by Lee Savino
Hazel
I woke to the sound of rushing water. Light drops bathed my face until the warm bulk under me shifted, moving me away from the wet spray. Soft fur rubbed my face, wiping it dry.
I opened my eyes. A few feet from me water fell in a thick, grey sheet, roaring past the crevice where I lay.
“You’re awake.”
A voice in the gloom made me shoot up to my feet. I staggered, slipping on the slick rocks between me and the waterfall. A hand clamped on my arm and pulled me back from the edge. Muscled arms closed around me.
“I would not move if I were you,” the warrior half spoke, half growled in my ear. He moved us both back to safety before he let me go. With his height, he had to bend a little in the small space. His wet blond locks hung about his face and his skin bore faint scratches from the branches I’d sent whipping into his path, plus more cuts and blade marks that hadn’t been there before.
He stayed still and quiet while I turned in a small circle, taking in the black, wet rock and the rushing water.
“What—where?” I stammered.
“We’re in a cave behind a waterfall, some leagues away from the mage’s cave and his servants. The enemy sent out a curse that touched your mind. You fainted and I carried you away.” His large hand drifted over my hair, brushing back the wet strands sticking to my face. “You’re safe here, with me.”
I wrapped my arms around my body, but didn’t retreat. His massive body was a source of welcome heat. He’d already rescued me several times and carried me in his arms to this hidden sanctuary. If he wanted to touch me now, I wouldn’t protest.
Besides, unless I edged closer to the waterfall, there wasn’t much space to run. The blond warrior seemed to take up every available inch with his hard-muscled body. He stood bare-chested in ripped breeches. When he turned, I gasped. A broken arrow stuck from his back, near his waist.
“You’re hurt.” I pointed to the thick bolt. He glanced down as if he hadn’t seen it before. With a grunt, he pulled it from his flesh and tossed it into the raging fall of water a few feet from us.
Blood gushed from the wound. Without thinking, I went and pressed my hands against it, trying to stem the flow.
His large hand closed over mine.
“It’s alright, lass. It’ll heal soon enough.”
“But—”
He lifted away my palm and showed me that the skin had already closed.
I jerked my hand away. “Who are you?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What are you?”
“Afraid, little one?”
I jerked my head yes, but realized it was a lie. After my initial shock, I felt calm in his presence, as if, deep down, I knew I was safe with him.
A grin creased his features, barely discernible in the gloom. “That’s right, little one. You have nothing to fear.”
My forehead creased. Was he reading my mind?
He took my hand and drew me down to sit on the rocks.
“I am called Knut. I am a warrior.”
“You’re a man…but…” I searched for a way to describe the monster he’d become before my eyes.
Sadness touched his mouth. “I am a man and more than a man. Long ago a witch gave me and my fellow warriors great power. The magic had…consequences.”
I shivered in the cool, damp air.
“Here.” He lifted a large white pelt and laid it over my shoulders.
“We won’t stay here long. You need warmth and care.” He touched my knee, drawing my attention to the scratches there. My shift was filthy, my feet dirty and cut.
“Why are we in this place?”
“The Grey Men do not seem to like water.”
“Are they here?” I half-started up in alarm.
“Easy,” he pulled me into his arms. “I believe they are tracking you. I ran in the river to make sure they would lose the trail, but the mage bespelled the weather. We will wait out the storm and then I will sneak us out.”
I huddled awkwardly in his lap, dwarfed by his broad body. My shoulders were hunched, but when he stroked my back, I naturally angled towards his muscled chest, allowing him to draw me further into his embrace.
Under my ear, his heart beat against the roar of the waterfall. Some light came in through the blue-grey sheet, enough for me to study the warrior’s face. Tall and blond, like the Viking raiders most villages still feared, though their dragon-headed ships hadn’t touched our shores for many years. His skin bore scars, his face lined with the weight of his years, yet he was handsome. Every word, every move spoke of authority. He was a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed. Yet the way he looked at me…
My hands tugged on the pelt he’d tucked around my shoulders, drawing it tighter, but the fur was frail armor against the warrior’s penetrating gaze. He was studying me as I was him, a small smile on those firm lips.
“Tell me your name,” he said.
“Hazel,” I answered, obeying before I decided whether telling him my name was folly. My name and the clothes on my back, were the only things left in my possession.
“And how old are you?”
“Eighteen summers, sir. At least, that’s what the nuns at the abbey had told me. I was brought to the orphanage when I was a babe.”
Knut’s large hand came to cup my cheek. “So young to have such power over me.” His voice rumbled through me as his gaze fixated on my lips.
“How old are you?” I dared not knock his arm away, even as my heart beat faster, responding to his touch. My breasts felt heavy, swollen. Something inside me shifted, waking up, like a flower blooming and turning towards the light.
He chuckled, and it took years off his face. “I do not know my age. I was born thirteen summers before I pledged allegiance to my jarl, twenty summers before the jarl sent me to fight to make Harald Fairhair king of the North Lands. A few summers after that, I was chosen to be part of an elite group of men, selected to become the greatest of all warriors. The witch cursed us and my life as a man ended and my life as a Berserker began.”
A Berserker. I’d heard tales of such warriors, along with the stories of the Vikings who came to raid our shores. Warriors who feared nothing, shock troops that could destroy an entire army before their king sent the bulk of his forces into battle. Their inhuman violence and rage made them impervious to all harm. They’d fight until they dropped with exhaustion and nothing could stand in their way.
“I have not kept track of the years since then,” he mused. “It has been many moons.” He seemed more fascinated by my hair and weight on his lap, than telling me of his life. We were trapped behind the waterfall, with great danger lurking just outside, and yet he seemed content to have me sit in his lap, and examine every hair on my head with his worshipful gaze.
His great hand dropped to tug at mine, peeling my white-knuckled grip from the edge of the pelt. He studied my small fingers, my arm brown from days working in the sun.
Emboldened by the gentleness in his look and tone, I freed my hands and took his. Tingles spread through me as I stroked the fingers open, studied the scars and rough palms. The hands of a warrior.
Yet not long ago, they had been clawed and furred, a grotesque mix of human and wolf.
“Your hands, they were different when you were fighting the Grey Men.” I tried to summon my repulsion, but I couldn’t. “What are you?”
He set his finger against my lips and the simple touch sent warmth rushing through me. “Nothing you need fear.”
I was trembling again, against my will. I steeled my spine. “Why are you helping me then?”
He cocked his head, tucked a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I have been waiting for you a long, long time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to, little one. Some things are beyond understanding, but they are still true.”
He tucked me under his chin. His bare chest emanated heat that seeped into my chilled body. At last, at long last, I could relax.
I clos
ed my eyes. “I’m tired.”
“Sleep, little one. I will keep watch.”
I woke to him shaking me. “It’s time to flee.”
He drew me to my feet.
“Hazel, you must promise me to stay close and heed what I say.”
My forehead wrinkled.
“The last time we faced these Grey Men, I ordered you to flee. Instead, you stood to face them and then ran from me. I understand you did not know who I was, but now you do. Disobey again and you’ll face the consequences.”
Anger made my cheeks flush. “Like a spanking?”
He lifted his chin. “Exactly.”
Fists clenched at my side, I opened my mouth to argue and he caught my chin.
“You don’t deny me. I am the only one standing between you and the Corpse King’s creatures. You will heed my words and obey. If you don’t it may mean your death and I will not tolerate that. Will you submit to me?”
There seemed to be only one answer the golden eyes would accept. “Yes.” I had to work to wet my throat.
Immediately his hand on my chin gentled. “Poor little one. So cold and all alone. You are not alone anymore. Do you understand?”
I just stared at him.
“Sweet rabbit,” he murmured. But he dropped his hand and turned. “I am going to scout the way out of here. You will wait for my return.”
I nodded. I had no desire to rush to face those Grey Men.
He moved to the cave entrance, light on his feet. I secured the pelt around my shoulders as best I could and picked up the piece of witch’s staff. I did not understand what powers it had, but I was reluctant to leave it.
“Hazel,” Knut called to me from the edge of the path behind the waterfall, his deep voice rumbling over the crashing sound. I hastened to his side.
“Good girl.” He grinned down at me. I put my hand in his, clutching the short staff with the other, and he drew me back out into the light.
It was morning, soft sun just starting its arc through the sky. We’d spent the night together behind the falls.
“We have miles to go before we’re beyond the Grey Men’s reach. My friends have retreated back to our mountain home while the Alpha’s decide the best plan of attack. We have declared war on the Corpse King.”
“And Fleur?” I asked.
“She is safe, home with the pack.”
A little worry in me eased.
“Is that where you are taking me?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing at the sky to determine our direction. “And no. I’ve lived in the barracks with the rest of the warriors, but will make a new home.” He shot me a look I couldn’t interpret. “The Alphas will allow me to build a lodge at the foot of the mountain for myself and my mate.”
My heart twisted, but I kept my voice neutral. There was no reason for me to be disappointed that this warrior was pledged to another. “You have a mate?”
This time I knew exactly what his grin meant. “I do now.”
I nearly stumbled and he steadied me before pulling me along.
“Wait,” I tugged on his hand. “What do you mean?”
“The moment I scented you on the wind, I knew you were mine.”
I tried to free my hand, but he had an iron grip.
“Do not fight me on this, little one. We have enough enemies. We need not be at war with one another.”
“I-I am not yours,” I stammered.
“You are. But you have not realized it yet. Come. There is time to talk of this, when we are safe.” Clasping my hand, he picked up the pace. He moved with the powerful grace of a predator, body tense on high alert for our enemies.
I trailed after him, wanting to stay close and wishing I could pull away. I had no choice but to follow him. There was nowhere else to go.
I’d spent my life sheltered in the abbey, trusting a caretaker who’d lied to me and the other orphans when he said he’d care for us. He’d sold me and Fleur, and who knows how many of my friends, to be fodder for the Corpse King.
Knut gave orders, but risked everything for my care. The more time I spent with him, the less I wanted to leave.
Which was ludicrous. He was attractive and capable, to be sure. But pledging myself to him forever, when we’d just learned each other’s names?
As we made our way around a high hill, the wind shifted, bringing a rotting stench to our noses just as we ran into a group of Grey Men.
Knut tensed, pushing me behind him and drawing his axe. We were in a deep ravine, with no way out but to run back.
Go, a voice sounded in my mind. Knut’s. Impossible. I must be going mad.
I stepped back, hands twisting on the witch’s staff. There were so many Grey Men and they were armed. They could overwhelm Knut while he was letting me escape.
“Run, Hazel,” Knut ordered. “I will keep them from you.” Before he finished speaking, the creatures closest to him attacked. Spears swung down and Knut faced them with a challenging roar.
Whirling, I began to run. A voice murmured in my head. Head west and do not stop until you see mountains. I will call on the pack to come to your rescue, if I fall.
I stopped. Biting my lip, I looked back. Knut’s blond head bobbed amid the corpse-like creatures, ducking and wheeling as he fought many at once. If I left now, he would die.
In my hands, the wooden staff crackled with sudden energy.
A Grey Man had worked past Knut, trapping the Berserker between him and the rest of the horde. It slashed at Knut while he faced ten others.
My feet were moving before I could give it a thought.
The Grey Man raised a sword to stab at Knut’s back—and jerked and stiffened when I thrust the staff at its back. Ripples ran through its body while it stood paralyzed. The sword fell from its lifeless fingers a second before it dropped.
Knut glanced back, incredulous.
“I told you to run,” he grunted.
“Look out!” I screamed as two Grey Men leaped from the walls of the ravine, dropping onto the Berserker warrior. With a cry, he tossed one off his back and threw the other into the advancing horde.
The creature landed near me and, before it could run and attack again, I whacked him with the staff. The Grey Man sizzled and he flew as if lightning had struck him. The smell of charred flesh filled the air and the rest of the Corpse King’s servants hissed.
Under my fingers, the wood hummed. A second later, Knut’s hand closed over mine and he pulled me along. We raced along the bottom of the ravine. My bare foot caught on a stone and I stumbled. Knut swung me up into his arms. I held onto his shoulders.
“The Grey Men—they’re not following.”
“Whatever magic is in that stick, it stunned them. I killed a few, but it did not deter them until you used that thing.” He grimaced at the staff and I tucked it closer to my body, so it wasn’t touching him. “Where did you get it?”
“A witch gave it to Fleur, before I met her. The friar broke it before the Grey Men took us from the abbey, but it appeared in the cave before I made my escape.”
Knut grunted and I knew he didn’t trust such magic.
He didn’t stop running until he’d found the river again and crossed it. As the sun climbed higher, his pace slowed. We left the thick forest and came to a countryside of fields broken by a few copses.
Finally, he set me down.
“We’re off course, but I do not want to lead the Grey Men back to the pack. We’ll keep near water, for now.”
He fed me dried meat and we both took bracing drinks from the river.
“We’ll go this way,” he said and caught my hand when I started forward. “You disobeyed me, little one.”
“I saved your life,” I retorted, then bit my lip, hoping he would not lose his temper.
He pressed his lips together. I heard his thought clearly in my mind.
First, we find safety. Then there will be a reckoning.
As the day wore on, the weather grew dark and strange. Grey clouds suffused the
sun and a frightening voice carried on the wind, muttering in a language I could not understand.
“The Corpse King casting spells,” Knut growled. “He seeks what he lost.”
He lifted me again in his arms and increased our speed.
“I don’t understand,” I clung to the Viking and studied his features instead of watching the scenery pass by at a dizzying speed. “Why does he want me?”
“You are a spaewife.”
“A what?”
“A woman with a special sort of magic, one that calls to the Corpse King.”
I balked at this. “I have no magic.”
“You do,” the warrior said quietly. “For it calls to me, also. It quiets the beast.”
I rubbed my face, wishing I could lie down and wake up back at the abbey. Even if it was a prison of sorts, it was safe. “I do not understand any of this. I am Hazel, named for a common herb. My own mother gave me up and I was raised as an orphan. I am nothing special.”
“Your mother was probably a spaewife, also. Your ability comes through her.” He held up a hand when I would protest. “You do have magic, otherwise the witch’s staff would not be a weapon in your hands. Trust me, Hazel, you are no ordinary woman.”
Too tired to argue further, I slept a little, head throbbing, shivering under the blackened sky.
I woke as Knut ducked into a low, dark dwelling.
“Where are we?” I thrashed as shadows covered us.
“Shhh,” he set me down and kept his hands on my hips to steady me. “A crofter’s farm. I checked and no one’s about. You alright, lass?”
He waited for my nod to let me go. Numb, body trembling with fear and hunger, I watched him leave and return several times, fetching water, and wood to build a fire.
“The storm out there is nothing natural. We’ll stay here until it passes,” he told me.
“What happened to the people who lived here?” I asked. The hut had all the makings of a home lovingly built and then abandoned. There were dead flowers in a vase on the table, amid the cobwebs.
“This is the first farm we’ve found since leaving the Corpse King’s cave. Nothing grows well in the presence of evil,” Knut said. “As the mage’s power grew, it may have touched this place. The crofters left before they starved.” The wind gusted past the door, moaning with that eerie voice.
