The Beast and The Sibyl

by A. J. Adams

  “Soup should be done.” She piled me onto a large chair. “Food first. We’ll fix you up after.”

  I hadn’t realised I was starving, but the scent of onions, carrots and meat made my stomach growl. When she put a bowl to my lips, I was gulping it down. The wolf was watching me, sitting on the rug by the hearth. It had a look in its eye that told me I was eating its supper.

  “You’re black and blue.” She was looking me over. “I need to see how bad this is.” Her eyes were glowing, shimmering like the summer sky. “It may hurt.”

  The second she touched my side, the vision of the gentle Eid faded. I hissed at the fire her touch set off.

  “You’ll have to suffer.” She was completely matter-of-fact. “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  She went over every inch of me, poking and prying mercilessly. It shouldn’t have bothered me, in fact, I should have been grateful, but it was damn humiliating. I didn’t get why until she casually rolled me onto my side and put her hand on my balls.

  The goddamn cheek of her! Prodding me as if I were a steer at market! Humiliation swept through me. I wanted to yell at her, but all that came out was a low growl.

  “Stop grumbling,” she snapped. “I’m just looking!” The eyes were mocking. “Don’t be shy, Beast, I’ve seen it all before.”

  As the degrading examination continued I stayed determinedly silent. I’m a warrior. A disrespectful bloody woman feeling me up is something I can deal with easily. Except that I wanted to kill her.

  Eventually she was done. “Broken ribs on both sides, two broken fingers on your right hand, and the left wrist is sprained. Burns on both shoulders and the tops of your arms.” She sat back and considered. “You’re a lucky Beast. Thank the gods you wear leathers. If not, that whoreson would’ve torched your balls.”

  I was crossing my legs as she spoke. “Stop calling me Beast!” is what I intended to say but it came out like a snarl. The wolf was up in an instant, teeth showing and growling.

  “Lie down, Saga. He’s harmless.”

  The evil she-wolf! I wanted to slap her.

  She knew it, too. “Don’t you rage at me, Beast! I should’ve kept to the plan, overdosed you with poppy and left them to burn your corpse.” She got up and started messing about with a jug and bowls. “I’m too damn soft for my own good!”

  Right. Soft as rock. So she’d been planning to put me out of my misery. Like an animal. But my common sense kicked in and told me that despite it all, she’d intended to be merciful. Yet I couldn’t like her for it.

  She didn’t care what I thought, I could see that. She was totally intent on her task. The wolf was making puppy sounds now and dancing on tiptoes with excitement. “Here you go, Saga.”

  She put down three bowls filled with milk. I could smell it, rich and sweet. The wolf lapped it up, its eyes closed in ecstasy. I was wondering who the others were for when two cats walked in.

  Thule has always been too cold for them. I’d seen them in Prydain’s cities, but they were small creatures, ankle high and skittish by nature. These beasts strolling in were huge, with long fur, gigantic paws, massive pointed ears, and wide slanting eyes. I recognised them as kisa, the big cats that hunt in the forests.

  “Just in time for supper,” she said to them. “Did you have a good time in the woods?”

  The cats made straight for her, head-butting her knees as she rubbed their backs. It really took me aback. First the wolf and now the wildcats. This was an unusual woman.

  I should have been grateful, but to be completely helpless infuriated me.

  “Want some milk?”

  I’d let my feelings get the better of me and growled at her, but she’d interpreted my anger as a whine for food. Like I was as dependent as that damn wolf of hers.

  “Have some.” She immediately poured out a mug and put it at my lips. I should’ve refused, I wanted to, but milk is a luxury we’ve never had in Thule. When she put the cup to my mouth, its rich buttery goodness was irresistible. I gulped it down, and it was nectar.

  “Well, you’re clean and fed, but now we have to fix you up.” She was setting out needle, thread, bandages and splints. It looked like she knew exactly what she was doing. “We’ll set those fingers first.”

  I can’t remember the first time I had a bone set because we Skraeling begin scrapping as soon as we can walk. I’ve broken plenty of them since, and so I knew what to expect. It was going to hurt.

  “Want something to bite on?”

  “No.” Treating me as if I’m a cursed coward who squeals at a bit of pain!

  “Hmmm, so you can speak? Good.”

  Then she touched my hand, and all thought of snapping at her died. A broken finger or two is nothing, but setting them hurt like hell because every touch made me suck in my breath, which set off my ribs. Cleaning my face and setting my nose wasn’t great, either. By the time she was done, I was dizzy from keeping determinedly silent.

  “Come on, Beast. Lie flat so I fix your back.”

  Her words were cold and practical but her hands gentle. She flipped me over, and I was face down on the rug, being observed by the wolf and cats. We stared at each other as the witch cleaned and dressed the burns and stitched the whip cuts.

  “Sage and yarrow will help you heal,” she said cheerfully, “and comfrey will give those ribs a boost.”

  While I bit my lip and pretended it didn’t hurt, the wolf ended up lying against me, its nose by my face. It was a female wolf, and now I was in trouble, her instincts were to soothe. Women are like that. Good ones, I mean. The one that was working on me didn’t even make an attempt at nurturing. She went to work like Odin and his brothers ripping apart Ymir’s body and brain to make the world and the sky.

  I buried my face in the wolf’s neck, breathing in the musky scent, and held onto my pride. By the time she finished, though, all I had was silence. I couldn’t move. In fact, I was as weak as a kitten—and I don’t mean those hulking cat brutes that attended her.

  They were watching me with slanted green eyes, their looks as cool and measuring as hers. The wolf at least had some compassion. She was nosing my hair, her breath puffing in my ears. I’d never heard of a tame wolf before, but I decided I liked Saga.

  “Poor Beast.” I thought she was determined to insult me, but when I looked in her eyes and saw they were concerned, I understood that the ice maiden was trying to be kind. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  It smelled of her, and it was soft. I sank into feathers and was covered in flannel sheets and woollen blankets. I should have slept, but I was too strung out. I lay there, watching her.

  I couldn’t figure out what or who she was. She was a Skraeling, but she lived with the Prydain. That made her a traitor to us. She called me a Beast at every turn, too. Yet bringing me here meant she’d betrayed them.

  It made no sense, and in my weakened state, all I could do was gaze at her. She was the first woman of my own kind that I’d seen in years, and I didn’t know if the pain in my heart came from hurt or joy.

  She was staring into the fire. The flames illuminated the ice-coloured hair and made the pale skin glow. She was totally still, and just like the first time I’d seen her, she seemed like a creature from another world.

  Outside there was a patter of rain. It fell in sheets, the rhythmic clatter of it smothering the cackle of the flames. Time stopped. I felt as if I were floating in the sea, adrift in blankness. Then she sighed, and the world flowed again. The rain switched off abruptly, and the birds began to sing.

  “Freyja’s purse! What the hell is going on?” She looked surprised, shocked even, but it was a puzzle what was bothering her.

  She stood and stretched, showing off trim waist, long hair, and delicious breasts. I almost growled like her wolf in appreciation. Whatever she was, she was beautiful.

  I must have said something because she came to me, straightening the covers and tucking them in. “Keep quiet,” she said, “and stay put.” She was s
taring out into the night. “They’re coming, but they won’t find you as long as you’re quiet.” Her eyes were shimmering again. “Whatever happens, don’t confront them!”

  She set up a little wooden rack, dug into a dresser and quickly piled underclothes into it. Soft knickers and silky looking shifts in blue and green now hung in front of the bed. She opened all the cottage doors and windows, took a basket of herbs, and sat down on the stoop.

  Very soon the sun was inching over the horizon, sending golden light flooding over the meadow and highlighting the trees beyond. An hour later, just as I was about to fall asleep, a rider appeared. It was a Citizen, dressed in a velvet habit and riding a beautiful white horse.

  I was minded to get up and kill him, but before I could move, she whispered, “Stay down!” The small sound went straight through me, reverberating in my mind. I stayed down.

  “Courtney,” she stood up and called out. “Something wrong? Was someone injured during the hunt?”

  “No.” He swung off the horse. “I’ve just returned.”

  “Then you’ll have heard from the Patriarch.” She sounded cool.

  “Only the bare bones.” He stood in front of her, almost as tall as her, but not as imposing. He had red, weather-beaten skin, and he was too fat. He looked like a peasant dressed up in a noble’s clothes. “The Beast is gone. He escaped!”

  Behind him, a dozen men appeared, all carrying pitchforks, spears, and nets. They had dogs, too, straining on leather leashes and barking at the wolf. I’ve taken on a dozen soldiers at a time and creamed the bastards, but even I knew that I was in no state to take on this lot.

  Luckily for me, she was more than a match for them. She put her hand on her wolf, who sat obediently, and then addressed the peasant in velvet. “Really? How?”

  She sounded surprised. If I hadn’t known, I would’ve believed her. She looked like an honest Skraeling, but she was a typical lying Prydain. I should’ve known, but it seared my soul to see such pure beauty addled by poison.

  “We can’t figure it out! The cage was locked, and the key shut safely away. It’s like he walked through the bars!”

  “And you came here to warn me?”

  “Erm. Yes?”

  I could only see her back, but I knew she was giving him full-on ice. “And you brought twelve men with you to help you give me a heads-up?”

  “Erm, well. Erm…”

  “Oh, I see! I suppose I’m the one who set him free?”

  The yokel actually shuffled his feet. “Well, you did speak up for him.”

  “I did not!” she snapped. “I said this was the duke’s business!”

  “Erm, right, yeah.” More shuffling. “Erm, I guess some of us thought, well...”

  “That I crept out at night and took the Beast?” She sounded colder than a glacier.

  “Well, you see, the dogs followed the scent through the village but then it began to rain, and well, uhm, we thought we should just come and see.”

  “Right, and when do the dogs not want to come and see Saga? You know they’re always fascinated by her.”

  “Yes, right. That’s probably it.”

  He was looking miserable, and she was scathing.

  “Probably? What is this? Do you think I’m hiding him? Why don’t you go check my bed?”

  I was open mouthed at her brazen dishonesty. This wasn’t lying; this was taking deceit to an art form.

  Courtney glanced into the lodge, doors and windows wide open, spotted the shifts and looked away hastily. “No, no, of course not!”

  I was a dozen steps away from him, and he didn’t have a clue. She was a liar, but a part of me admired her. She’d taken them on all by herself and defeated them easily. This was more cunning than even Loki’s plots.

  “I suppose the Patriarch sent you here?”

  “Yes. No.” Courtney was looking miserable. “He said you defied him.”

  “He has no rights here. His place is the Vale. It’s you who are in charge, and I reminded him of that.”

  “Yes, yes of course.”

  “I have warned you before about the Patriarch. You know he longs to usurp your position.”

  “Bliss, I’m sorry. I guess I just forgot. He got me all riled up.”

  “I have been a loyal friend to you, but one word from that dirty, bearded fat gut and you ride here to accuse me?”

  “No! Well, yes, but it wasn’t like that!”

  He might as well have spoken to the horse. Now the woman had the yokel at her mercy, she set about beating him down. “I wonder what will upset our liege most?” she mused. “Not informing him that you found a Beast? Or letting his enemy escape?”

  “It wasn’t me! It’s all the Patriarch’s fault!” the coward cried.

  “As he’ll claim he’s Ullr’s servant, I’m sure the duke will forgive him.” She was stirring nicely, gutting the rassragr with every nasty word. “Not sure he’ll let you off the hook, though.”

  The man finally found his balls. “You can’t speak to me like that!”

  “When you don’t do your duty, Freyja demands that I do!”

  The squire went white, then red, and then, filled with rage, he turned around, got on his horse and rode off.

  “What an arsehole,” she grumbled. As the birds settled back into their song, she came inside. She closed the window and instantly the room was dark, like a soothing, warmly scented cave.

  She was talking to me as if I were a child. “You’re perfectly safe, Beast, don’t worry.”

  “Hey!” I actually snarled at her. “Stop that!”

  “Be nice.” She actually patted me on the head! “Stop grumbling at me.”

  Bitch! After calling me Beast to my face! “I could snap your neck in an instant!”

  She was shaking her head at me, looking coolly superior. “You can’t stand up or hold a cup of milk by yourself, but you’re threatening me?”

  Damn all women! They insult you and then turn every little thing against you. As if I were the kind of blackheart who would hurt her after she’d helped me. “No!”

  “Then stop snarling at me and go to sleep!”

  She marched off before I could answer. She sat down on the stoop, the wolf at her side, and went on sorting her herbs. “Arsehole,” she grumbled. “Like all bloody men!”

  Lizbeth always raged at me that way, too, she’d call me Beast and animal, knowing it infuriated me but that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—retaliate. Not after I’d promised to care for her.

  “You see, Saga?” I could hear the ice maiden talking to her wolf. “You feed them, bind their wounds, and even then, men are ungrateful buggers.” I heard the wolf moan. “Well, we’ll treat him the way we did that bear cub we found. We’ll ignore the bad-mannered snarling, get him on his feet and send him on his merry way.”

  A traitor and yet my rescuer. Maybe it was all a crazy dream, wolf included. A wave of exhaustion hit me. The bed was comfortable, and my body was at its limit. I decided I would think about what it all meant afterwards.

  “Men are villains, Saga, never forget that.”

  Yes, I’d sort it all out later. After I slept. I settled down under the covers and was out like a light within seconds.

  Chapter Five: Bliss

  Poppy isn’t just for sibyls. Just a teaspoon of it dissolved in alcohol will stun a grown man, and five will make that sleep a permanent one. I make my own laudanum, and I always carry it with me in case someone needs to be out while I’m setting a bone or fixing up a bad wound, so I hung around in the shrine until it was dark, and then went back to the village, intending to give the Beast a peaceful out.

  I didn’t like the idea of killing him, but I told myself it was the best solution. He wouldn’t suffer, and the villagers would never guess what I’d done; they’d think he died of the beating they gave him. I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing me because everyone gets drunk on market day. They’d be fast asleep.

  Best laid plans, right? When I got there, I saw the Patriarc
h leave. He gathered his escort around him, three men from the Vale, and I watched them gallop away. When I was certain they were gone, I recited the Merciful Lady prayer for safety and went in the window.

  The second I saw him, I just lost it. The priest had tortured him, burning him and leaving him hog-tied. I was so goddamn mad that I could have flayed the bastard.

  “Cocksucker!” I was swearing, thinking the Beast was out of it, but then he opened his eyes. Well, tried to. His face was a mess, someone had kicked him, but I caught a glimmer of blue. And then I touched him.

  I rubbed the rope against the rusted bars, used it as a lasso to pluck the key off the wall, and then I was out.

  The strength of will, the sheer brute force of his survival instinct, powered through me, battering my senses. I stepped away, feeling breathless with the force of it. I also knew I had to rescue him.

  A sip of the poppy helped numb the pain, and luckily, I had the cart with me. I piled the Beast on top of my marketing and wheeled him home. All the way back I was wondering if I were mad. If anyone ever found out, it would be both of us standing on a woodpile.

  The Beast wasn’t even grateful. He growled and snarled, the rage coming off him in waves. Just looking at him reminded me that the northern men are vicious. They’re famed for raping, looting, and burning entire towns.

  This one was raging, but I wasn’t worried he’d hurt me. His mind was iron determination, but in body he was as weak as a kitten. Also, when I scolded him, he quieted. In many ways, he was just like a bear cub I’d rescued once. I fixed it up, fed it, and yet it had distrusted me all the way.

  The Beast was more controlled, snarling, but keeping his hands to himself. However, I hesitated to touch him again because the strength of his emotions unsettled me.

  When I was little, visions came in my sleep. I wasn’t in control, they just came. But with time, I learned to push a little. I was too scared to try poppy, but I found a tot of Llanfaes whiskey while gazing into a fire helpful. It didn’t always work, but as I practiced, I got better and better.