Nena

by Ann Boelter

  “When Nena chooses—whoever she chooses—you will remain here with me,” Jalla said quickly, saving Nena from having to answer. “A man and woman in a new union will not want the company of a child. There is a reason it takes nine moons for a baby to be born, so the new couple can have privacy—to get to know one another.”

  A baby? And time to get to know one another. Nena lost her appetite. As she had gotten to know Jarl? The thought was like a knife twisting in her heart. What was wrong with her? She was free. So why did she not feel free? Why did she feel more trapped than ever? More trapped than when she’d first been chained in Jarl’s tent. Was her father right? Were the vines of her memories with Jarl already strangling her spirit? Was the answer really to choose? If so—why did it feel so horribly wrong?

  “Well, I would choose Gentok,” Exanthia continued. “He is strong and brave and very handsome.”

  “What do you know about handsome?” Jalla chided her. “You are still a girl.”

  “I’m not a blind girl,” she quipped, full of sass. “So, will I join them after nine months, then?” Exanthia asked, cheerfully oblivious to Nena’s distress.

  “Perhaps,” Jalla agreed, though her concerned eyes remained on Nena.

  “You have changed,” Jalla said when the meal was over and Exanthia had been sent to wash their plates in the stream.

  Could everyone see it then? Could everyone see her inner turmoil?

  “It is for the better,” Jalla continued. “You are more sensitive and compassionate. Exanthia has softened you. You will make a great mother one day. I was worried about you before—just a bit. You were always so tough, so hard. It made you a great warrior, but it concerned me to never see your softer side. You were always so much like your father and brothers, and nothing like your mother. Your mother was strong, too, but she was also gentle and kind. I feared for you growing up without her influence. Feared that with only your father and brothers as examples, it had shaped you too much in their like. I tried to provide as much feminine influence on you as I could, but you were always so headstrong and stubborn. It has taken a great affection to crack through your shell and release the gentleness within. I’m glad to see it. Exanthia is a treasure in many ways.”

  Great affection? Yes, she had felt great affection, but not in the way her aunt assumed. Exanthia was the beneficiary of the change within her, not the cause. Nena remained silent. Better Jalla thought that, than for her to know the truth.

  And Nena did not agree this softer side was an improvement at all. The old her had been so sure of everything. Had been prepared to choose an unknown warrior from the plains tribe and leave her mountain home altogether. That version of her had not felt physically ill at the prospect. She may have had her doubts, but she never would have considered shirking her responsibility, or pining for a different future. The old her would have scoffed at how she felt now. The old her was strong—one to be admired. This new her was pathetic.

  “Baldor brought a haunch of venison for you earlier,” Jalla interrupted her thoughts.

  Nena glanced at the empty meat drying rack, then at the small simmering pot of leftover rabbit stew.

  “Oh, he didn’t leave it. When you weren’t here, he said he’d bring it back later, so he could give it to you personally. What did he think—that I would take credit for his kill? Or give it to someone else?” her aunt fumed.

  “Nena.” Baldor’s voice hailed her from outside.

  “I hope he heard me,” Jalla muttered under her breath as Nena stood and made her way to the tent flap.

  Baldor stood with legs spread and arms crossed over his muscled chest, the leg of venison lying on the ground beside him. The hindquarter lying in the dirt was not the most impressive presentation, but Nena knew it didn’t really hurt the meat. The hide protected most of it, and the dried outer edges on the exposed cut end would be trimmed away anyway. Far more dangerous and likely to lead to spoilage was that fact that it had sat out in the heat while he waited for her to return.

  “I brought this for you,” he said without moving. His body language and what it implied was clear. He would not hand it to her. He expected her to bend over next to him to retrieve it.

  Nena thought of telling him she knew he’d been there earlier—maybe even put him on the spot and ask him why he hadn’t left it then, so she could have been enjoying venison stew for dinner instead of leftover rabbit. She said nothing. She didn’t want to argue with him, and she didn’t care to try to make him a better man. She knew she would never be his wife, and there was no sense antagonizing him. He would already take it as a personal insult when she chose another.

  “Gratitude,” she said as she knelt and hoisted the leg over her shoulder.

  Baldor seemed to be waiting. It was not an awkward wait, like he was embarrassed or trying to say something—more like he was expecting her to say something. Did he really think he would bring her a chunk of meat and she would choose him on the spot? Nena realized he probably did. He had heard her father’s directive to her upon her return, and his ego knew no bounds. He was physically one of the strongest warriors, and the gods had chosen her brother, Lothor, for his sister. In his mind, Nena had probably chosen him already and was only waiting for the opportunity to voice it.

  “This is an impressive kill,” was all she could muster.

  Baldor frowned, then nodded, pleased with her compliment but unhappy with the lack of results.

  Jalla was waiting for her just inside the tent and reached for the meat to begin cleaning it. Nena pulled out her own knife to help, but her aunt waved her off. “Exanthia will be back soon; she can help me. She needs the practice.”

  The costliness of Baldor’s mistake of not leaving the meat with her aunt soon became abundantly clear. Long after the last shred of flesh was removed from the bone, her aunt pointed out every flaw in the meat, real or imagined. It was too stringy, too tough, too lean, had a foul taste. He should have killed one from the sweet grass meadows instead of the dry rocky cliffs. He should have killed a young one instead of an old toothless one, but this old one was probably the only one slow enough he could club to kill instead of using his bow. Nena knew she referred to Baldor’s reputation of enjoying violence. Though she could taste nothing of what her aunt was referring to, she did not disagree. Truthfully, most of the food she ate was tasteless to her.

  Gentok was smarter and brought a trio of cleaned quail—Jalla’s favorite. He had no problem leaving them for Nena when she wasn’t around. The quail were followed by fresh fat speckled trout and a small practice bow he had carved for Exanthia. Nena heard nothing but good things about Gentok.

  Nena sighed after the latest round of Gentok’s accolades. She knew Jalla was right. Gentok was a good warrior and a natural, gifted hunter. His acts with the meat and the bow were thoughtful and kind, if not calculating. And, unlike Baldor, he was at least smart enough to be calculating. With the field seeming to be narrowed down to these two suitors, Nena knew she should just choose Gentok and get it over with. Putting off the inevitable was foolish—and it was inevitable.

  Her thoughts skipped ahead to moving into Gentok’s tent—to sharing his furs. Her stomach clenched and she felt a small wave of nausea. But even that was a vast improvement over the gut-wrenching torment of her dreams.

  NENA’S DREAMS ALWAYS started the same. She felt the luxurious softness of Jarl’s furs against her naked back. Sweat mingled between their bare torsos as the roar of her pulse in her ears slowly subsided. Jarl was still locked inside her, but had propped himself up on his elbows to better look into her eyes. His eyes were emerald green as he leaned down and tenderly kissed her lips. Nena was overwhelmed by the intensity of the bond she felt between them.

  The intimate moment was shattered by the rattle of the entry boards. The guard outside announced the arrival of the slaver, Piltor. Jarl rolled off to the side, but seemed only mildly frustrated by the interruption. That was strange. Normally, Jarl bristled with animosity at the mere menti
on of Piltor’s name. Nena stood and stepped from the furs to retrieve her dress from where it had been discarded earlier in their haste, halfway across the tent. She had just reached it when Jarl beckoned for Piltor to enter. She scrambled to pull the dress up and cover herself, though not before she felt Piltor’s cold slimy eyes on her bare skin. She spun around to face Jarl, shocked at his oversight, but he had stood and was pulling on his trousers, utterly unconcerned with Piltor’s roving gaze. She would have to take it up with him later.

  “Jarl, my friend,” the slaver said with a smile.

  “Piltor,” Jarl responded. The two men clasped hands in a hearty handshake, the red silk of Piltor’s gown swirling against the bare skin of Jarl’s arm. Gone was any evidence of the thick tension that normally choked the air between them.

  Nena’s earlier anxiety at what she had perceived to be Jarl’s simple oversight grew into a distinct deep unease. This wasn’t right. Nothing was right. She retreated back to the furs as the two men moved to conduct their business at Jarl’s table. When they had finished, Jarl produced a bottle of wine and poured them each a cup while they continued to visit.

  “You know, I must ask again, Jarl. It has been a long time, and I’ve made you a rich man many times over. Surely I am due for an extra reward. Will I be allowed to share furs with her this time?”

  Nena waited for Jarl to explode, to reach across the table and grab Piltor by the throat before dragging him to the door. But Jarl only took another swallow and stroked his chin as he considered Piltor’s request.

  “The words you speak are true, my friend. You’ve been very patient and I’ve been greedy. Apologies.” Jarl was smiling. He was not angry. Not upset. Not anything.

  “No apologies necessary, my dear Jarl. I can only imagine the pleasure of the experience—and I have done so many times, I must admit,” he chuckled. “Especially when I saw how much she had affected a great man such as yourself.”

  Jarl shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. It is true, I could not get enough of her for the longest time. When I first captured her, it was almost as if I were under some spell. But now…well, now time has passed and you know…” He shrugged. “ I will have her sent to the baths and then to your tent.”

  The slaver looked back at her, his eyes filled with sadistic longing and triumph.

  No! The voice inside Nena’s head screamed. No! No! This couldn’t be happening!

  “And,” Jarl added. “I will send Altene as well, to make her willing. Nena was a handful when I first captured her, and I would hate for her to harm you. Altene assures me that with initial restraint, she can make any woman willing.”

  The slaver’s eyes gleamed with sick excitement. “Jarl, my friend, you honor me too greatly.”

  “Nonsense. This has been a long time coming. You deserve it.” Jarl stood and moved to the tent flap. He summoned the guards. “Take Nena to the baths and then to Piltor’s tent. Make sure she is well secured there before you leave.”

  “Yes sir.” The first guard entered and moved toward her.

  Nena frantically searched the area around her for a weapon, but nothing was close. She looked back at the guard. She did not need a weapon. She was Teclan! Her own body was weapon enough—her teeth, her thumbs. The guard grabbed her hand. She twisted her body and brought her other elbow down hard on his wrist, sure that the blow would break his hold. She waited to hear his grunt of pain, but he never even flinched. Instead he laughed, and his grip remained on her like iron. Nena swung her fist at his chin, but before it could reach its mark, he grabbed it, too. She kicked at his shins, but felt the feeble blows doing no damage. Though Nena fought with all her might to free herself, in her dream she had no more strength than a small child.

  “I won’t need any help, sir,” the guard said to Jarl as he began to drag her effortlessly toward the door.

  “Jarl!” She screamed his name. “Jarl, please! Please don’t do this!”

  Jarl had been watching the scene with mild interest, but turned his handsome face away to better hear something the slaver was saying, utterly unmoved by her pleas. The guard dragged her out into the blazing sunlight.

  Nena awoke in a pool of sweat. Her breath came in short ragged gasps. She was in her aunt’s tent. She was home. She was safe. She lay for many minutes in the darkness while her pulse slowed. Her hair was damp and tangled from thrashing. Her chest hurt from the thumping of her heart, but that pain was minimal compared to the sorrowful ache of her spirit. Jarl had been so cold. He had looked at her as if she were nothing to him. How could he feel that way when her feelings for him were so strong?

  It doesn’t matter. You are home. None of that matters anymore.

  Nena doubted sleep would come to her again and was more than a little afraid if it did. She sat up in her disheveled furs. Slipping silently into her sandals, she moved toward the door. She felt her aunt’s eyes upon her before she could see them in the dim light of the last fire embers. Their worry for her was a clear question, though Jalla said nothing.

  “I’m alright,” Nena whispered to her as she stepped out into the darkness, wondering even as she said the words if the assurance was for her aunt or herself.

  She moved swiftly through the silent village to the horses. There she found the mare in the middle of the herd, dozing with one hind leg cocked. Nena straightened her forelock and rubbed her forehead absently, needing only to feel the mare’s nearness to draw from her strength. The horse turned and nuzzled her face, her delicate whiskers and warm damp breath caressing Nena’s skin. She held the side of the mare’s soft muzzle to her cheek. “It was only a dream. A bad dream,” she murmured.

  Or perhaps it was the gods’ way of showing you your future had you not escaped. It would have been nothing but pain. You were his slave and he would have tired of you. The idyllic time you shared with him was not to last, either way. You did the right thing.

  And now you must do the right thing again. You must put these thoughts behind you. You must not be weak. You were not raised to be weak. Look at Exanthia. She has lost everything, and yet she does not mope around and pity herself. You are Teclan. It is time to start acting like one.

  Her father’s words about her memories strangling her spirit came once again to mind. She did not doubt his wisdom, but he assumed she was recovering from abuse. Was the path to recovery from abuse the same as to recover from...what? What was she recovering from? What left this pain in her chest? Jarl had never abused her—the opposite, in fact. So was the solution the same? Her memories with Jarl were still so fresh and vivid. Was it because they were they growing like the iron vine inside her? Was being alone nurturing them and condemning her to a lifetime of this pain and doubt? It was the only thing that made sense. Her dreams were a warning. She knew what she had to do.

  She would choose Gentok tomorrow. She would let him know her choice in the morning. She would put this behind her. She would be strong.

  AS JARL EXAMINED the looming red sandstone cliffs, it was easy for him to see how they had come by their name. The Bloodcliffs. Stained from centuries of the blood of those who tried to pass, Altene had explained. Even from where he stood, he could see the guards along the top rim. There was no sense attempting to go any further. Nena’s trail clearly disappeared within the protected narrow canyon between the walls.

  “We’ll make camp here, rest the horses, and weigh our options.” Jarl announced the welcome news to his weary group. Their campsite was within sight of the opening, but safely outside of the Teclan bow range. While the others set up camp, Jarl pulled out his scope and walked toward the cliffs to take a closer look. After several minutes, Tryggr joined him.

  “Found a way in yet?” Tryggr asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it,” Jarl replied.

  “I take it there’s more than a few of them up there?” Tryggr asked as he looked up at the top of the cliffs.

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “You already know I didn’t bri
ng a tent for her, so what do you want to do with her this time?” Tryggr nodded at Altene.

  Jarl lowered the scope from his eye and frowned, irritated at having to interrupt his inspection for this. “We’ve been through this before, Tryggr. I don’t care. She can share your tent again, or one of the other men’s. The weather is mild; she can sleep outside—like we’ve all done for most of the trip. I don’t care. Just take care of it.”

  Tryggr stood with one eyebrow raised. “You’re sure you’ll be fine with her pleasuring another man while you sleep alone in cold furs? And more importantly, you’ll stay fine with it?” Tryggr asked, not wanting to make any assumption where a woman was concerned.

  “I’m sure,” Jarl said and resumed scanning the cliffs.

  “Very well then.” Tryggr shrugged in disbelief and turned away.

  “And Tryggr. As soon as the camp, for what it is, is set up, send out two hunting parties to gather food. We might as well be eating better if we’re not moving.”

  Nena glanced at the woman’s weaving loom next to her. Though they had started at the same time, the woman had made ten times her progress with a far more intricate pattern than the simple rug Jalla had assigned to her. She watched the woman’s shuttle fly between the upright warp strings, watched her efficiently batten down the newly delivered thread with the wooden comb-like reed, then shoot the shuttle back in the opposite direction after shifting the loom frames. She made it seem effortless.

  Nena looked back at her own loose sloppy work. She couldn’t understand it. This should be easy for her. Her mother had been renowned for the quality of her weaving, and Nena herself was dexterous with all forms of weapons. She and Jalla had both assumed she would be a natural at it, and Jalla had been ecstatic when she had voiced her interest to try that morning. An interest that had quickly waned. It was unbelievably boring. Nena had yet to put in a half a day and could barely stand to look at the tall frame. She had no aptitude for the unbroken focus required for the monotonous job. No matter how hard she tried, soon after starting, she found her thoughts drifting, while her body continued to awkwardly go through the motions.