by Lee Savino
A knock sounded on the heavy wooden door. The whole sanctuary shook. I crouched lower and prayed faster. But the knock sounded again, and cracks ran down the flagstones. Above my head, the sanctuary roof cracked, letting in the light. Stones fell and dust rained down.
The voices of warriors rose and fell beyond the door. They were coming. They could not be stopped.
Please, I begged the Virgin Mother, but she was silent. The building shook and the door came down. Heavy footsteps sounded, but I could not turn or run. I was frozen like the statue, staring at the Virgin Mother face.
Tears poured from her eyes. Her small stone hand, raised in blessing, cracked and fell. I screamed as the entire statue crumbled.
My eyes snapped open. I lay in a cloud formed from the softest furs, suffocating in the heat. I clawed at the heavy robe, and the fur shifted, fell away. I felt it rumble something in sleep. I pushed at the solid fur wall, then jerked my hand away.
There was a large wolf on the bed. White with flecks of tawny brown.
I twisted and met another slumbering shape of dark fur.
Not one wolf, but two. Sleeping heavily as if enchanted.
I sat up slowly, but they didn’t stir. We were in the large bed, in the new lodge Jarl and Fenrir had built.
In the hearth pit, the fire had died. Along the walls were stacks of firewood. And hung in the doorway was a dead deer. The warriors had spent the night working then, and gone on a hunt. No wonder they were tired.
Inch by inch, I left the blissful warmth and wriggled off the bed. Other than the odd twitching ear, the wolves didn’t stir.
I bit my lip. Slowly I tugged the robe Fenrir had given me, freeing it from under the white wolf’s paws. It was a heavy pelt. Not perfect, but it’d help fend off the cold.
This was my chance to escape. Maybe my last chance.
Outside the sky was slate grey. Snowflakes danced in the air, their fine white powder dusting the ground.
This was foolishness. I could not escape.
My bare toes curled, already stiff from the chilled ground. I would not last a journey in a snowstorm. Even the deer was already frozen, its blood congealed in a pool below its head.
I stared out at the frigid landscape, wishing I had wings to fly away.
Warmth hit my back a second before a tattooed arm curled around my chest. Jarl pulled me against him. His scent surrounded me—smoke and pine and another faint essence, like the smell of the air after a storm. Magic. The strange smell pricked my nose, fading as Jarl nuzzled the back of my neck with his bearded face.
“Come back to bed,” he murmured against my skin.
I was panting as if I’d run up a mountain. “I cannot.”
“You must. You are cold.”
“No,” I protested, but he was already drawing me backward. Somehow, he ended up before me and I turned my face away. Other than his dark tattoos and a piece of leather slung around his hips, he was naked. The cold nor my embarrassment didn’t seem to bother him. He set me on the bed and knelt to examine my feet.
“Woman, you have no boots.” His thumbs brushed the dirt and ash from the balls of my feet. My toes scrunched, first with the cold, then with pleasure as he massaged the tension out of me.
A strange wind lifted my hair, filling the lodge with the scent of rain. Then Fenrir was at my back, pulling me further onto the bed and into his arms. I tried to draw my legs in and roll away, but Fenrir squeezed me, gently but firm enough to hold me in place. At my feet, Jarl growled and gripped my feet. His strong hands massaged up my frozen calves.
“Please,” I wriggled to face Fenrir. His long hair streamed over me, a black curtain. He was most assuredly naked too. I dared not look down. “We shouldn’t lie like this, we can’t—”
“Shhhh.” He set a finger to my lips, then traced it over my brow. “There’s a storm out there. We hunted last night, and there’s plenty of wood. No reason to leave.”
“I shouldn’t be here.” It was hard to argue when Jarl’s fingers stroked magic up my legs. My thin shift was no barrier to either of them.
“Mmm,” Fenrir didn’t seem to hear. He was too intent on smoothing the line of my jaw, brushing back my hair.
I was drowning. Already my eyes were heavy, my body warm and sinking into the pleasurable, dreamlike sensations.
From faraway, I heard myself murmur, “I can’t do this. I can’t be what you want.”
“You do not know what we want,” Fenrir murmured. His thumb teased my lips. When I opened my mouth to speak, he slid a long finger inside, and then another. His two fingers invaded my mouth while I sucked, my eyes wide.
“Shhhh,” he soothed. His two fingers stroked my tongue, and I felt the echo of their touch between my legs.
Meanwhile, warm breath curled over my ankle. Jarl gripped my feet, nibbling gently up my leg. My core contracted in anticipation and I closed my eyes. What was happening? Who was I?
A cold gust blew straight into the lodge, strong enough to send the deer swaying. Both warriors rose, cursing. Jarl went to secure the meat, and Fenrir followed, muttering something about needing a door and a fire.
And I lost all my sense.
Grabbing the nearest pelt, I scrambled off the bed, threw it around my shoulders, and dashed to the back of the lodge and out the door.
The cold hit me like a stone wall. I cried out and staggered, hissing as the cold sliced my skin. The frozen ground was like knives on my bare feet.
I’d gone no further than the edge of the clearing before shouts followed me.
“Juliet! Juliet!”
I crashed into the brush, mindless. I had no more wits than a frightened pheasant, flying up before the hunter. I half ran, half fell down the rise.
A white shape flew into my path and landed in front of me. I scrambled back from the white wolf blocking my path.
Then a strong arm clamped around my chest. “Got you,” Jarl snarled. I struggled, but his arm tightened like an iron band. Then he tossed me up into his arms and ran back up the mountain.
Back in the lodge, the warmth smacked me in the face. Jarl plopped me on the bed again, but remained, gripping my shoulders.
“You little fool,” he shook me. My teeth were already chattering, but my heart leaped in fear. “What were you thinking? Running out into a storm? With no boots?”
The white wolf slipped inside and barked.
“She needs to think,” Jarl snapped at the wolf before turning back to me. “Is your god so cruel he would have you to die before you submit to us?”
I was sobbing, my chest tight with strain. This morning, last night, the past few months all weighed on my understanding.
The wolf growled, its white fur standing on end. It stalked forward on stiff front legs, its teeth bared at the warrior.
“You talk to her, then,” Jarl raged. And he stomped out of the lodge.
I crumpled on the bed, curling into a ball. My feet ached. My nose stung as if the tip had nearly frozen off. And my heart was a pile of ash. I felt like the statue in my dream, cracked from head to toe. One blow and I would shatter.
A huge shadow sailed over me, landing on the bed. The white wolf used its bulk to shift the pelts over me, then lay down. Its fur was chilled from the air, but I sank my hands in it anyway.
“I never asked for this,” I warbled. I sounded pitiful, crying like a child. But I was lost. I felt small and fragile as a leaf, fallen from the tree into a great river, instantly swept away. I was drowning and my feet would never again touch the ground.
The wolf turned its great head toward me. After a while, it licked my face clean of tears with its broad, pink tongue.
“What am I going to do?” I clung to the wolf’s neck, burying my face into its thick pelt.
It was a long time before Jarl returned. By then Fenrir had cut down the deer and butchered it, lashed a few tree trunks together to lean against the entrance as a makeshift door, and built up a fire. I’d slept in the bed again, waking with a start when
Jarl stomped in.
Jarl threw down a brace of dead pheasants, glowering at everything and nothing. I shrank into the bedding.
Jarl stopped before me, tossing a few long strips of leather onto the bed.
“Run again and I will hobble you,” he said, looking pointedly at the leather ties. I glared down at them. What more could I do?
Fenrir set about plucking and spitting the pheasants to roast over the fire. Jarl stomped to the wood pile and started savagely thrusting logs into the fire.
Fenrir glanced at me, his mouth twisting in sympathy. “He is angry because you allowed yourself to suffer so long.”
“What would I have done?”
“You could’ve come to us,” Jarl said, slamming the last log down in a shower of sparks. “You belong with us.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “I belong to god.”
Jarl stood and stretched out his arms. “Then why hasn’t he saved you?”
Before I knew it, I’d flown off the bed and risen on tiptoe to scream in his face. “If you’re so strong, why didn’t you throw me down and take me when we first met? On the lawn of the abbey, in the light of the torches.”
Gold shone in his eyes. “Is that what you wanted?”
“No!”
“Isn’t it?” he crowded me backwards to the bed. “Why do you defy us? Why do you defy your nature?”
“Because it is not my nature. Or if it is, it is sinful and unholy.”
“Who told you this?” Fenrir asked. He crouched by the fire, adjusting the cooking spit.
“The priest.”
“Priests,” Jarl scoffed. “Weak men who make rules others must follow.”
“They are not weak—” I protested.
“They are. They made these rules to bind you.” He snatched up the leather strips of the bed into his clenched fist, and shook it under my nose. “We are Berserkers. We are bound by nothing, least of all words chanted by puny priests.”
I clenched my fists to keep from hitting him. “I am still bound.”
“Yes, you are, little nun. And we will not let you leave. Push me, and I’ll tie you to the frame.” He threw the bonds on the bed and turned away, muttering. “I should punish you for running.”
“Do it then,” I spat.
I never saw him move. I ended up on my stomach, face pressed into the soft furs. Jarl’s hard hand clamped on the back of my neck while the other jerked up my shift. I bellowed into the bed, clawing the pelts, writhing like an eel. His palm cracked down on my bare skin and I screamed. I kicked, but he smacked me again.
He knelt on the bed, capturing my flailing arms easily behind my back. “Is this what you wanted?”
I yelled and got a mouthful of fur. His palm caught the bottom of my buttocks and beat a tattoo on either cheek, painting them with pain. After a while, I stopped fighting and gripped the furs, surrendered to my punishment.
Jarl stopped to fondle my heated backside, and I held my breath, my heart pounding against the bed.
“I should’ve done this moons ago,” he murmured, sounding calmer. His fingers dipped lower, straying close to a place no one had ever touched. Pleasure prickled in my belly, the feeling intense in contrast to my stinging bottom. There was the slightest touch to my tender folds, and then I wrenched away, flinging myself across the bed.
Jarl let me go. I rolled and drew the furs up to my neck. I expected to see him smirking, but instead he stood staring at the two fingers he’d used to touch me. “You’re wet.”
“No.” My bottom throbbed and my core pulsed in reply. I grabbed a huge bear rug and dragged it over me. I was covered head to toe, but it was meager protection if the warrior decided to pounce.
But Jarl stayed where he was. He bent his head and sniffed his fingers before closing his mouth over them and sucking hard. He held my gaze the whole time. “Do not worry, Juliet. We will not give you pleasure. Not until you beg.”
“I will never beg.”
“Be careful, Juliet.” His growl sounded like a threat. “You should not be so quick to vow what you do not—”
“Enough.” Fenrir’s deep voice echoed through the lodge. He rose from his crouch by the fire spit, dusting off his hands. “The meat is done. It’s time to eat.”
“Fine.” Jarl stomped to the fire.
I burrowed into the pelts, wondering how long I could hide.
“Juliet?” Fenrir called. He was at the foot of the bed with a plate of half a pheasant.
My stomach growled.
“Come out,” Jarl waved. “I call truce.”
“Truce,” I agreed, and slid out, wincing at the soreness in my bottom. I sat on the edge of the big bed and let my legs dangle as I picked the hot meat off the bones. The men sat on stumps around the fire.
For a while it was peaceful. Nothing but the crackling fire and snow falling beyond the makeshift door.
“You like pheasant?” Fenrir asked.
“I like food.” I lifted a wing and tore the meat off it. I sucked the bones clean of grease and cleaned my fingers. When I raised my head, I realized both warriors had stopped eating to watch me. They sat so still, they reminded me of wolves on the hunt.
I set the plate aside, flushing. “This is good, thank you. We did not eat much meat in the abbey.”
“You did not have much in the abbey,” Fenrir did not ask a question.
“No. I was an orphan. And then I took a vow of poverty.”
Jarl leaned forward and spat bones into the fire. “Why?”
I glared at him. “I wished to serve God.”
Jarl shook his head, muttering to himself.
“We don’t understand,” Fenrir said softly.
“Of course you don’t,” I burst out. “You don’t even try.”
“Tell us, then. Tell us of your god.”
My mouth dropped open a moment before I found my voice. “You wish to know of my God?”
Jarl shrugged. “We have many. There is room for one more.” He stretched out his legs.
I licked my lips. “There is but one god.”
“Oh?” Jarl went to the cask in the corner and poured a horn of mead. He didn’t seem overly interested but when I hesitated, he nodded for me to go on.
“He made all the world, and everything in it.” I shifted in my seat. My bottom still prickled from my punishment.
“And how did he make it?”
“He spoke words.” My own words came out quavery and unsure. “He spoke the world into being. He said “Light” and there was light.”
“Words? He sounds like a priest.” Jarl put the horn to his lips and drained it.
I twisted my hands together. “You are mocking me.”
“Never,” Fenrir said. He stroked his dark beard. “You gave yourself to this god, yes? Pledged your fealty?”
“I made vows. Holy vows.” Could it be possible? Would they really listen to me? Perhaps I could convince them of my intent to hold myself apart from the world. To remain pure.
Perhaps I could convince them to let me go.
“You are a priestess,” Fenrir said. “Did you lead the holy ceremonies?”
“No. The abbess did, at times. My role was to serve. To work and pray and live a worthy life.”
“Why?” Jarl asked.
“Why?” I repeated, not understanding.
“Why would you do this?” Jarl leaned close. “What is the reward?”
Reward? “Service is its own reward.”
Jarl scoffed.
“A warrior knows if he shows valor and dies in battle, he will go to Valhalla.”
“What is Valhalla?” I shook my head when Jarl offered me his horn.
“A marvelous place. There’s a great lodge and vast table. The warriors gather and war against each other until sundown. At night there’s a great feast with endless mead. Then the next day, they do it all again.” Jarl lifted his horn in a toast. “To Valhalla.”
“Valhalla,” Fenrir echoed, and both drained their horns. “Va
lhalla and Valkyries.”
“Valkyries,” Jarl slapped his knee.
“What are Valkyries?” I asked.
“Warrior women. Odin’s daughters. Beautiful and deadly.” Jarl winked at me. “They serve the worthy.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course these warriors would believe in an afterlife with endless fighting and feasting, with goddess-like beauties serving them. “That sounds like something a warrior would want to believe.”
“It is,” Jarl said.
“And you, Juliet?” Fenrir asked, leaning forward. “What is it you want to believe?”
My hand flew to my neck. “What?”
Jarl waved a hand. “Forget him. Where do you go when you die?”
“To heaven, if I am good. But that is not why I wish to be good and free of sin. I truly want to be pure and holy. To live a worthy life dedicated to God. Like the Virgin Mother.”
“Virgin Mother,” Jarl repeated, his face blank.
“Yes. She was pure and good of heart and chosen by God to be the vessel for his only begotten son.”
Jarl squinted at the rafters. “So this Virgin bore your God a son.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “The Virgin Mother.”
“Virgin Mother,” Fenrir repeated slowly. “So she was untouched by a man, but a mother.”
“Yes,” I said, wishing I had paid better attention to the friar when he preached. Fenrir approached with a horn of mead and I was so flustered, I took it.
Jarl waited for me to take a sip before he said, “So she was like you.”
I was so startled I almost dropped the horn. “What?”
“Little mother,” Fenrir said. “You are a mother to all the children who know you.”
“And yet you are untouched by any man.” Jarl smirked at me.
“Is that why you cling to your vows? Do you hope to be a virgin mother, like your goddess?” Fenrir asked.
“No. I am nothing like her. I am a sinner, poor and lowly.” Why had I thought I could explain? The abbess would whip me if she heard my feeble attempts at theology. She’d spit with rage, It is not for the likes of you to understand.
“Then why, Juliet?” Jarl wasn’t smirking anymore. He leaned forward, intently focused on me. “Why did you make the vow?”
