Thrall

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Ari glanced back at them. “Problem?”

  Laret shrugged. “I got into a dispute with that one once. He learned a valuable lesson.”

  “To fear a blood witch?” Ari grinned. “Do you want to kill him?”

  “You wouldn’t let us raise a hand to one of your crew,” Maeve said.

  Ari barked a laugh. “Who said he was my crew?” When they stared at her, she smirked. “I side with Ulfrecht because he offered me a chance to study the fae. I call no one ja’thrain.”

  Laret and Maeve exchanged a glance. Something to think about.

  “Besides,” Ari said, “I didn’t offer to help you, but I could be persuaded to look the other way.”

  Again, a thought to put away for later.

  When they stopped to camp that night, Laret sighed in relief. Maeve leaned into her as they sat together, and Laret put an arm around her. If Maeve’s feet hurt as much as Laret’s, they both needed to rest while they could.

  She could feel Dain’s scowl as he watched them. Finally, she let her gaze bore into his. “What?”

  He looked away. “Does Aesa know about the two of you?”

  “How is it your business?” Laret asked.

  “She’s my kinswoman.”

  “And grown enough to care for her own affairs,” Maeve said.

  He turned his glare toward the dirt and mumbled something.

  “Dain,” Maeve said, “I love Aesa, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  He sighed. “We shouldn’t be on opposite sides of this fight. Everyone should see the danger here.”

  “Do you think Gilka told her warriors about the fae?” Laret asked. “Aesa certainly didn’t know.”

  “And even then she wouldn’t have turned her back on her thrain,” Maeve said. “If you found out Ulfrecht was wrong, would you leave his ships?”

  “Even thrains must be challenged from time to time.” But his shifting gaze said he still believed in Ulfrecht, and belief was hard to shake. “If we can’t convince Aesa…” He lowered his voice and leaned close. “I won’t harm her. You have my word.”

  Maeve squeezed his arm. “I never doubted it. No matter what, I’ll always think of you as a kinsman.”

  He smiled slightly but lost the look, as if he didn’t know quite how to feel. “When the fighting starts, stay close.” He moved a short distance away.

  “Poor Dain,” Maeve said. “In all our young dreams of sailing with thrains, we never imagined two of them at each other’s throats.”

  “Did he hope to sail with Aesa?”

  Maeve shrugged. “As long as we all got along, he was happy. Never a deep thinker but loyal.”

  Laret sighed. “With the mists, the people here probably don’t sail.”

  “So?”

  “Well, if they did, we could leave all these emotional people behind and beg a ride from them.”

  “I don’t think they’d be too friendly after meeting Gilka and now Ulfrecht.”

  “Lucky us being thrown in the middle.”

  Maeve curled a lock of Laret’s hair around her finger. “I wish we could be alone.”

  “An island full of people who want to kill you makes you lustful?”

  “It must be so much time spent in your company.”

  Heat rose in Laret’s cheeks, winding through her body until she ordered it to stop. “You must stop saying such things when we are surrounded by enemies.”

  Maeve kissed her cheek. “What better time?”

  They slept curled together, and dawn came all too early, as Laret’s back attested. They marched through the morning, only stopping to rest briefly when the sun reached high overhead. Ulfrecht’s scouts returned soon after, and Laret praised their names to the True God when the force halted again.

  “Shall we sidle close?” Maeve whispered. “Try to hear what they’re saying?”

  “I’d rather not move.”

  Maeve tried to edge that way, but Henrik glared at her. “Stay here.”

  Dain shifted his feet, apologetic expression in place. “You should stay close, Maeve.”

  Ari laughed and sauntered toward the scouts, coming back a moment later. “Gilka has fortified one of the villages.”

  Henrik glared at her. “Do they need to know that?”

  “What harm could it do?”

  “They could sneak off to join the enemy!”

  Ari threw back her head and laughed. “Go, Laret, Maeve, go be killed by Gilka.”

  Laret was tempted to ask about Aesa, but the scouts wouldn’t have gotten close enough to see individual faces. “What shall we do?”

  “Wait. Watch.”

  Perfect. Her feet would have thanked them.

  The scouts returned again just before sundown, and Laret fought the urge to fidget as Ari went close enough to listen and then came back to report.

  “Gilka is on the move. She’s taking the bulk of her forces west.”

  “And we’re following?” Laret asked.

  Ari grinned. “No. We’re going to cut her off at the knees.”

  They marched with the rest to Gilka’s fortified village, and in the fading light, Laret saw what Ulfrecht hoped to accomplish. Gilka had probably left most of her supplies behind. Perhaps she thought the Mists of Murin would keep Ulfrecht from following her, but she didn’t know of Ari’s specialty in fae magic. Silently, Ulfrecht’s troops advanced.

  Henrik, Dain, and Ari forced Maeve and Laret to stay near the rear of Ulfrecht’s forces. Maeve’s grip tightened on Laret’s arm as the warriors came ever closer to the village edge.

  “Aesa won’t be in there,” Laret said. “She’ll be with Gilka.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  When the killing started, and cries of pain mingled with the sounds of clanging weapons and the shouts of charging warriors, Maeve covered her mouth. She moved toward the wounded, but Henrik caught her arm. “Stay here.”

  “Don’t touch her!” Laret said.

  Henrik shoved Maeve away, and Laret pushed him back, but she wouldn’t be a match for his bulk. She nicked her fingers, and the desire to use her magic reared in her.

  Ari stepped between them, her own blood curling around her fist. “Don’t.”

  Dain had his hand on his sword, looking nervously between everyone.

  “Stop!” Maeve stood with Laret. “Please.” Ari lowered her arm, her blood slurping back inside her skin. Maeve looked to Dain. “Can we go look for Aesa?”

  “They’ll round up any prisoners,” Henrik said. “And put them next to the dead.”

  Maeve inhaled as if to yell at him, but Dain said, “He’s right, Maeve. If she’s in there, the warriors will bring her out.”

  “Dain, I can convince her to surrender instead of die!” He blanched, and Maeve gestured to all of them. “How can we get away with you three to guard us? What could I even do to any of you?”

  Ari shrugged. “Fine.”

  Henrik glared at her. “You’re not in charge.”

  “Will two more of your fellows make you less fearful?” Ari said. Before he could retort, she called two warriors and then gestured toward the village, where the clash of metal echoed on the wind. “After you.”

  The edge of the village had gone silent, and the eerie quiet combined with the darkening sky made Laret’s skin crawl. When someone cried out, she nearly jumped out of her skin and could almost feel the other two warriors smirking. One of them, a dark-haired woman whose braids dangled out from a fur-trimmed helmet, winked at her.

  Laret turned her nose up, and the helmeted woman nudged her fellow, a burly man with a scarred face. At least they were smiling. Henrik scowled all the while with a look of contempt in his blue eyes.

  Warriors threaded through the village, the sounds of combat punctuated by the occasional witch’s chant. Laret felt the pull of spirits all around her and fought the urge to reach out with her own. Maeve rubbed her arms as if the feel of so much magic prickled her flesh.

  When Maeve gasped, Laret looked a
nd saw a woman with short blond hair running up the street. “Aesa,” Maeve said. She took off at a run.

  Laret stayed by her side. Their guards cried out, but what were they so afraid of? Laret and Maeve couldn’t get off the island without them. They chased the blond woman through several twisting turns, nearly coming out the other side of the village into a river before the woman slowed enough to see she wasn’t Aesa. When she saw them, though, she ran in another direction.

  The warrior with the scarred face chased her. Henrik skidded to a halt beside Maeve, reaching for her again.

  Laret swatted his hand. “I told you to let her be.”

  He snarled and came at her instead. Fine. If he wanted a fight, so be it. She nicked her finger, swiped at him, but he pulled up short, and she knew she’d missed her chance.

  “I warned you!” Ari flung a hand out, her blood flying. Laret ducked out of its path and sent her own blood at the woman with the fur helmet. Maybe if she distracted them, Maeve could get away.

  Laret’s spirit flew through her blood, sensing the beating hearts of those around her, the helmeted woman in particular. Her own heart raced, blood pounding, calling drain, drain, drain…

  Rivers of red streamed from the helmeted woman’s eyes and ears, her nose and pores. She sagged to her knees, weapon tumbling from her grasp as her face became a red mask. Within heartbeats, she dropped to the street, unmoving but breathing. The magic pushed at Laret to take more. Difficult to drain a person to death but not impossible, and then she’d be filled with such power!

  She cut off the thought, turning to Henrik, who’d drawn his sword. Dain yelled at everyone to calm down. Laret felt wetness across her cheeks and knew Ari had hit her. She switched focus, pitted her magic against Ari’s, but Henrik was advancing. She chanted to stop him, but so few plants grew inside the village, and Ari’s blood was trying to worm its way under her skin.

  Maeve’s power flowed over her, forcing Ari out. Dain was calling for help. A weed snaked out from the corner of a hut and grabbed Henrik’s ankle, but he snapped it and swung a fist, catching Laret on the cheek. She fell back and tried to kick his knees, but he sliced downward. Hot agony sheared through the muscle of her ankle, cutting into bone. Her vision dimmed, her ears filling with the sound of her own shrieks.

  Henrik raised his sword again, and she couldn’t stop thinking, “This is how I die.” She hoped again that Maeve would get away. Then death would at least have some meaning.

  Something rammed into Henrik, knocking him to the side, an animal. His cries mingled with the sound of shredding cloth, the horrid sharpness of snapping bone, and the wet tearing of flesh.

  Laret sat up, crying and gasping, looking away from the glistening gore of her maimed ankle and fighting the urge to see if she could move it, knowing she couldn’t, that even if the wound didn’t kill her, she’d never walk again.

  And that was only if the thing eating Henrik didn’t come for her next. Laret squinted at it, seeing something familiar.

  *

  Everyone was reaching for one another and shouting. Ari had tried to drain Laret, and Maeve laid her spirit over Laret’s body like a cloak, keeping Ari’s power out. But when Laret fell, crying out in pain, and Henrik came for her, Maeve knew nothing could stop him. Laret was going to die.

  Run, her body said. Maybe Henrik wouldn’t kill Laret. Maybe he’d just hurt her, and Maeve could fix her later.

  Her feet started moving but not away from the fight. She’d never leave Laret, couldn’t. She’d never faced someone who wanted to kill her, and she knew she should be afraid, but all she could see was Laret. If they had to die together, so be it. And since fear would only make her freeze, she cast it off, and the world became clear.

  She barely heard her own chant.

  Ripples streaked through her body like snakes under the skin. She shucked her clothes, but there wouldn’t be time to take them all off. That was all right. They would tear. She rocked forward onto feet where there used to be hands, opening her enormous jaws and letting out a roar. She’d been this shape before, in her dreams, and it came back to her with all the ease of breathing.

  Henrik screamed when she took him in her jaws, and she knew just how to shake her head and tear him, the hot, salty taste of his blood coating her mouth, the crunch of his bone and gristle echoing through her skull. He was delicious.

  Now for the others.

  The woman with the black cheeks had run, shrieking as she went. A bloody woman lay still. Another man stared at her, open-mouthed. The bloody one first.

  “M…Maeve?”

  She turned and saw fear and wonder and pain in a pair of red eyes. Laret. Yes. She would not hurt Laret. She could run for the trees, enjoy this body and its pure strength. She could live in the forest, scratch her pelt on bark, and plunge her claws into icy streams.

  But Laret scooted closer, fear giving way to amazement. Her scent was pleasing, invoking human memories, a realm of delights all their own. Maeve let those memories overtake her, and shudders passed along her body again until she straightened and looked at her gore covered hands, the coppery reek of blood in her mouth, flesh stuck between her teeth.

  Maeve doubled over and retched, fighting not to look at Henrik’s mangled remains, at the work her teeth and claws had done.

  “Give her your tunic,” Laret said.

  Dain passed it over, and she put it on. It hung nearly to her knees.

  “Strip that woman, and pick up her pack,” Laret said. “No, she’s not dead. Someone will find her.”

  Maeve could feel Laret’s pain, her mangled ankle. “You’re hurt.” Her spirit felt sluggish, as if it had to slip past the tremendous animal force within, but she eased toward Laret’s wounds and knitted the ankle back together.

  Laret’s long arms went around her, and Dain pressed the wounded woman’s clothing into her arms.

  “You…you were a bear,” he said.

  Laret glared at him. “And you will march with us toward the woods or you might see the bear again.”

  “Don’t,” Maeve said. “Don’t do that.”

  They both glanced at her, and then Laret narrowed her eyes at Dain. “Move, or you’ll join your friend in the street.”

  He swallowed. “I’ll come with you.”

  They hurried toward the trees. Maeve breathed deep, taking a big swallow from Laret’s water skin. Laret hugged her tightly. “Thank you for healing me. Maeve, I can’t believe it. Your wyrd…”

  Maeve had to laugh even as she wanted to cry, so many emotions swirling in her, happiness and disgust and amazement. The transformation had left her tired and twitchy. “I never thought…”

  Under the concealing boughs of the darkening trees, Laret helped her dress, and she gave Dain his tunic back. Laret had taken his sword. He didn’t look at either of them. They walked in silence for a few moments, headed away from the village. Maeve kept reliving her transformation, not even thinking on what they were going to do next. She’d killed a man, but the memory was covered in haze. The bear in her found it pleasing, but she shoved that thought away.

  Laret stroked her gently under the chin. “Are you all right?”

  Maeve shook her head, still swinging between terrified and disgusted, elated and disbelieving. “It felt so natural. Hard to remember, but everything made so much sense.”

  “Can you do it again?”

  She felt the bear spirit lurking just under her own, but she didn’t know how to reach it. The words of the chant were hazy, too. “I don’t know.” Deep under the forest canopy, Maeve felt the bear spirit stirring, smelled the green scent of moss on trees. “By all the dead gods, Laret, I turned into a bear.”

  “I noticed.”

  “All these years I’ve waited for my wyrd, and it’s a second skin!”

  “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never met someone who could do it.”

  Maeve shook her head and rubbed down her face. “I met a woman long ago who could turn into a white cat.” She took a few
deep breaths. “I’m a bear.”

  Laret snorted a laugh, and when Maeve frowned at her, she laughed harder.

  “It’s not funny!” Maeve said.

  “I’m sorry. You just looked so serious.” She put on a solemn expression. “I’m a bear.” She sputtered, cracking into laughter.

  Maeve pushed her shoulder but couldn’t hold in a smile. “Shut up.”

  “You’re a bear,” Laret said in another serious voice. “We’re all bears.”

  Maeve laughed harder now. Dain stared at them as if they were insane.

  Laret hugged her from the side. “I’m so happy for you.”

  Maeve leaned into Laret, ignoring Dain’s continuing stare. “I wasn’t thinking about it, wasn’t thinking about anything except Henrik and his sword. I saw how he hurt you, and I just…let go.” And killed a man. She told herself to stop lingering there. Laret was alive; they both were.

  “I don’t know what to say, Maeve. No one’s ever, I mean, no one has cared—”

  Maeve kissed her before she could continue. She met Dain’s stare afterward. “Keep walking.”

  Laret chuckled. Maeve stared at Dain’s back and let the thoughts swirl in her head.

  She’d become a bear.

  She hadn’t just killed a man. She’d eaten him.

  Maeve covered her mouth. The taste wouldn’t leave her. With a grimace, she tried to think of something else. Laret hadn’t complained, but Maeve wouldn’t kiss her again until she’d had a chance to wash out her mouth.

  She had a wyrd.

  The thing she’d been dreaming of since she’d become a witch, all the wonders she’d witnessed at the hands of others, and now she had one of her own, just not quite what she’d expected. Of course, she’d never actually known what to expect, just wanted something that would get her on Gilka’s ship.

  The thought made her smile a little. If she hadn’t already made an enemy of the two most powerful thrains, they would definitely have taken her now. Witches with a second skin were rare, and something as powerful as a bear? The thrains would be falling over themselves to claim her.

  And she would have none of them.

  She leaned close to Laret again. “After all this is over, I won’t seek out a crew, just in case you were wondering.”