other woman, who’d raised her chin stiffly.
“I’m glad you’ve found your home in this place. It’s just that Bedmeg isn’t mine. Please, if you know a way that a woman might leave this place, share it with me.”
Rosemary’s brow had wrinkled and she was silent a moment. “I imagine a lady like you could barely get along without servants and the like. But give it time. You might surprise the both of us.”
Her response had been as helpful than any other Joselyn had received from the Dokiri women. Apparently no one in the damned place was capable of pity. Still, it would do no good to make enemies. As Lavinia also settled on the bench, Joselyn did her best to engage them both in companionable conversation.
“Tell me, what does a Dokiri feast consist of?”
“Dancing of course!” Rosemary said, “And drinking.”
Lavinia nodded, smiling. “Yes, mu Saliga. The . . .men will take up the call to begin the dance. Afterward there will be a s-sacrifice and then the women will take their t-turn.”
“Gotta take turns to start with, or we’ll all end up back in our boks before the moon rises.” Rosemary laughed. She gripped the bench and leaned a little too far across Lavinia’s lap to speak. Clearly she’d begun the night’s drinking a bit early. She wasn’t the only one.
All around people were filing their horns with wine malted from fungus. Hollen said the mushroom also produced the purple dye that adorned many of the wool dresses the Dokiri women wore. She’d yet to taste it herself—she doubted it could be all that appetizing. Still, the women seemed to think so. Many an ivory bangle was already stained purple from the enthusiastic sloshing of overfilled horns.
The children were in just as high of spirits as their parents. As though unable to contain their excitement for the night ahead, most were busy either engaging in, or spectating wrestling matches. Several fathers sat at a distance, appearing to gamble upon one boy or the other, their heads nodding appreciatively at the victor of each round. Soren was among them. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed upon Volo as he grappled with a slightly larger boy. Another man stood with him, one Joselyn hadn’t seen before. She would have remembered. The jagged scar stretching across his cheek would be impossible to forget.
At the edge of the cave Joselyn watched as several men, including Magnus, carried in what appeared to be drums. Two were wider across than Magnus was tall. With help, he arranged their surfaces to face each other and then stood between them. He took up two bone stick batons as thick as Joselyn’s arms and struck the hide stretched across one of the deep barrels. The cavern echoed with the thundering noise.
A thrill of excitement rose among the people as all eyes shot to the natural platform where more drummers took up their positions. They, too, struck their drums once as though in response to Magnus. The men were all shirtless, as though they anticipated some great labor ahead. They stood with their bare feet spread wide in an unbreakable stance.
Joselyn jumped when she heard a masculine voice scream into the night. It was a long, drawn-out cry that rose in pitch before plummeting at the end. All around her, the Dokiri cheered. Many thrust open palms upward as they shouted, “Mu Salig!”
Joselyn looked up. Hollen stood near the drummers on a raised piece of ground several feet above the general crowd. He, too, was shirtless and barefoot. Again he screamed, and this time a string of Dokiri words poured out of his mouth as he did. Beside her, Lavinia and Rosemary joined in the answering call. Magnus and his fellow drummers began striking their instruments in a steady rhythm. Slow at first, then gaining momentum.
“What’s happening?” Joselyn asked, shouting to be heard by her bench mates over the rising din.
Lavinia leaned close. “Atu hatu is m-making the call for his warriors to b-begin the dance.”
Sure enough, the men gathered at the center of the cave around the great fire. Those whose chests were not already bare stripped their garments before joining in. Each warrior’s idadi was on full display, dozens of intricate scar patterns glowing in the flamelight.
Hollen called out again. His deep voice somehow managed to climb over the clashing drums. The Dokiri men cried out their answer and, in unison, they began a dance like nothing Joselyn had ever seen. Like the drummers, the men took wide stances as they beat their fists against their chests near their shoulders. Together they squatted toward the earth, hissing as they did.
Joselyn shook as a great lowing noise bellowed throughout the cave. She could feel the vibration through her boots. The noise was so foreboding that for a moment, it seemed like the booming voice of some vengeful god. Lavinia took hold of her arm and pointed to a place high up, near the roof of the cave. There stood a Dokiri man blowing into an impossibly large horn that coiled along the roof of the cave and opened at the center just above the firepit.
The dancing men reclaimed her attention as they called out to Hollen in their guttural language. He answered them in turn, beating his fists upon his chest. He was pointedly avoiding his tanshi mark. Joselyn brought her hand up to finger the area above her own healing mark.
The women and children cheered from the sidelines, frantic with enthusiasm as the men leapt into the air, then landed on their knees upon the packed dust below them. They pounded their fists into the ground as they shouted, their voices rising i
n time with the drumming that was now so loud, Joselyn felt it in her chest.
“What are they saying?” Joselyn shouted into Lavinia’s ear, hoping the other woman could hear.
Lavinia leaned in. “M-mu Salig . . .calls to the Dokiri. He a-asks, ‘Sons of R-Regna, who among you would ride by . . .my side even unto the throat of the . . .e-earth?’ ”
Lavinia strained with the effort it took to translate. Joselyn could tell from the frantic sweeping of her gaze that she was falling behind. Beside Lavinia, Rosemary stood from the bench and took a spot on Joselyn’s other side. She grabbed Joselyn around the arm and tugged her away from Lavinia so that she could speak in her ear.
“His warriors answer, ‘To the throat of the earth and into its bowels I would follow my Salig.’ ”
Joselyn glanced at Lavinia. The Ebronian sat, back straight, and stared into the crowd with a tight expression. Had her feelings been hurt? Maybe she was relieved? Joselyn leaned back toward Rosemary and strained to hear as the dance and its accompanying doxology continued.
“Mu Salig replies, ‘And as the mountain purges its darkness into the world, how will you stem the tide?’ His warriors say, ‘My wings I pledge. My axe I pledge. My bow I pledge. My fists I pledge.’ ”
Again the horn above them bellowed. Upon the stone dais, Joselyn watched as the drummers slowed their pace a moment, only to resume with heightened ferocity once the horn’s last echoes had faded. The musicians did more than simply play. They danced along with the rest of the Dokiri in a style all their own, banging their heads with each mighty stroke of their powerful arms. Magnus’s long hair whipped in every direction as he alternated between the massive drums on either side of him. Joselyn wondered at the energy required to keep up such a display.
“ ‘Would you wash the earth clean with your own blood, even unto death?’ ” Rosemary continued, translating first for Hollen and then for his men, “ ‘My own blood I would let flow, even until my body runs dry.’ ”
“ ‘Be there anything you would withhold from your mother, Helig?’ ” Joselyn almost missed the last bit. She pressed her ear against Rosemary’s mouth to hear, “ ‘The blood of my sons will stain the mountain red before the mother be defiled.’ ”
Joselyn’s eyes widened and she yanked away from Rosemary, bumping into Lavinia. All around, the Dokiri boys shouted in eager acknowledgement of their fathers’ pledges. Their fists pounded into the air. Even their mothers ululated their approval. Joselyn’s mouth hung open as she watched the spectacle, which had taken an unimaginably morbid turn. And yet the riotous cries only grew in ferocity and fervor.
Joselyn missed the next several lines exchanged between her captor and his people. It wasn’t until Rosemary wrapped her arm around Joselyn’s shoulders to pull her in close that she resumed listening.
“ ‘And will you serve my Saliga, even as you serve me?’ ”
All at once, a hundred pairs of eyes fell upon her. The mass of Dokiri warriors turned to face her end of the cave. They jumped to their knees.Their shoulders pulsed heavily as they hovered half-bent over the ground. “ ‘My life is my Saliga’s, even as I am pledged to my Salig.’ ”
Joselyn went straight and still as a statue, bringing Rosemary up a few inches as well. She held her breath, shocked to be the subject of the savage display. Mercifully, Hollen was making the next call within seconds. With that, his warriors were back to facing their Salig. Joselyn let out the air she’d been holding.
The dance went on for several more minutes. Despite her never-ending shock at these people’s obsession with blood, Joselyn listened to Rosemary’s translations until at last, the drummers sounded a final, thundering beat. The clan cried their appreciation for the musicians, dancers, and their Salig.
The echoing din subsided, and the warriors who had brides returned to them for horns of water and wine. Those who’d yet to claim a woman retrieved their own refreshment. Beside her, Lavinia and Rosemary stood as their husbands approached. Their idadi scars shone brightly beneath reflective layers of perspiration. They grinned at their wives, who tilted wine past the men’s parted lips.
After three days, her shock at such displays of intimacy was beginning to wane. They were constant in Bedmeg, so unlike her life at Fury Keep. Joselyn was certain she’d never seen her own parents touch, let alone kiss or pet. Warmth gathered in her belly. What would it feel like?
She forced her gaze away. It fell instead upon the blade that Lavinia wore at her hip. Up close, Joselyn noticed the elaborate level of detail carved into its ivory hilt. She squinted, trying to make out the tiny images. The men moved back toward the fire and the women took their seats.
“It’s a beautiful blade.” Joselyn gestured to her new friend’s gneri blade. “May I see it?”
Lavinia smiled and pulled the dagger from its leather sheath. She folded the edge into her arm and handed Joselyn the hilt. A fine image of an openmouthed gegatu graced one side of the hilt, with its expansive wings and winding tail covering the reverse. Joselyn brushed a fingertip over the tiny ridges. She’d have known by touch alone what the image was.
“Exquisite.” Joselyn gave an appreciative nod.
“Soren is a very s-skilled carver. He could put the artisans of the G-Golden Court to sh-shame.”
Rosemary leaned hard against Joselyn’s side. “My Ragnar couldn’t carve a straight line to save his own life. I haven’t let him add to his idadi in years. That’d be my job now, it is.”
Joselyn edged away as Rosemary drew out the blade she wore at her own hip. “Anyway, guess I’m stuck with this ugly thing now. Pity he didn’t have your Soren work the handle for him.”
Rosemary held the knife out toward Lavinia as if to show her. It veered, of course, nearly slicing Joselyn’s arm. Lavinia snapped up Rosemary’s wrist. “P-put that away before you take . . .someone’s nose off!”
“Well, well, the stuttering stark be quicker than a slithering snake!”
Joselyn tensed. Stark were a type of white bird whose call indeed sounded like a shrill stutter. Would Lavinia be offended? Both women laughed. An easy smile shone on Lavinia’s round face. Perhaps not.
Joselyn thought of the gneri blade she’d spent the past three nights sleeping with. Earlier that morning, she had asked Hollen if the celestial scenes etched into the surface were of his own design. He’d smiled, pleased by her interest, and confirmed her suspicion before putting the blade away, just as he had every morning before leaving the bok. He hadn’t yet forced her to make use of the weapon.
Why would a barbarian, who considered himself wed, not take his pleasure inside her body? Surely he thought he had every right to do so. Perhaps there was some rule of his backward culture that prevented him? Perhaps every Dokiri warrior presented his bride with a weapon for that very reason. It seemed far-fetched, but then so did everything else about this place.
Joselyn scanned the open cave. Her eyes fell upon the belted gneri blades of each Dokiri hamma. From the corner of her eye, she stared at the drinking women next to her. How to broach this subject?
“Perhaps Hollen received instruction from your husband, Lavinia. The blade he gave me is quite lovely, as well.”
Rosemary choked on her wine, spitting half the drink back into her horn. Lavinia turned to her and patted the brunette woman’s back. Still coughing, Rosemary locked her watering eyes onto Joselyn, her expression incredulous.
“He gave you a gneri blade?” She reached across Lavinia’s lap to bat at the knife Joselyn held. “One of these?”
Joselyn nodded. What was so upsetting about that?
“T-time for some water . . .Rosemary. Tomorrow you’ll complain if you're too d-drunk for dancing.” Lavinia stood the woman up and ushered her toward the water trough. Rosemary grunted, but obeyed.
“I thought it was the Dokiri way to give their brides a gneri blade,” Joselyn said as Lavinia retook her seat.
“Yes, mu Saliga. That is c-correct.” Lavinia appeared unsettled. Her eyes fell on her blade
and Joselyn quickly returned the fine item.
What did I say?
A sick feeling crawled into her belly as she considered the possibility that their husbands had not been so quick to supply their brides with a means to defend themselves. Perhaps Soren and Ragnar had not been so willing as Hollen to take a chaste vow for the benefit of their brides.
“You…didn’t receive your blade for some time after arriving?” Joselyn asked, her voice low and careful.
Lavinia’s eyes didn’t meet Joselyn’s. She shook her head as she resheathed the knife. “No.”
Joselyn’s skin went cold as she imagined sweet Lavinia being dragged into Soren’s bok night after night until she’d come to accept her fate. The thought didn’t seem natural when compared with the many moments she’d seen the two embracing, as though they couldn’t have dreamed of a better life for themselves. But then, after nine years of captivity, who could say what a woman would begin to believe of the man who held her? Who could say what she would begin to believe of herself?
Joselyn put a hand over Lavinia’s, which rested on the bench between them. The Ebronian woman shot Joselyn a dubious look just as the beat of the drums resumed their swell. The cheering drew Joselyn’s attention back toward the fire. Hollen was now dancing along with his warriors. Joselyn sucked in a breath.
He was a spectacular dancer. His body moved with as much grace as it did ferocity. He would leap high into the air, only to land so smoothly upon his knees that the following rise looked like one fluid motion. As the other dancers, he held his open palms high near either side of his face, shouting as he pumped them forward and back, his head rocking in time. Joselyn had been amazed before. Now she was transfixed.
No one moved quite like him, and she wasn’t the only one who noticed. At some point, the other warriors stepped away from their Salig, eager to give him space to display the full extent of his skill. The area they’d opened was conspicuously in front of where she and Lavinia sat.
Hollen caught her eyes near the end, and it was all she could do not to shuffle her gaze away like a guilty voyeur. He grinned, every bit aware of his appeal.
