by Joanna Bell
I decided to get the parents' details, when they showed up, and then have Child Protective Services follow up with the family in a day or two. Who the hell did they think they were, letting their much-too-young-to-be-alone kids play so close to the waves like that, totally unsupervised?
And then, before I had time to more fully work myself into a real righteous fury, two women appeared from the woods and my mouth fell open.
These were not women from River Falls. These did not even appear to be women from the 21st century. One was blonde and one dark-haired, and both carried what looked like large wicker baskets. The dark-haired one nodded at the children and said something I couldn't quite make out, but they hadn't come for them. I watched, fascinated but also scared, because the more I saw of where I was, the more it felt like I was very, very far away from River Falls. The women walked to the water's edge and began unloading what looked like dishes – plates and bowls – from the baskets. And then they scooped small handfuls of sand into them and began to scrub. They were doing dishes. And they were dressed similarly to the children, in cream-colored tunics – although the women's clothing looked to be in much better condition.
I closed my eyes at one point, as they began to rinse the sand out of the bowls in the waves, and then opened them again about ten seconds later, expecting the women and the children to have vanished. It would almost be less astounding than what I was seeing.
But they were still there. They didn't look hostile. Neither one was bigger than me, although both looked young, healthy and physically capable. Still, they were women, around my age, washing dishes. What did I have to fear from them?
Still, I had to wipe my palms on my jeans before standing up, so sweaty had they become. It took a few moments for the women to notice me. It was the children who saw me first – immediately screeching and pointing and clutching at each other as if they'd never seen anyone like me before. And then the two dish-washers looked up, staring and lifting their hands up to block the bright sunshine from their eyes. They didn't look angry or aggressive. But they didn't look particularly friendly, either. They weren't smiling.
"Hello!" I shouted, grinning and affecting loose, unthreatening body language as I approached.
Both of them stood up from their task and the children ran to them, hiding behind their legs and peering out at me.
"Hello," I said again, when I'd gotten closer. "I – I'm sorry, I seem to be a little lost. Maybe you could tell me how to get home?"
The blonde narrowed her eyes but her companion offered me a very small smile. They spoke to each other in quiet voices, so I couldn't hear what they were saying. And then the brunette, still holding one of the bowls she'd been washing in her hand, spoke.
"Are you an East Angle?"
"Am I a what?" I asked, using the fact that we were now conversing to get a little closer – I still intended, after all, to question these women on the state of the children.
The entire group, all five of them, stepped back at once. One of the kids let out a little shriek and ran back up the beach into the woods. The others looked like they were thinking about doing exactly the same thing. I held up a hand and smiled.
"Don't be afraid. I'm just lost, that's all. I don't mean any harm. Can you help me?"
"You are lost?" The brunette asked skeptically. "Where do you seek to go?"
She had an accent. Maybe they were tourists? Could that explain the weird clothes and childrearing practices? "River Falls," I replied. "I am trying to find my way back to River Falls. My name is Sophie."
I wasn't actually lost, but I hit on mentioning River Falls to see if either woman could give me some idea of just how far away it was. And I suppose I got my answer when I saw a total lack of recognition on both of their faces.
"I am Bryn," she replied, before nodding towards her blonde companion, "and this is Jorunn. You say you seek the river?"
"River Falls," I smiled, taking note of the foreign-sounding names but not remarking on them. "That's where I live. I'm trying to find my way back there."
Bryn and Jorunn looked at each other, as the children seemed to accept I was not a threat and moved out from behind the women's legs to stare at me more openly.
"What's that?" One of the little ones asked, pointing to the roll of pink tape I still held in my hand.
"Just trail-marking tape," I replied, handing over the roll when the child reached for it.
"Are you an East Angle?"
That question again. I didn't know what an East Angle was. I supposed that meant I wasn't one. "No," I replied. "I'm from River Falls. River Falls, New York."
Something I'd said caused both women to turn to each other at once and confer in low voices.
"York?" Bryn, the brunette, asked when she looked up to me again. "You are from York?"
"New York," I corrected, confused by the almost imperceptible change in the tone of the conversation – I was being eyed with more suspicion than ever now.
"If you are from York," Bryn continued, noticeably pulling away when I took a small step towards her. "How did you get here? Who are you with – where are your men?"
I began to feel slightly impatient. Who were these strange women and their unkempt children? Why was my being from New York so seemingly sinister? And who the hell were 'my men?'
"I walked here," I told them, still smiling. "I'm just a little lost, as I said. Where are you from?"
Once again, both women looked at each other worriedly. And it was once again Bryn who responded. "It's no matter where we're from," she replied, somewhat haughtily. Something had changed. I'd said something that made them suspicious. "Because we're here now. And if you're from York, how is it you're all the way down here with no horses and no men-folk? Did you sail?"
I noticed then that they were repeating the word 'York' but not 'New York.' Were we even talking about the same place? "I walked," I repeated, allowing a very slight note of irritation to creep into my voice. "I told you that."
"You didn't walk," Jorunn, the blonde, finally spoke up. "Look at you as fat as a late-summer pig – you didn't walk from York! Now tell us where you're from or we might begin to wonder why you keep it secret."
I was 5 foot 7 inches tall, 144 pounds. Hardly 'fat' – although if these women and their skinny little children were anything to go by, perhaps I was fat to them. The interaction was going south, though, that much was clear. The first threat had just been hinted at.
"I am from River Falls, New York," I repeated, in a stronger voice. "And I'm a police officer. You do realize these children were playing unsupervised next to the water, don't you? And that they don't look like they've had their hair brushed for weeks?"
Wherever Bryn, Jorunn and those children were from, they weren't intimidated in the slightest by the fact of my being a police officer. Bryn looked at the kids as they fought over pieces of pink hiking tape and then back at me. "What care is it of yours where the children play? Do the children not play by the water in York? Our men-folk are not far from here, you'd do well not to speak in those tones again."
I lifted my arm then, meaning to rub my forehead, but it was misinterpreted. Bryn stepped forward quickly and shoved me back onto the sand. Not expecting it, I fell – but they'd made the mistake of not running, so when I leapt back to my feet I immediately grabbed her and pinned her arm behind her back. She screamed, which made the children scream.
"Calm down!" I barked, tightening my grip on Bryn's arm as she struggled – she was stronger than she looked and I was soon panting with effort.
But Bryn had no interest in calming down. The children fled into the woods and she turned to Jorunn:
"Get Gunnar! Get the Jarl! Go, Jorunn!"
The situation was escalating. I didn't even bother trying to grab Jorunn before she followed the children into the woods, because I knew I wouldn't be able to subdue both her and Bryn at once. And I considered running, too. But I hadn't come to wherever I was just to run without getting any information. I hadn't ev
en had a chance to ask either of the women about Paige Renner or Emma Wallis.
"Stop it!" I insisted, pushing Bryn's arm further up her back, making her screech again, when she refused to stop struggling. "Just – stop it, damnit. All I wanted to do was have a polite conversation!"
She finally seemed to give in, ending her struggles and standing angrily beside me on the sand, looking down. "Don't talk to me," she spat. "Gunnar will be here soon. Gunnar is a Jarl now – well, almost a Jarl. And I'm his woman! Well, I will be his woman – soon. He won't be happy to see me treated like this! He won't be happy at all!"
Tucked into the back of my jeans, warm against my sweaty lower back, was my gun. If it had not been there, I may not have stayed on that beach with Bryn. I may have chosen not to deal with her strangely-named boyfriend. But the gun was there, and I still hadn't asked anyone about Paige or Emma.
I heard Bryn's boyfriend before I saw him. Audible grumbling, stomping footsteps, and a metallic clanking. When he finally emerged from the woods and I looked up, I suddenly lost the ability to speak. He looked just like the man I'd seen on the Renner property. His garments were lighter, it being summer, but everything else was the same – large build, a sword of almost cartoonish size affixed to his waist (it was this making the clanking sound, because Gunnar was also wearing a belt made of a series of small, hammered metal circles inlaid with colored stones – and with every step he took the belt bounced off the sword's hilt), a certain look of arrogance in his eyes.
"What is this?" He roared, striding down the beach at such speed I half thought he was going to run right into me. I did not let go of Bryn, though, even as the thought definitely crossed my mind. And when Gunnar got closer, the skirt-like leather garment he was fell slightly open and I saw that his thigh – his left thigh, where I had shot the fur-clad man in the woods – was smooth, unmarred by scars or wounds. This was not the man I shot.
"I am a police officer," I warned him as he came right up to me, so close our chests were almost touching, and glared. "So it would be best, sir, if you –"
"You're a what?"
I frowned, annoyed at the lack of respect. "A police officer. And you –"
"Don't know what that is, girl."
Bryn's boyfriend, whose hot breath was right in my face, looked to be about 20 years old. I'm sensitive to disrespect. It happens. It happens especially, I think, to young women who go into traditionally male jobs and find themselves having to deal, day in and day out, with people who seem to assume that they got the jobs through means other than their competence. So to be called 'girl' by a posturing kid who looked, in spite of his build, like he was barely out of high school – I admit, it made my slapping hand itch.
But, as I'd just informed the lovely Gunnar, I was a police officer. I couldn't go slapping everyone who annoyed me.
"A police officer," I repeated, through gritted teeth. "I work for the River Falls Police Department – and sir, I'm armed. I would advise you to step back if –"
I didn't get to finish my statement, because Gunnar burst into loud, barking laughter. His companions soon joined him, tittering girlishly and sneaking infuriating little glances at me to see how angry I was getting.
Gunnar made a big show of looking me up and down, then. "Armed?" He chuckled. "With the smallest sword in the world? With an infant's flimsy bow and blunted wooden arrows? Even these things I do not see, girl. Tell me, who are you to speak to me in such a manner? The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because the sight of blood upsets my lovely –"
That was it. A clear threat. I let go of Bryn and took a quick step back as I pulled the gun out of my jeans and aimed it at Gunnar.
Neither he nor his lady-friends reacted in the slightest. Just like the man in the woods, they didn't even flinch. It wasn't courage, I saw it now for what it was – it was simple ignorance. Somehow, these people did not know what a gun was. Which meant my gun was useless, unless I wanted to shoot someone down right there on the beach.
Gunnar almost caught a bullet right there when he lunged forward to grab it out of my hands. I was quicker than him, though. I jumped aside and then fired over my head. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, and I was the only one expecting it – the 3 people standing in front of me all jumped in shock. Bryn and Jorunn covered their ears and screamed. Gunnar drew his sword.
"What is that?!" He bellowed, lifting his sword. I took aim at his chest and that time, he decided he didn't want whatever it was that had just made such a sound pointed at him.
"Don't!" I ordered. "I'll shoot you! Don't come one step –"
Gunnar swung his sword down, but he was not as proficient as he looked. Once again, I jumped out of the way, lifting the gun once more in his direction. But before I could fire again another voice, louder and deeper than Gunnar's, came booming out of the woods.
"BROTHER!"
We all looked up then, almost transfixed, as a man who seemed not to be bathed in the golden light of the sun so much as emanating it from his very being strode down the beach. He was magnificent – tall, broad and muscular without being restricted by it. His movements were graceful and quick and his cheekbones high and prominent, as if carved from granite. I wanted to speak, to say something before whoever this was could wrongly discern the situation and perhaps go after me. But no words came out.
"What's this?" The man demanded, glaring at Gunnar, and then at me, and ignoring Bryn and Jorunn entirely.
Up close, I could see that he was dressed finely, like Gunnar, but also less showily. There was no belt inlaid with pretty stones around his waist, no silver cuff around each bicep. Nonetheless, he had a greater air of authority about him than the more fancily dressed man did.
"Leave us!" Gunnar growled. "Voss, Ivar! Why must you follow me around like an old wom –"
I flinched then, hard, as the man – Ivar – lifted a hand as if to strike. Gunnar flinched, too.
"You've always been too loose with your words, brother," Ivar said, his voice low and even and filled with the kind of threat that doesn't need to be verbalized. "I wouldn't need to follow you around if I thought you could stay out of trouble. But here you are, as ever, swinging your sword at lone women on the beach so you can impress the girls."
"I wasn't impressing the girls! I was –"
"Go!" Ivar commanded Bryn and Jorunn, waving them dismissively away. "Go now or I'll have you whipped. GO!"
The girls went, running back up the beach and disappearing into the woods without a single word, without even daring to look Ivar in the eye. And as soon as they were gone, he turned back to his brother.
"The raids go well, Gunnar. We hold the lands we've taken with ease. Do you think it will be this easy in a moon? Do you think it will be this easy in the winter? Do you think the Lords do not plot against us, even now? You try me, brother. You make me wonder if allowing you to join us was the right thing to do."
Wherever I was, it was not somewhere so alien that younger brothers meekly acquiesced to being lectured by older brothers. Gunnar was fuming, his eyes flashing with anger and his shoulders tight with it.
"You do not even ask what it is I do here," he replied tightly. "You do not even ask, Ivar! Voss! All my life and –"
"I do not have to ask, do I?" Ivar shot back. I took the opportunity, as the brothers focused on each other, to take a small step back. Even with my gun, I didn't favor my chances against both of these men – especially not at such close quarters.
And just as I moved out of his reach, Ivar – without even looking! – reached out and grabbed my t-shirt at the neck, using it to snatch me back towards him.
"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, digging my nails into his hand in an attempt to get him to let go. "Get – get off me! What are you doing?!"
My other hand still held the gun. I began to raise it instinctively, simply as a response to being attacked, but Ivar simply knocked it out of my hand so quickly and decisively that I didn't even realize he'd done it until I saw my weapon skiddi
ng away across the wet sand.
"OK," I said, immediately ceasing to fight. I had to get that gun back. "OK. I'm sorry. I'm – I'm sorry! I'm not fighting anymore!"
"You shouldn't be fighting in the first place," Ivar commented. "A woman alone against 2 men of the North? I don't know what chance you think you have. As it is, I don't have time to deal with this kind of thing so please, tell me what business it is you have here so I can decide what to do with you."
Decide what to do with me? What the hell did that mean? Not that I had a chance to answer Ivar's questions before Gunnar spoke over me.
"She attacked Bryn," he said. "Bryn is my woman, Ivar. My woman. I can't stand by while some filthy Angle –"
"Ah," Ivar chuckled, prompting me to imagine I could see actual steam coming out of Gunnar's ears. "Your woman? But she's not your woman, Gunnar, is she? She's just the girl you're currently sticking your prick into. And soon there will be another, and another. She's not your woman, boy. You've no business wasting your energy in her defense. When I came upon you here, you had your sword drawn. Why?"
Gunnar closed his eyes and looked down at the sand, his fists clenched at his sides. "Did you not hear the sound of a thunderclap, brother? The woman is a witch! It came from her! I was protecting –"
"A witch, is it?" Ivar demanded. "And an East Angle at that – have you forgotten where we are? Have you forgotten that we come to conquer this land? Did you think to ask this woman a single question before you moved to relieve her shoulders of the burden of her head?"
"She says she's from York," Gunnar sulked. "She says she's not an East Angle."
"Is that all? You find a Yorkish woman on the beach, days and days from her home, in the middle of a war of conquest, and the only thing you can think to do is kill her? You must learn to think, brother. Until you do that, the greatness you seek will never be yours. Here," Ivar turned to me, "we'll bring her back to camp, I'll question her myself."
