The Beast and The Sibyl

by A. J. Adams

  I wanted to beat her purple, to have her screaming for mercy. But since I’d pledged to take her as a mate and protect her accordingly, I hadn’t raised a hand to her. A warrior kills his enemies, loots their cities, and takes what he wants, but only a stinking coward breaks his word. Even if the mate turns out to have been whelped by a she-wolf and more venomous than a snake.

  I put down my glass. “I’m going fishing.”

  I love the sea. It’s the place I’m happiest, because it’s where I can be truly free. So I collected my best net and rod and took out the boat I’d made. It was just a small effort, a twelve-footer with a simple sail. It was fine for fishing but not something you’d want to actually go places in.

  The wind was a fine one, and it took me south. I caught some nice herring, went ashore and cooked it, and went right back out. I should’ve gone home, but instead I decided to explore a bit.

  I kept going south, dipping in and out of coves, getting a lay of the land, and after three days I finally turned out to sea. I was looking for the north-flowing ocean current that would take me home again, but I got caught in a squall. No problem, I tacked out of it, but it landed me in a patch of fog, and that shoved me smack into the real thing.

  When you’re at sea, you get used to being tossed about because Rám, the sea goddess, likes a bit of a tumble. Actually, I quite enjoy it. It’s fun to fight the elements, and I was still raging, so I was happy to take it on.

  But this was one bitch of a storm and I was in a small boat, a toy for fishing, not a proper ship. I fought it for a day and a night, being driven farther south and away from home every minute.

  On the second day, I was free of it. I went ashore, found water, and slept a day and a night. The stars told me I’d come farther in a few days than I might have in a fighting ship under full sail. It would take me almost a week to get home.

  I was back at sea, nearing the current that would give me a bit of extra push when Rám’s daughters came back. They’d brought Jormungand, the giant storm-making serpent with them, too.

  The new storm came out of nowhere, and it was a monster. Waves taller than six carts, lightning bolts that electrified the very air, and hail that felt like rocks blasted down on me. The little boat couldn’t take it. Tossed from one wave into another, it finally disintegrated.

  I went down into the ocean, black with rain, iced by whipping winds. Funnily enough, I wasn’t worried. I like a good fight, and although it was too dark tell up from down, I had it together. After months of warfare with Lizbeth, this was a battle I could win.

  I kicked off my boots, felt bubbles move up past my face, and knew to move up with them. I broke through to the surface and collided with my bilge bucket. I hung onto that for dear life and floated. I’m not sure how long I swam. I think I saw three sunrises, but it may have been four.

  Maybe it was drinking seawater, or maybe I got bashed on the head harder than I’d thought, but after a while I wasn’t exactly in my senses. I saw my brother, Egil, and my sister, Folke, both walking and smiling, although I knew they were gone. I heard my mother singing, too. She always sang as she worked. It was soothing, and I just floated away.

  I came to when someone threw a bucket of water over me.

  “Is he dead? Give him a drink!”

  Sweet, fresh water. I gulped it down, and it restored my senses. I was covered in sand and seaweed. They chucked another bucket of water over me, and then they were yelling.

  “Ullr save me! Look at those tattoos!”

  “His eyes! Look at his eyes!”

  “It’s a Beast! We’ve caught a cursed Beast!”

  This was trouble. Prydain call us Beasts, the fuckers. They’re hrafnasueltir, a bunch of cowards too, but as I was weak, this lot were going to try and kill me. I got to my feet, and I hit one of them, a big man with a chest like a barrel. But they overpowered me as easily as if I were a Guildsman’s daughter. Someone hit me from behind, and I was flat on my face.

  I was in and out, and when I regained my senses, I was hogtied and being dragged down a path while they chanted, “We caught a Beast!”

  I could have taken the lot of them at that point, but the stinking cowards refused to take me on. With my wrists and ankles pulled into the small of my back, I was tied in an agonising bow. My muscles were screaming in red-hot pain. I was completely helpless and the poxy whoresons kicked and used their whips on me, knowing they were safe.

  I didn’t say a word, but I vowed vengeance. I’d break free, and then I’d kill them all. I’d burn the place down, and put them all to the sword, the gutless bastards.

  A boot got me in the ribs. “You Beasts burned Brighthelme!”

  In case you hadn’t noticed, the hatred between my people and the Prydain goes both ways. The ordinary people are bad enough, being cowards and liars, but their Citizens, the spoilt, rich ones who are landowners, are worse. They lie every time they open their mouths.

  Last autumn, when we went to Brighthelme to trade our silver for their goods, they agreed to safe passage. The treacherous rassragr broke their word, burned our ship, and tried to rob us. We beat them and got our revenge by razing their city and taking their women, but the cheaters blamed us.

  That’s Citizens for you. They’re corrupt to the bone. They’re also the kind of hrafnasueltir who get nasty when you’re helpless. So as I was being dragged into the village square, I knew I was in trouble.

  “We caught a Beast! A real live poxy Beast!”

  Bastards. Calling us beasts while they cheat, steal, and lie. I got kicked in the ribs, a whip laid about my shoulders, and all the time they were screaming.

  “Hang him!”

  “Beat him!”

  “Kill the Beast!”

  Then I saw her. She was standing there, staring right into my eyes. For a moment, I thought I was looking at a Valkyrie, one of Valhalla’s shield maidens. She had hair the colour of ice, and eyes as blue as the sky. Tall, willowy, and silent, she looked unworldly. There was a wolf at her side, too.

  I blinked, expecting her to vanish, but it wasn’t a vision. She was real. The knowledge hit me with a punch that sucked the breath out of me. She was one of us, a Skraeling of Thule.

  It wasn’t possible. Our women were gone. Yet there she was. Eyes from heaven, hair straight from the snowfields, and a long, lean, elegant body that comes from superb fitness. She was the only one who wasn’t screaming. In fact, she gazed right through me. It was the weirdest thing. As I looked back, those blue eyes seemed to shimmer and grow bigger.

  “Where did he come from?” Her voice was light and sweet.

  She leaned over and touched me. Suddenly I was floating, spinning in the air. I couldn’t breathe, and then I was back in the inked waters, drowning again. Except this time the sea smelled green and crisp like the forest.

  “The duke will want to see him!”

  At the sound of her voice, I snapped back, feeling the aching muscles, the rough edges of the net, and the blood of the whip cuts trickling down my skin.

  I didn’t understand. Why would a Skraeling woman be with the filthy Prydain? And why was she bending her neck and invoking the name of their cheating rassragr of a duke?

  She gazed at me, the heavenly eyes rich with promise. Then she straightened and spoke. Her voice was soft yet strong. It silenced them. “If you kill the Beast or injure him so he can’t speak, his lordship will be most displeased!”

  It made no sense. Why was she in league with our enemy? It was crystal clear to me that she didn’t belong. The villagers were dark-eyed and dark-haired like most of the Citizens, but she stood out like a flame in the darkness. The Prydain didn’t like her, either, I could see that by the way they kept away from her.

  She leaned on the wolf, controlling it with a touch of her hand. “Lady Freyja always advises counsel before action.”

  A Skraeling woman who invoked our goddess yet who was a traitor. I was filled with sudden hate, poisoned by the thought of one of our own people contaminated
by foul betrayal.

  If the will were a weapon, she would have fallen on the spot. Instead, the world blurred again. I think I passed out for a few moments because when I opened my eyes, he was there. The Patriarch. A cheat, a liar and all-round scum bucket

  He certainly hates us Skraeling. “Glorious Ullr will bring us wise counsel. And tomorrow we will flog the Beast to cleanse him of his sins, and then we will burn him alive!”

  Chapter Three: Bliss

  When I ran, it wasn’t from fear or horror; I ran because I was determined to fight. The Patriarch was a formidable enemy, but I wasn’t afraid. That’s probably my blood speaking. You see, I’m part Beast myself. At least, I think I am.

  I’m a foundling. I was left at Freyja’s shrine twenty-five years ago. The sisters took me in, and as soon as I was old enough, their chief priestess, Augusta, the Lady Divine, appointed me as her own servant.

  “Devil’s spawn!” The Patriarch, a devotee of Ullr, the Mysterious One, had spat with horror when he’d first seen me. However, back then he was a new arrival, an irregular visitor to the village. As his place was in the Vale, the lands that lie twenty miles south of us, the sisters simply ignored him.

  “The Beasts raid the coast,” the villagers gossiped. “The poor mother was probably a fisherman’s wife, raped by those animals.”

  “All children are a blessing,” the Lady Divine reminded them. “And when the goddess opens her arms to a little lost soul, there cannot be evil.”

  In those days we didn’t see the Patriarch often and so people talked, but they let me be. However, as I grew up under Freyja’s watchful guardianship, there was no disguising my hair, pale as the moon, and my eyes, blue as the summer sky. I wore my shift, tunic, skirts, and boots like everyone else, but when I caught my reflection in mirrors and pools, I saw a Beast.

  The villagers were cautious, not even allowing me to play with their kids. Luckily, the sisters were kind, and as the temple lay a mile or so from the village, I didn’t realise at first how much people feared me. By the time I did, I was old enough not to mind.

  I thought myself very lucky; foundlings might start life free, but many more descend into poverty and become thralls. I knew what that meant because Durwyn the thatcher owned Salvation’s only thrall, Helga. He’d taken her when our city Brighthelme won a dispute against Volgard.

  Helga was quiet and sad. While Durwyn didn’t collar her, I knew he took her to his bed. As if that weren’t bad enough, Durwyn’s wife would beat her for it, too. Durwyn always boasted he treated Helga well, but I pitied her with all my soul.

  I learned very young that life is cruel, and it’s sensible to take what you can get. I had nothing but my freedom, but I was grateful for it. I didn’t look to better myself, either. The Sisters of Freyja accept only the daughters of noble families, so I knew I could never join them, but I could stay as their servant.

  The Sisters specialise in healing, so I grew up making tonics and learning midwifery. As livestock are valuable as people, and sometimes more so, I got an all-round education. I might have stayed there forever, but when I was fifteen, I got my first vision. I thought it was a dream, but it was so vivid that I told the Lady Divine all about it.

  “I saw a young noble on a horse, all white but with a black mane and tail.” I’d thought it beautiful. “The man had a red cloak and a jewelled dagger. He fell off and hurt his leg.”

  “It’s a reminder from the loving goddess,” the Lady Divine said. “It’s dangerous to go into the woods alone.”

  “He was by the sea cliffs, just up the coast.” I’d seen them in the background. “We should go and find him!”

  The Lady Divine had just laughed. “Oh Bliss, you do have an active imagination! It was just a dream!”

  But the very next day the duke’s hunting party swept through the village. I recognised the horse straightaway and when the duke went after a bear and disappeared, the Lady Divine talked to the squire.

  “It’s likely a child’s dream.” The Lady Divine was always cautious.

  “It’s a message from the goddess.” Courtney was still young then, barely seventeen, and still dressed in black, his father having passed away just months before. He’d taken a rescue party to the cliffs, and there they found the duke with a broken leg.

  It was a nine-day wonder. “Bliss saw the whole thing in a dream!”

  “She saved our noble duke!”

  “The sisters say it’s proof she’s a child of Freyja!”

  But the flipside hit hard, too.

  “With that weird white hair and those unnatural eyes, who’s to say she isn’t demon’s spawn?”

  The Lady Divine was furious. “How dare you! There is no evil in Freyja’s shrine!”

  It was touch and go. The villagers aren’t fond of strange things and tend to kill two-headed lambs and black cats. Also, while dukes and temples have their sibyls, witches are burnt at the stake, so I was scared stiff and even thinking of running away.

  Before I could gather my courage, the duke called me to his hunting lodge. When I curtsied, he bade me rise and then embraced me. “My sweet little sibyl! You saved my life!”

  “The goddess loves us, sir.” I’d been primed by years of prayer.

  His eyes were steel grey, and I felt a darkness emanating from him. A sibyl, and hopefully a powerful one. His thoughts came through strong and clear. The duke was lusting for power.

  Despite the evil emotions, he was smiling. “From the mouths of babes we are reminded of the gods and their powers. Come to Brighthelme with me! And the Lady Divine, too! We shall be a party of friends, travelling under Freyja’s grace.”

  I had an awful feeling of danger, but I was too scared to speak up. I’d learned a little courtly fashion from the Lady Divine, but even so, the strange way the duke spoke intimidated me as much as the rich clothes, scented with bergamot and orange.

  The Lady Divine had replied for me. “You are gracious, my lord. We are honoured.”

  We were whisked off to Brighthelme and treated to a big feast and a city parade. The press of people and emotions flattened me, so I don’t remember much. However, when it was over, the duke took me to see Apollo’s sibyl in her cave, “that you might see how we honour those whom the gods inspire,” he smiled.

  But the sibyl was stark raving mad. She was rail thin, a drooling, raving wreck who never left the dark caves under the palace. Her wine was served in a golden goblet, and she had meat on a silver platter, but she was so out of her wits that she needed to be fed by minders.

  “It’s the poppy syrup,” the Lady Divine whispered. “She takes it in her food and wine. It helps her to hear the god.”

  It had also driven her insane. I shook with fear, horrified by the disconnected body and spirit before me.

  While she raved, uttering total nonsense, the duke smiled. “She has proclaimed me the city’s most righteous ruler, you know. My reign will be glorious and my family will rule a thousand years.”

  I knew straight off it was a lie. I also understood why I’d sensed darkness from the duke. I saw my own fate in that of the poor sibyl. He wanted me for my visions, thinking that I could bring him more power. If the duke had his way, I would be locked up in the dark, stark raving mad from poppy syrup.

  Terrified I’d blurted out, “I can’t leave the shrine, sir! Lady Freyja won’t like it.”

  At the threat of heavenly anger, the duke hesitated. “Indeed?”

  “The lady is all powerful, sir!” I remembered another prayer. “The gods are jealous, sir, and goddesses especially so.”

  At this, the duke hissed and made a sign to ward off bad luck.

  Luckily for me, the constable, the leader of the duke’s army, was there, too, whispering, “Sire, what if factions form around each sibyl? It could easily cause conflict.”

  The idea of political trouble decided the duke. “We certainly can’t deprive the goddess of her most precious child.” He gave me sweetmeats and petted me. “Go back to your rural re
alm if that is your wish. But my lady, when you are grown, come back to me. I would have you be my advisor.”

  I had a reprieve. In order to show his gratitude, the duke made me a Citizen and gave me property: his very own hunting lodge. From that moment on, my life was transformed. I went back to the village as an independent person of means, and suddenly I was accepted.

  “Bliss saved our duke, and she has a good dowry.”

  “She must be a child of the goddess, after all. How much is she worth now?”

  With the property and the duke’s personal favour, I might have made a good marriage. Certainly the squire thought about it. He began calling me ‘sweet sibyl’ in imitation of the duke and demanded I call him Courtney.

  His words were honey. “You and I, sweet sibyl, are blessed by the gods. We must get to know each other better.” But I saw his mind, and it was full of coin, gold coin.

  “I think he wants to marry you, Bliss!” The Lady Divine was a romantic. “I think he really likes you.”

  “I think it’s the lodge and the land that attracts him. It’s not like I have family or influence.”

  “With the duke’s favour, you don’t need family. Marriage means security, Bliss, and children with a rich future.”

  I didn’t want to give up my newfound independence and become a slave to a husband, especially one who only wanted me for what I could bring to his coffers. However, it’s dangerous to offend a noble.

  So I smiled and was polite. “If he asks me I will consider it,” I promised. “The goddess will guide me.”

  The Lady Divine was appeased, and as I settled into my own home, the beautiful hunting lodge, I began having more dreams. I started having waking visions, too. Sometimes I saw our duke. As he was either killing his enemies on faraway battlefields or doing something dastardly at home, I learned to hate and fear him. Thankfully, my visions of him faded and were replaced with visions of my own village–and an awful lot of lost sheep and stranded cattle.