Linus at Large

by Mary E. Twomey

  12

  The Return of the Viking Kind

  The chief’s house was far larger than Foss’s had been. I could tell that the chief had grown up around opulence in some capacity, while Foss had been mimicking the ceremony of it all. Foss liked the work, while the chief reveled in the daily tasks as well as the pomp that came with the power he’d managed to acquire.

  On the way to the one-story house that was so wide, I felt like I needed a map to maneuver my way to the room the chief insisted we take, we were greeted by hundreds of Grimens. Word had spread quickly that Foss was very much alive, and the entire island, it seemed, had something to say about it.

  I clung tight to Foss’s arm as men, women and children flocked to us along the path to the chief’s house, bowing and shouting their happiness that Foss had returned to them from the dead.

  “Smile,” Foss instructed me under his breath. “You look like I’m abducting you. And stop biting your nails!”

  I followed his instructions, plastering on the most gracious fake smile I could muster, but I was frightened at the mob that was growing on either side of us. First dozens of people clambered to get closer, and then the number reached into the hundreds. When I’d lived in Fossegrim before, I scarcely left Foss’s property. This was a culture shock I was unprepared for.

  Jens felt my fear and barked to the natives, “Back up! Foss and the Tribeswoman will see you all at the feast tonight. Everyone is invited to pay their respects to your hero returned from the dead!” At this, everyone cheered anew, defeating the purpose of Jens telling them to give us some room.

  The voices splintered off into fear laced with resentment when a second party came down the path toward us. I recognized Tomas of the Hills and his bratty wife who I recalled seeing slap a servant across the face. I didn’t much like her turned-up nose or her perma-sneer. I’d known a good many of that variety in the high schools I’d attended. They usually came in short cheerleader skirts and called me “Lacy” or ignored me altogether.

  Tomas of the stupid Hills greeted Foss with a kiss to both cheeks. “Good to see you, old friend.” As an afterthought, Tomas pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “Welcome back to Fossegrim, Guldy.”

  Foss was overjoyed to be back in his homeland, so his grin had never been wider, or more handsome. They did a little small talk that was witnessed by the hundreds of people who were torn between wanting to greet Foss and wanting to run from Tomas and his wife.

  Tomas’s wife’s irritable voice broke out above the murmurs. “You there, I’m hungry!” She snapped her fingers at a young girl who wore a black headdress, and the girl came forward, offering up her basket of food with shaking hands. Tomas’s wife looked over the spoils and selected two purple apples before shoving the woman back to join the throngs. The whole thing was disgusting.

  Linus leaned forward and whisper-cackled to me, “‘I’ll get you, my pretty!’”

  I was happy as a clam when we parted ways with them and moved on toward the chief’s home, the mood of the crowd picking up again at Tomas and his wife’s absence.

  Linus was positioned as a guard walking behind us, and I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was still there every few steps. I knew I was being a paranoid mother hen, but I think I’d earned that right. He stuck his tongue out sideways at me and crossed his eyes to cut my anxiety in half. I knew he was freaking out inside at the completely foreign culture we would never be cool with, but he was as he always was: Linus – the perfect antidote for what ailed me.

  When a slight bit of mud crossed over the path, I made to move around it, but Foss stopped and clicked his fingers. I was horrified when men took off their shirts and laid them down on the path, not only covering the mud, but now lining the way a third of a mile up to the chief’s house as shirts began being torn off their owners’ backs and were laid down without hesitation or question.

  My nails dug into Foss’s arm, and I pulled him down so I could whisper my distress. “I don’t like this! I won’t walk on their shirts! Please don’t make me act like a snob! It’s not who I am!”

  Foss kissed my cheek, and the women swooned. They wore their black and brown shapeless long dresses with matching head coverings, shouting tidings of blessing on my womb.

  I cringed.

  Foss’s lips brushed my ear as he spoke in his low cadence. “Who you are is my wife, and this is what’s normal for that. I won’t let you be common in their eyes.”

  “Foss, I—”

  Then he kissed my lips to shut me up. It wasn’t slow and melty; it was forceful. I felt jerked into the motion and the emotion it always drew out in me. He made me breathe when I’d been trying so hard not to, and I worried I would start shouting with the release of the simple exhale. Foss ignored the stiffness in my body as I tried to end the kiss and pull away. I was publicly silenced, and I hated every second of it. I was only a sex object, and my job was to step on the people’s clothing so I didn’t tarnish the dress my husband bought me. I was a trophy, not a partner. A high-pitched noise of distress escaped me as Foss kissed my lips again, and though I didn’t want to, I knew I hurt his feelings and wounded his pride.

  Jens’s hand was on Linus’s shoulder, holding him back like the professional he was. They wore identical scowls of doom, making me feel all the more on the spot. This was my job. To make it through Undraland, I had to be Foss’s wife. It was hard to do the job with so many eyes on me – the crowd cheering on for more affection between us, and the people who knew me best cringing and stacking their case against me.

  Foss’s voice was firm, snapping me out of my inner turmoil. “Now, walk.” He turned to a man on his left and barked, “Don’t look my wife in the eye! Know your place!”

  A phantom sting on my cheek reminded me of when Foss had found me in the slave trade. I’d made the mistake of lifting my chin to look at him, and got myself backhanded.

  Now I was the backhander – though I knew I could never actually hit someone for something so stupid. But I let my husband be the bully, which made me an accomplice to the cruelty.

  I swallowed the bile in my throat and leveled my chin to the ground, hoping I looked gracious, and not like a superior wench who couldn’t handle a little mud on her sandal. I ignored the catcalls and questions that were shouted at us, like the paparazzi chasing down Katy friggin’ Perry. Never thought I’d actually feel bad for Katy Perry, but suddenly I wanted to send girlfriend all sorts of sunglasses and baseball caps so she could have a second of privacy.

  Foss’s arm went around my back, tightening to keep me close. Though it looked like we were a young couple who couldn’t keep our hands off each other, my body was rigid to his touch.

  My eyes fell on a bowing woman wearing a headdress that was actually pretty. Most were beige or black, but hers had purple swirls sewn into the cream fabric. I admired her for finding a way to express herself in a sea of being told to bow down and shut up.

  Foss glanced down at me, trying to force conversation to make me less terrified. “What’s caught your eye?”

  I motioned to the woman’s headdress. “Nothing. I just thought she looked pretty in that head covering.”

  Foss clicked his fingers, but the woman was already removing her lovely covering and handing it to him, her head bowed so she didn’t accidentally look up at us.

  “What? No!” I shouted, horrified at my unintentional dictatorship. “Foss, I don’t want to keep it, I just thought she looked nice.”

  Foss was grinding his teeth as he shoved the garment into my hands. I stopped our progression and motioned the woman forward. When she trembled before me, I was sick to my stomach. She had long black hair that was done in a French braid. Her darkly tanned olive skin was indicative of most Fossegrimens. She was already bowed to me, so it wasn’t too hard to slip the head covering back on her. I wanted her to look at me, but was afraid I would get her into trouble. Instead I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “This is beautiful. Did you make it?”

&nb
sp; She trembled as she nodded, her head still facing the earth. “Yes, Domslut. It’s yours if you wish it.”

  “I can tell you worked hard on this. I wouldn’t dream of taking something so pretty from you. Don’t you dare let anyone else take it, either.”

  She hesitated, but then nodded. “Thank you. Thank you, Tribeswoman, may you live forever.”

  Great.

  I heard a splintering of female chatter breaking off of the “gracious Guldy” who didn’t pilfer from the people. I guess that was a good way for that mess to turn out.

  Foss kissed my lips. This time instead of force, there was appreciation laced into the gesture for not embarrassing him too badly. He tasted like strength, and I needed that flavor if I was going to make it through this. He wound his fingers through mine and moved us onward down the path of shirts.

  I ignored Linus’s piercing gaze that held buckets of disapproval. I ignored Foss’s adoring smile. Instead I focused my thoughts on Jens, who I couldn’t even see, because he was walking behind me with Linus. He knew me. He understood how wrong this was, and how much I despised this part of the charade. Knowing that he got me was enough to push me forward, giving me that extra boost of strength I couldn’t summon on my own with everyone shouting for Foss and his Guldy.

  I walked daintily on the shirts of hundreds of men, hating myself and shaking inside with every step. I was everything that was wrong with the world in that moment.

  It was a means to an end. I had to end the curse. The slavery would stop, and I would walk on a thousand shirts if that’s what it took. I would despise myself forever if it would free Foss and his people once and for all.

  The chief welcomed us with open arms and a kiss to the back of my besparkled hand. His entire household bowed to us, including a number of faces I recognized from Foss’s household. I searched for Erika, but didn’t see her.

  Foss waved like a celebrity from the porch, facing out to the sea of servants on the lawn, squeezing me to remind me to smile. The chief gave a speech to his household, telling the servants that had originally belonged to Foss that they were free to go back to their master, once Foss was able to provide them shelter. “Your master needs his home rebuilt. What say you?”

  The men from both households answered as one with a noisy, “Ho!” and their fists pumped in the air. Plans to reconstruct Foss’s home would begin in the morning.

  Foss held up his hand, and everyone quieted. “Thank you, everyone. My bride and I came back to you as soon as we could. We slaughtered the last siren in the name of Fossegrim, and invite you and the entire island to celebrate the witch’s defeat!” He showed his cheek that had my blood on it to the crowd of servants that were so many, they filled the smaller field in the front of the house. When Foss held up my hand to display my scars from Pesta, everyone gasped.

  I couldn’t blame them. I was shorter than all of them by a good foot or more. Some days I still couldn’t believe I’d had a hand in Pesta’s death, however small.

  Foss held up the chief’s hands that everyone knew held scars from the original purge of the sirens that happened long ago. The crowd roared their approval, bowing as a chant of “Dom, Dom, Dom,” began throughout the ranks like a war cry.

  Foss postured, his chin raised and chest puffed to accept the praise. His eyes were alight with the promise of returning to a kingdom, of building and defending and ruling as he was built to do. He looked like a Viking King, beautiful and terrible in all his fearsome glory. He belonged at the top. He belonged here.

  I did not. Jens stood far to the left, and Linus was far to Foss’s right. They looked like soldiers, and I hated my brother’s clenched jaw and stalwart stance. He belonged on the soccer field, not here.

  Foss’s voice carried throughout the ranks. “Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we rebuild the kingdom of the East!”

  The sounds of all the fanatical shouts were deafening. When the crowd disbanded, the chief’s people set about preparing for the largest feast the island had seen in years. Foss’s household mobbed him, bowing and shaking hands, voicing their congratulations on, you know, not being dead.

  I stood with my mouth shut at Foss’s side, smiling meekly when a few of the servants bowed to me. I counted them, adding up the faces and coming up with an off number that concerned me greatly.

  When Brenda caught my eye, I sprang to life, parting the crowd and attacking her in a hug I desperately needed. She was taken aback at my unprofessional greeting, but chortled at the unpolished sincerity of it, her enormous breasts shaking like two disparate bowls of jelly on her thick body. “Now, now. I was coming to see you. Just waiting my fair turn.”

  “Brenda, I missed you. Everyone’s bowing and being weird, but I know you’ll tell me the truth. Are you alright? Has the chief been okay to you guys? Everyone’s okay?”

  Brenda’s face grew serious. “All of us whom the chief kept are well, Tribeswoman.”

  “Please, Brenda! Talk normal to me! I know you want to!” I clung to her still, begging for one person to be straight with me, to anchor me to the ground.

  Brenda kissed the top of my head, and I nearly choked on the emotion that came with her motherly affection. Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Those of us that landed with the chief are all accounted for and doing okay. Those who ended up with Tomas of the Hills are alive and well, if not tired of their mistress. They will no doubt be grateful to return to you.” Her tone darkened. “Those who were sent to Olaf are not well. Three have been hanged, and the rest wish for the release, no doubt.”

  I gulped. “We’ll get them back. We’ll get them all back tonight. What can I do?”

  Brenda turned me around and patted my back as she answered me in a whisper. “Go stand with your husband. Greet your household. Then do all you can to throw Olaf into the ocean after he’s tied to his hanging tree.”

  I did my best not to run to Foss, recalling to act dignified so as not to embarrass him. When I returned to his side, he paused his conversation with a handful of servants to kiss me. It was a light peck on my lips, meant to reassure me and establish my place by his side.

  I turned and swelled with emotion when my eyes fell on Viggo, who was unshaven and looked like he had lost part of his soul. I wanted to hug him, but knew that would not fly out in the open. Instead, I motioned him to my side.

  He did not greet me as an old friend, but bowed before me like a stranger. I pulled him up, wishing I could hug feeling back into his stiff body. “Viggo, what happened to you? You’re not you anymore.” I begged him with my eyes to look at me, which he finally did after several seconds of keeping his head down, his greasy ponytail tied with a limp cord.

  “Welcome back, Mistress.”

  “Viggo, what is it? Please!”

  He paused, and then answered with a deadpanned, “I’m needed in the fields to prepare for the feast. I… welcome back.”

  With that, he turned and trotted away, his head still down like there was an invisible weight he carried around his neck.

  I stood with my mouth hanging open until Foss drew me back to his side. I was mute, greeting everyone with a gracious nod, smiling as best I could when they remarked on the siren blood painting us.

  13

  Who I Am

  The meet and greet was exhausting, so when the chief offered us his best guest room to stay in until our home was rebuilt, I thanked him and all but dragged Foss to it under the guise of preparing for the party.

  The door locked behind us and I exhaled, my face in my hands. The room was decadent with gold basins and a painting on the wall in an ornate gold frame as big as me. There was a large canopy bed with emerald bed curtains and matching window dressings framed with gold hardware.

  My hands were trembling, and Foss pulled the bed curtains back and sat me on the mattress without a word. He poured me a glass of water from the gold pitcher and leaned my head to his thigh as he tilted the cup to my lips. I drank without thinking and shook without feeling.

  Fo
ss drew up the emerald comforter with gold stitching around my shoulders like a shawl, kneeling so he could set himself in my path of vision. I had a hard time focusing.

  His finger touched my lips that were slick from the water, drawing a wet outline on the curve of my lower lip. I knew he was seconds away from kissing me, so I pulled back. “Never kiss me like you did on the road today. It was dirty and controlling. You did it to shut me up, and it sends a message to all the other women that it’s okay for their men to do the same. I won’t send that message again.” My voice was small, but my conviction was strong. “I don’t like that you made me walk on their shirts. I’m not mean. I don’t need them to bow to me like that. It’s wrong, me being so high above them. It’s unnatural.” I met his concerned eyes. “It’s not me, and you should know that by now.”

  Foss’s eyes glinted at me. “You have to play the role, Lucy. You stayed on my property for the most part when we were married, so you don’t understand public protocol. You’re a Tribeswoman.”

  I shook my head, feeling lost in the lavish room that was way too fancy for me to find the comfort I needed. “I’m compromising my beliefs. I’m going along with things I’m very much against. Martin Luther King would march against me. I hope you never understand what this awfulness feels like.” I lowered my head. “I’ll do whatever it takes to lift the curse and set you up here, but I’m ashamed of myself. Stepping on those shirts? Being expected to up and steal a head covering from a woman? I’m not that girl.”

  Foss watched my bowed head, taking in the climate of my words with a closed expression. I knew he was calculating how best to get me to comply. He didn’t need to; I was already in too deep. When words finally did come to him, they were sincere, and not angry, as I anticipated they might be. “I know. I know who you are.”