Thrall

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “What is wrong with you?” Maeve said.

  “He offered me challenge!”

  “Not every loud-mouthed idiot is a reason to throw yourself into a fight.” She stalked away, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

  Aesa followed, steps dragging slightly, pouting. “I can’t appear weak.” Pride: a gift from Aesa’s arbiter father. If she’d just had farmers for parents, she might have turned out differently.

  “You’re just nervous about Gilka. You can’t fight that moron.”

  “His witch insulted you.”

  “She didn’t, and I wouldn’t have cared anyway.”

  “I care.”

  “Fine. I’ll meet you there in case one of you takes a knife to the gut.” Maeve hurried away, seeking to lose herself in the forest and cool her head for a while. Twice that day she’d had to walk away from Aesa. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  Chapter Two

  As Maeve stomped away again, Aesa fought the urge to curse. She didn’t want to fight Einar. The words had tumbled out of her mouth, and now she had a challenge before she’d even become a warrior.

  She sank onto a stump in front of someone’s tent and ignored the sounds of laughter and drumming that echoed through the dark trees. She could call off the challenge and accept the loss of honor, but the vision of Einar’s smirk would never let her be. Maybe she’d get very lucky, and the ground would open up and swallow her.

  “Why so sad, bear cub?”

  Aesa whirled around, almost tumbling sideways. Gilka stood in front of a large tent, leaning forward, her arms resting on a branch above her head. The light of nearby fires picked out the scars that crossed her bare, muscled, sweaty torso. Her long thrain’s braid hung over her shoulder between her breasts, and her breeches were unlaced as if she’d just risen from bed.

  “I’ve…” Aesa cleared her throat. “My bondmate got into an argument, and someone challenged me.”

  Gilka just nodded, a reaction so unlike Maeve’s that Aesa fell a little more in love. From what she heard, she wasn’t alone in her affection. Men and women came from across the land in the hopes of sharing Gilka’s bed. Men begged her to bear their children, though she would only have the strongest and ugliest. It wasn’t worth it, she’d said, if her offspring couldn’t be as fearsome as her. Her sons and daughters had all become thrains in their own time, though under different jarls. Rumor painted them to be the image of their mother.

  “Is this your first challenge?” Gilka asked.

  “My first that wasn’t merely play.”

  “To the death?”

  Aesa shuddered. “I don’t know.”

  “Always make certain before the fight begins. If the insult’s not too great, fight to wound. There’s no honor in killing over a stubbed toe. Is it soon?”

  Aesa nodded, drinking in Gilka’s wisdom. Arms slipped around Gilka’s waist from behind, and a red-haired witch leaned to her side. She wore only a tunic, her pale legs standing out in the firelight. “Who are you talking to? Oh, it’s that archer.”

  Aesa dipped her head, recognizing the witch as one of Gilka’s crew. “Aesa Fharsun.”

  “Runa,” she said. “Nice shooting today.”

  “Thank you.” Aesa squirmed, resisting the urge to ward off evil spirits again.

  “Do you have witnesses for your challenge?” Gilka asked.

  “Besides my bondmate?”

  Gilka clicked her tongue. “Youngsters.” She bent and grabbed a leather vest from the tent floor, lacing it as she stepped out and tucking her breasts inside. She bent and kissed Runa before gesturing to Aesa. “Let’s go.”

  Aesa’s mouth dried up. “You’re coming with me?”

  Gilka laced her breeches as they walked. “If you kill your challenger, bear cub, you’re going to need someone besides your bondmate to declare it lawful.”

  Aesa swallowed hard. She’d never killed anyone, and she didn’t want to start with one of her own people. She led Gilka toward the chanting square. “How do I say that I don’t want to fight to the death? Won’t that make me look…” Weak. She couldn’t even say it in Gilka’s hearing.

  Gilka rested a hand on her back, scarred fingers covering Aesa from neck to shoulder. “Leave that to me.”

  Einar stood when Aesa stepped into the torchlight, no doubt ready to hurl some insult, but his mouth stayed open as Gilka followed.

  Aesa felt Maeve’s heat behind her. “By the dead gods,” Maeve whispered, “why is she here?” Aesa stuck a hand backward, needing Maeve to ground her. Maeve obliged without a word.

  The blood witch stood next to Einar, eyes shifting as if seeking a way out. “I am Laret Nadesh,” she nearly shouted. When everyone stared, she cleared her throat. “I’m from Asimi,” she said more quietly. “I don’t know all your customs, so…” She looked to Maeve. “I’m sorry we quarreled. I’d like to forget all of this if you’re willing and…begin again?”

  “Absolutely,” Maeve said. Aesa gave her a dark look, much as Einar gave Laret.

  “I’ve issued a challenge,” he said right as Aesa muttered, “He challenged me.”

  Gilka brayed a laugh. “No one goes for the kill, or you’ll feel my fist. Everyone else out of the square.” She sat on a log and waited until Maeve and Laret moved away, Maeve trailing a last caress across Aesa’s shoulders. “Begin!”

  Einar charged. Thinking of Gilka, Aesa tripped him. As he fell, he grabbed her leg and pulled. She dropped to one knee, sending shockwaves up her leg. With a grunt, she punched him in the chest. His grip slackened, but he caught her ankle before she could pull loose. She tried to stomp his hand, his arm, whatever she could reach, but he pushed her foot away and slammed the back of her knee.

  Aesa lurched to the side and rolled with the motion. She launched a punch when she straightened, missing but forcing him back. He moved slower; his chest would be aching. She pressed forward, swinging and clipping his ear, but he barreled into her and locked his arms around her shoulders. She brought her knee up as she fell but caught him in the thigh rather than the groin. They hit the ground hard, his weight on top of her, a bad position for victory.

  His shoulder moved in front of her face, and she bit him. He howled, and at the edge of the fight, Gilka’s bark of a laugh echoed through the square.

  Einar struggled upward, pulling her along, teeth still embedded in his flesh. He smacked her ear, shaking her loose and sending stars across her vision. She scrambled away as he reached behind his back and brought forth something that glinted in the light. Aesa tried to blink away the stars, tried to bring her arms up to catch the knife that arced for her throat.

  Einar flew backward as if jerked by a rope, his collar captured in Gilka’s fist. “What did I say?” She shook him like a dog.

  He pushed away. “I was only going to mark her.”

  Gilka stepped so close, his nose nearly pressed against her chest. “On her neck?”

  “She bit me!”

  “You both scored blows. These two apologized. Honor is satisfied.”

  Einar glared at her chest before shifting his stare to Aesa, a look that said honor was anything but satisfied. Aesa was about to ask if he wanted some more, anytime, anywhere.

  “Honor is satisfied,” Gilka said again, low and deadly.

  “Honor is satisfied,” Aesa repeated.

  Einar swallowed a few times, and Gilka glared as if she might shake him again. “Honor is satisfied,” he said at last, but he sounded like a petulant child. When Einar stomped away, Laret stared at Aesa and Maeve before following. Gilka gave Aesa a nod before she too vanished into the night.

  Aesa let out a slow breath as her legs began to shake. She couldn’t stop seeing the knife’s cruel edge. Maeve grabbed her hand, and the camp became a blur as they raced through, fires and faces and voices twisting into a nightmare.

  Alone in their tent, Aesa’s last bit of strength fled, and she curled around Maeve. “Do you think he was going to kill me?”

  Maeve kissed her
forehead, lips lingering. “Don’t think of it. Sleep.”

  Aesa did, her dreams filled with Einar and Gilka, both speaking words she couldn’t hear.

  *

  Aesa awoke before dawn and stared at the tent walls, trying not to think of Gilka or the future, but the games of the Thraindahl had followed her into her dreams, making her believe she’d missed them, or that she had to fight with weapons she’d never seen before. Quietly, she dressed in the dark and slipped from the tent, waiting for the sky to lighten.

  Around the camp, the soft noises of night slowly gave way to the sounds of day, first the birds welcoming the sun and then the words and wanderings of her people. Aesa closed her eyes, focusing on what she could hear, searching for clarity in all the upheaval. When Maeve finally arose, Aesa could feel anticipation ghosting up and down her spine.

  “The ancestor trees await,” Maeve said.

  Aesa shook her head. “I can’t be first.”

  “Nor last.”

  Aesa cracked a smile. “Nor last.” But as more and more people stirred, she couldn’t stand waiting any longer. She and Maeve walked arm-in-arm to the sacred grove, and Aesa found a space in the middle, not too early or too late. Like the rest of the recruits, she took her place beside an ancestor tree, under the spike driven through the bark.

  A crowd trickled in, the thrains following, and when the games master called, the thrains moved among the candidates, placing one of their ship’s rings above those they would consider.

  Aesa watched them wander, not caring about any save Gilka. Still, she babbled thanks when Ulfrecht and Fjolnir placed rings above her head. They were both mighty thrains. Ulfrecht had a fleet of ships, and Aesa’s father served as arbiter to Fjolnir. She’d expected that Fjolnir might choose her because of that, but even in her home, singers praised Gilka’s power.

  Gilka strolled through the candidates, passing Aesa’s tree twice. She lazily cast her ship rings here and there until she had only one left.

  Aesa laced her fingers to stop their shaking. Could she choose Ulfrecht or Fjolnir? Her family would approve of either. The latter would even let her stay close to home. If neither of them would do, she could pack her things, seek the lands of another jarl, and start again where no one knew her.

  Gilka wandered up and down the grove, ring smacking into her palm, the soft sound bouncing in Aesa’s stomach. Maybe fate was telling her to go home, resign herself to the life of a thrall, and farm. Maybe she could fight her brothers and sisters for the chance to be arbiter for Fjolnir one day, though she hated learning law.

  No, she was born for this, born to fight. If Gilka didn’t choose her, Aesa supposed she could sit in the rain and wait for death like some tragic idiot out of an old tale.

  Gilka doubled back. Her dark eyes locked with Aesa’s, and her smile bore a cruel edge. “Are you going to cry if I don’t choose you, bear cub?”

  Aesa lifted her chin. “No, ja’thrain.” As those around her gasped, she curled her lips under to keep from taking back the word that claimed Gilka as her own.

  Gilka sputtered a laugh that became a guffaw. “I like your confidence, bear cub, and I’ll have it.” She took the other rings from above Aesa’s head. “Ulfrecht, Fjolnir, come get your rings before the bear cub passes out.”

  Fjolnir collected hers with a snorting laugh. Ulfrecht stared at Aesa a long time, no expression on his black-bearded face. He stood just a bit shorter than Gilka with wide shoulders and a chest like a keg, a powerful man, an excellent thrain for anyone else. When he locked eyes with Gilka, he smiled slowly, a look crueler than hers.

  Gilka laid her last ring in Aesa’s hands and drew her belt knife.

  “Wait!” the games master cried. “You must wait for the ceremony!”

  “Save your ceremony for the ancestors,” Gilka said. “You can’t stop fate.” Aesa closed her eyes as Gilka’s knife sawed through her hair, the locks dropping to the ground like heaps of corn silk. When it grew out, she’d have the right to braid it however she wished.

  She tried to control her shaking, thankful it was only seconds before she was trying to smooth her uneven hair. She locked eyes with Gilka, fighting tears, waiting for some sign of what she should do now. From among the trees, Dain whooped. Others seemed torn between the desire to cheer, mutter about the insult done to the ceremony, and mumble in confusion.

  “Come on, cub,” Gilka said, “join your crew.”

  She would if they could float into the sky and join her! Jealous eyes followed her. Everyone else had to wait, some leaving empty-handed, some having to choose among several thrains. Then one by one, they were presented to the crowd, their hair shorn by their new shipmates. Gilka’s other choices participated, but Aesa watched from among her new crew. She wondered if she should be jealous. Even Dain participated in the ceremony as a new member of Ulfrecht’s crew, and everyone surrounded him, congratulating him, congratulating all of them.

  But she already had her crew around her, and they welcomed her like family. No need for a ceremony when she’d always been one of them.

  Runa trimmed her hair while they waited, attempting to make it even. When Aesa thanked her, she mussed it again, shaking out the loose strands. “Now you don’t look so much like a thistle. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gilka puts you on her personal ship, Aesa. In fact, I predict it.”

  Aesa didn’t think she could smile any wider, but she tried all the same. She searched the crowd for Maeve, hoping for a look of wonder that meant Maeve’s wyrd had arrived just as Gilka had chosen Aesa, an event worthy of song.

  From a corner of the crowd, Maeve lifted a hand, but the other gripped the hem of her tunic, balling it in her fist, a bad sign. Aesa dredged up another smile and waved from her hip. A tall woman moved just over Maeve’s shoulder, the blood witch Laret. They began to speak. Aesa looked for a hidden knife but saw nothing. Laret even smiled a little, though Maeve could get a smile out of anyone.

  Aesa searched for Einar and hoped he hadn’t gotten on a ship, but he stood with Ulfrecht, just beside Dain. Wonderful. A member of her kinsman’s crew would have to be welcome in her home. Their eyes met, and he hadn’t lost his glare.

  Did a place in the barn equal a place in her home? Ulfrecht stepped up beside his new crewman and followed his gaze to Aesa. She nodded, but he put his arm around Einar’s shoulder and said something in his ear.

  Aesa looked away and exchanged a happy nod with Dain. The mood of the crowd lifted her, so many cheering and smiling, welcoming new crewmates and wishing good health and fortune to old friends. All the good feelings coated her like honey, leaving her warm. Her first crew. Her thrain. Fate could not have been kinder. Well, except… Her gaze drifted to Maeve again. There was still time.

  Now all that was left to close the Thraindahl was the grand melee, and anticipation hummed in Aesa to get it done. Maeve’s wyrd had to be waiting for that.

  The thrains and their new crewmembers marched to the proving field for a barehanded battle, no killing allowed. In the past, the thrains waited for the games master to call the battle open, and then they retired to drink and yell at their comrades to make them proud.

  Aesa marched alongside Gilka’s other choices, Gilka behind them. Einar still had his eye on her, and she knew he’d be coming her way. Well, let him. She’d taken his measure; she’d keep him dancing around the field and give everyone a good laugh.

  The call sounded. Gilka cried out for them to do their best. Aesa kept her eyes on Einar as he circled around his new shipmates, searching for a way to get to her. She’d thrash him, the battle would end, Maeve’s wyrd would come, and then they’d be away. Perfection.

  Aesa edged closer to the man on her left. “I’m going for that one.”

  He mumbled assent and was soon joined with his own opponent. Aesa heard a swell of noise from the crowd, and someone slammed into her back, driving the air from her lungs, and throwing her to the ground.

  A heavy weight ground her into the dirt until she cried out.<
br />
  “Don’t fuck with my crew,” Ulfrecht said in her ear.

  Aesa tried to scramble away, but a sharp ache in her side crippled her. As she tried to crawl, Ulfrecht laughed, and she rolled, wanting to see his face before he killed her.

  Gilka crashed into him like a leaping wolf. Aesa’s new crewmates rushed to her side, and the field of new recruits paused to watch the two thrains lock together like warring bulls.

  They broke apart, and Gilka shouted, “Coward! You can’t face me, so you go after my crew?”

  “I heard you like to get between recruits.”

  “Theirs was a challenge between children.”

  “A day makes so much difference? We’re only as strong as our weakest crewmate. Perhaps you’ve been at the top so long you’ve forgotten.”

  “Which fight are we going to see?” another thrain yelled. “Yours or theirs? Get off the field!”

  Gilka spat at Ulfrecht’s feet. “I will not forget this.” She scooped Aesa into her arms.

  Aesa fought not to cry out. Ulfrecht had a new limp, but her satisfaction at that faded when she was passed to Runa, and the ache in her side became a hot knife of pain.

  “Fetch a healer,” Runa said.

  “My bondmate,” Aesa said. “Let Maeve come through. She’s a healer, the best.”

  They mumbled as if they didn’t believe, but Maeve’s voice carried over them, demanding to be let past. It was only moments before her dark curls swept Aesa’s forehead as she bent low.

  “It’s my ribs.”

  “Lie still.”

  Maeve’s gaze turned vacant, a sign that her spirit ventured forth. Its gentle warmth wrapped Aesa like soft furs on her naked body, and her ribs knitted together without pain, just an eerie whisper of movement. When Maeve’s spirit withdrew, Aesa was whole again, the work of seconds.

  “You are a wonder,” Aesa said.

  Maeve kissed her nose. “Remember that.”

  When they both stood, Runa stared with disbelief. “I’ve never seen a healing done so quickly. What’s your wyrd, girl?”

  “Maeve, and I don’t have a wyrd.”