by Byrne, Lily
“What do you want?” he snapped in frustration.
“A nice way to greet your wife.” She sneered. “I need some clothes.”
“Clothes? Why?”
“I just do.” She staggered to the clothes chest and rummaged through it, pulling everything out onto the floor.
Ifay tiptoed through the door, her lips pursed.
“You need to keep this house tidier,” instructed Saehild. “It’s a mess.”
“Only because you’ve thrown clothes over the floor,” retorted Bjarni. “Ifay does a good job keeping it clean. Better than you ever did.”
“Oh? Taking the side of the slave against me?” Saehild mocked, swaying. “I’m staying here tonight, so you’d better remember who your wife is.” She glared at Ifay, who glared back, to Bjarni’s amusement.
“So, you stay out every night, then expect me to welcome you back?” he said.
“I am your wife, so yes, I do.”
He’d hoped the night would progress differently to this. A cruel idea crossed his mind.
“Well, sit down. Have some ale and a rest by the fire.”
“Thank you.”
He fetched the ale and settled her down in the chair.
“What are you doing?” asked Ifay, confused.
“She will sleep now.”
“Why? What?”
He indicated Saehild, who leaned back in her chair while her eyelids drooped further and further. At last her tongue was silent. He waited, and tried not to smile at the trick he’d played on her.
After a few minutes, light snores resounded across the house. With a glance at Saehild to make certain she slept, he drew Ifay to him and her protruding bones rubbed against his clothes.
“Can’t we carry on where we left off?”
“But what if I have a baby? You would disown me, sell me, say the child is not yours. I cannot do it.”
“I promise I won’t do that.” He pressed her against him, her underfed body half the width of his.
He took out a knife from his belt, without noticing her eyes widen in fear. Taking a lock of his hair, he sliced it off.
“This is my promise. I won’t disown you, sell you or anything like that.” He pushed the hair into her hand. “I’ll look after you.”
“I thought you were going to …” She eyed the knife so he put it away again.
“What? Hurt you? Never.”
He gazed into her eyes, fell into their dark depths, kissed her for the first time. She tasted unfamiliar, sour, but her trembling fragile body against his produced the same effect as before. He kissed her gently, exploring her mouth, his beard rasping against her soft skin, trying not to frighten her, but still she shook.
“It won’t be like the last time,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
She nodded hesitantly, so he led her to the bed and slowly undid her plain apron, letting it fall to the floor, then lifted her shift dress carefully over her head. She stood naked in front of him, looking down at the floor.
Still gazing at her, he ripped his own clothes off, not caring if he tore them. A smile played on her lips as she gazed at his body, her glance drawn down to his erection.
“I’ve never seen one before.” Transfixed, she stared at it.
“Haven’t you?”
“Usually it all happens so quick, I never knew what it was they put in me.”
“Come on, you’re shivering.”
He scrambled onto the bed, holding out his hand to help her up. He threw the covers over them both, hugging her to him, his cock pushing towards her with a life of its own. But he kissed her instead, her lips, her neck, her collarbone. He crouched over her, slowly moving his tongue down to her breasts, the small mounds hardly rising from her chest. Her skin was a glossy warm brown, her nipples darker. He’d never seen a woman like this before close up. She observed his body against hers.
“We’re so different. You’re so pale - I’m so dark.”
“Mm.”
He moved to the side and ran his hand down her waist and hips to her thigh, moving inwards to caress between her legs, pushing a finger inside her before she could catch her breath.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. “What is that?”
“My finger. Want me to stop?” He gently pushed it in and out, forcing groans from her lips.
“You make fun of me. Nobody puts his finger inside me.”
“What usually happens?” He breathed as fast as she.
“The – the - Oh! The man puts that thing – Oh! - inside me and it–it hurts and then it is over.”
He paused.
“I’m sorry I did it too, I’m - I won’t do it like that again.”
“I-I am scared.”
“It’s alright.” He carefully moved his finger in and out of her, making squelching noises. She gazed up at him and groaned with pleasure, then giggled at the funny sounds.
He continued, harder and faster as she encouraged him with her groans and gasps, her wetness, her tightness. Then he put two fingers in, making her cry out with pleasure on the verge of pain.
She shuddered against him and he held her, trembling as much as she.
“What the hell are you doing?” said a sharp voice, and Ifay peered round him to see Saehild, her eyes narrowed.
Bjarni rolled onto his side. “What does it look like?”
“Fucking the slave? I’m your wife. You should be fucking me!”
Before Bjarni could answer, Ifay did.
“You are never here! Who do you think takes care of him all the time? Who cooks, cleans, talks to him?”
“You’re just a slave. You have no importance in this house. Tell her, Bjarni!”
He lay back, one hand behind his head, the other idly fiddling with his balls.
The silence grew, until at last Saehild turned on her heel and flounced out.
“Should I leave now?” quavered Ifay.
“No, stay, please. I want you to stay, not her. She can go and jump in the lake.” He put his arms round her tightly, again admiring the difference between their skin colours. “I don’t know why I married her.”
Gazing into his blue eyes, she grinned. Used to being ignored all the time and in the background, her heart lifted at the gentle smile on his face.
She hadn’t ever lain with a man lovingly before; it had always been brutal and rough with her masters, her master’s sons or brothers. Some had been gentle like Bjarni, but most not.
But then she gasped, clutching at him.
“What’s the matter?”
“I saw something.”
“What?”
“A red-haired man and a dark-haired woman. They’re in trouble.”
“Who?”
“I get these feelings sometimes. They are near stone or rock. You must hurry.”
“Where?”
“You have to believe me. Please! I’m not pretending.”
Bjarni stroked his beard, frowning.
*
Kjartan and Aelfwyn prepared to step out of their cave but then the men bearing the body of Ragnar came in.
She rushed over to check her beloved husband but a man immediately captured her. She struggled in his arms but slumped with relief at the sight of Ragnar’s chest rising and falling.
Before Kjartan could do anything, however, another man punched him to the ground. Aelfwyn’s captor dragged her out of the small cave and along to the main cavern.
She looked round. The huge cavern had an uneven floor with rock shelves along the sides of it. Shadowy figures of people could be seen, some lying down, perhaps dead, some sitting watching, and some couples moving together in a familiar rhythmic way. Groans echoed round the cavern. Groans of pleasure, groans of despair, groans of pain. Aelfwyn shuddered.
On the main floor, a circle of men watched her. The sorceress stood in the centre of them, waving her arms.
“Here is another offering,” she cried, looking at Aelfwyn, then frowned. “Is this good breeding stock?”
&n
bsp; She turned to the men who brought Aelfwyn in and they shuffled their feet.
Aelfwyn hid a smile. Thank God for her small size and unpromising appearance.
“I can’t believe she can bear children.”
A wolf man hurried into the cavern.
“Mother.” He addressed the sorceress. “She brought forth nourishing milk. I tasted it.”
The other men mumbled and stared at him, then at Aelfwyn.
“Quiet! She will do, then. I will prepare her.” She advanced on the young English woman, a cruel smile upon her face.
*
In the smaller cave where captives were held, Ragnar awoke, sitting up on the hard rocky floor. He tried to move and found his wrists tied to someone.
“It’s only me, Kjartan. Somehow, we ended up bound back to back.”
“What about Aelfwyn?”
“They want her to have their babies.”
“What? She can’t do that! She can’t have any more children!”
“Can’t she? Why?”
“It would be too dangerous. Never mind that, let’s find her.” He strained at the ropes.
“Don’t bother. What do you think I’ve been doing? I broke my last bonds so they’ve tied them extra-tight.”
They paused for a rest.
Ragnar realised Kjartan was shaking. “It’s alright.” He moved his elbow up and down Kjartan’s, the best reassuring pat he could give in the circumstances.
“Is it? It looks pretty desperate to me. I’ve met gangs like this before. They want to overthrow the order of things and impose their own rules. This lot seem to worship Fenrir.”
“Fenrir? The one who’s supposed to kill Odin at Ragnarok?”
“Yes, that’s him. They want to bring about Ragnarok, end the world and let Fenrir take over.”
Ragnar’s jaw dropped.
“I just thought of something. Don’t tell them your name’s Ragnar, whatever you do. Ragnar and Ragnarok. They’ll think you’re on their side and use you somehow.”
“Good idea.”
“And I know we’ve had our differences in the past but you aren’t going to kill me, are you?”
“If you don’t kill me.” Ragnar had been expecting a knife in the back ever since he met Kjartan again.
“I promise. We need to stick together. These people are insane.”
Chanting outside became louder.
“Sounds like they are doing something. It must be something to do with Aelfwyn.”
Ragnar bit his lip and tried harder to escape the rope bindings. He looked upwards in despair. “Odin! If I’ve ever needed your help, I need it now!”
Kjartan put forth silent prayers too.
With a mighty effort, Ragnar wrenched at his bonds, and they gave way. He gasped. “He answered!”
He turned and undid Kjartan’s bonds. They slapped each other on the shoulder, then to their dismay, a pack of wolf men came in and dragged them out to the main cavern.
*
“No one’s seen Ragnar or Aelfwyn since this morning,” said Bjarni to Steinar, who removed his eye patch and scratched the itch caused by the fur. “And it’s now evening.”
“Odd.”
“We need to do something.”
“Do you think they’ve been murdered?”
“No, I think they’re in trouble.”
“Why?”
“My - someone told me they’d seen it.”
“Someone? A prophetess you mean?”
“Er - yes. She said it’s something to do with stone or rock.”
“Caves? Are they trapped in the caves? It’s easy to get lost there.”
“That’s it! Of course!”
“We’ll get the men together.”
“But which caves?”
“It must be the ones near the hills, past the stream.” He patted Bjarni on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll save them.”
*
The sorceress stood over a prone Aelfwyn, sprinkling water and herbs over her, waving her hands back and forth. She forced some of the mixture into Aelfwyn’s mouth, even though she tried to avoid the bony hand.
Kjartan and Ragnar’s guards bound them again and moved them to the side, while the others waited at the side of Aelfwyn’s crude bed, pushing each other and muttering.
“So much for Odin,” muttered Kjartan.
“Is she doing what I think she’s doing?” Ragnar stared at his wife, who lay ominously still.
“If you mean preparing her for those men to fuck her, yes.”
“Leave her alone!” Ragnar yelled, struggling yet again with his captors. “She’s my wife. You can’t take another man’s wife!”
The wolf men laughed and made crude gestures at him.
“Ignore him!” roared the sorceress. “She will be one of us soon.”
“She’ll die if she has another child!” shouted Kjartan, also struggling with his guards. “And so will the child!”
Ragnar chewed his lip. Looking up, he noticed Ljotr with Saehild on a ridge of rock at the side of the cavern, a little higher than the others. He lay on top of her with his wolf head mask on the back of his head, fucking her. Bile rose in Ragnar’s throat. Why had his sister-in-law got involved with these people, these creatures?
*
Steinar gathered the Huskarls at the training ground again as the sun set in an orange glow.
“They’re all yours now,” he muttered to Bjarni. “They wouldn’t listen to me, so you try your luck.”
It wasn’t the type of evening to stir men into battle; it was more the time to relax and prepare for bed, but he had to try.
“Ragnar and Aelfwyn are missing,” began Bjarni. “I think they’ve been taken by the murderers. We need to find them.”
The Huskarls muttered amongst themselves.
“It’s just drawing bad luck on ourselves for something the English did,” said one.
“It’s not. These are our people. Ragnar is your friend, you should be glad to help him. And Aelfwyn is his wife.”
“An English woman, though,” said another. “She’s -”
“Well, I’m in,” interrupted Solmund. “We need to find them.”
Bjarni smiled. He could always rely on Solmund, even if just to cause him injury.
The others conferred among themselves and arguments began, the two opposing factions throwing punches at each other. One group, headed by Solmund, favoured an expedition to save Ragnar. The other preferred staying to guard the village.
“Oi!” yelled Steinar, banging his sword on his shield. “This is getting us nowhere. We should be united in finding our lost comrade.”
But they continued arguing as Steinar and Bjarni exchanged infuriated glances.
*
The sorceress left Aelfwyn and moved over to the Danes. Her fur clothes hid her feet so she seemed to glide across the floor.
“So, Loki’s son, you are here,” she said to Kjartan, lifting his chin to inspect him.
“I’m not Loki’s son. My name’s Flokisson, not Lokisson.”
She laughed and turned to the wolf men. “All this time he has been here and you didn’t think to tell me.” She nodded at his guards.
“Come with me.” She beckoned him with a smile.
He weighed up the situation. “Only if you let her go.” He pointed to Aelfwyn. “And him.” He indicated Ragnar.
The sorceress considered this. “Yes. Take her to the waiting room. We have a better plan.” She drooled in a way that made Kjartan’s blood chill.
She clicked her fingers and the guards lifted Aelfwyn off her bed. They untied Ragnar and as a couple of wolf men brought her towards him. He managed to catch her as she fell.
“I am the goddess. I have power over all,” she mumbled, her eyes huge and dark.
Ragnar picked Aelfwyn up.
“I won’t fight you. I have to look after her,” he said to the wolf men, who nodded and led them away to the smaller cave.
The sorceress led Kjartan to the
makeshift bed and laid him down.
“Prepare him,” she ordered. Her accomplices tied his hands above his head, bound his feet together and stripped him to the waist.
“I’m ashamed of you.” She turned to the assembled wolf men. “Did you not realise when you saw the colour of his hair? He is the Chosen One. He will be the father of the clan.”
Fear twisted in Kjartan’s stomach.
The sorceress turned.
“He will provide me with the source of life, then he will be our greatest sacrifice yet!” she exulted. “I must prepare myself.” She swished through the ranks of men, leaving them standing in a circle staring at Kjartan.
“If you wanted to see me naked, you didn’t have to sacrifice me,” he said to them. One laughed, but another glared at him and he fell quiet.
Two women came to him and started washing his chest with cold water, marvelling at his white-blond hair. They marked lines across his skin where the cuts would be made.
He shivered.
*
“Men!” shouted Bjarni, tired of the arguing. “I think Ragnar and Aelfwyn have been captured by Kjartan Silverhair.”
That brought them to a halt and they watched him in silence.
“Ragnar thought he was in charge of the murders. He has a grudge against Byrnham and this is his revenge.”
Excited talking replaced the silence.
“It must be him!”
“He turned the English against us!”
“We must punish him for all he’s done!”
Steinar nodded at Bjarni. “Arm yourselves. We’re going.”
“Where?” asked Solmund.
They all turned to Bjarni.
“The caves near the river,” he said, picking up his sword. He’d kill Kjartan if he’d hurt his friends. He slashed the sword at the grass, imagining it was the white-blond Dane’s head.
*
Ragnar stumbled down the passageway with Aelfwyn in his arms. The sounds of thumps and groans arose from behind him and he turned to see one of the wolf men fighting the others, knocking them all out.
“Go, brother,” he panted. “This is madness. We have to stop them.”
“Th-thanks. I’ll do my best. What are they going to do to my friend?”
“Sacrifice him. Go. Save your woman.”
“Thanks.” Ragnar didn’t wait for a change of heart, but set off with his intoxicated wife.
