by Ann Boelter
“I think not.” Nena shook her head.
“I won’t go anywhere. It’s not like when I held you prisoner. I chose to be here.”
“Except that now you know you will probably die.”
“Do you think I did not know that before I came? I’m actually more than a little surprised to still be alive now,” Jarl admitted.
“Then why are you here?” she whispered.
She seemed confused and more than a little miserable, or was that just his wishful thinking? Jarl couldn’t be sure. “You know why,” he said softly.
The intensity in his eyes trapped and held hers. She could not tear her gaze away. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to thump wildly in her chest.
“Or perhaps you don’t, so I will speak plainly, to ensure there is no further misunderstanding between us. I came because I am in love with you. I think probably from the first moment I saw you holding that oversized sword against Tryggr and the other men, but confirmed when you chose me—and further cemented every time we lay together from that point on. Because you fill my thoughts every waking moment, and the thought of life without you is not a life I care to live. I love you.”
Nena could not hear these things from his lips. It had been one thing to wonder about them, when he was camped far below, to make herself feel better about her own feelings and doubts, but not for them to be so real that he would sacrifice himself for her. She was desperate to change the subject. “The Teclan do not have this word,” was all she could come up with.
“Surely the Teclan have a word for love.”
She shook her head.
“If a Teclan woman does not always marry the man of her first choosing, or if she does and he dies, how does she choose her next husband? How does she choose one over another when it is not the gods’ choice? Does she not base that decision on love or strong feelings?” Jarl asked.
Nena knew that should be an easy question for her; she had faced it so many times lately. But if the answer was simple, then why had choosing been so difficult? She shared none of this with Jarl and instead said, “She looks at many things and chooses a man who can best provide for her—one who is a good hunter or who is a great warrior and will return to her from battle. Or sometimes she chooses one who has status and will elevate the status of her children.”
“I am all of those things,” he whispered, his voice intense. “I have jewels and gold and I am the leader of my people. I am a great hunter, and I have returned from many, many battles. I will match myself against any Teclan warrior, right now, to show you.”
“You are not Teclan.”
“Neither were the men competing for you in the tournament on the plains.”
“But they were Dor.”
“In what way am I different? You gave me the criteria a Teclan woman would use to choose a man, and I meet all of them—and have offered to prove it to you.”
“You are in no condition to fight. Let me look at your wounds. ” Nena changed the subject again. Jarl surprised her by not declining, and she moved around to kneel behind him. He tipped his head forward as she parted his thick chestnut hair with her fingers to reveal the three swollen gashes. She took off her sash and shook the last drops of water on it from the waterskin, then began to clean away the dried blood, thankful for something other than his words to focus her spinning thoughts on.
Jarl held very still, reveling in her nearness. Her touch on the areas where he’d been clubbed was painful, but her being so close to him and not touching him anywhere else was excruciating. “You say you do not have a word for love, but when a warrior is killed, what does his wife do? Or if a wife dies, how does a Teclan man react?” Jarl asked.
“You speak of the spirit sickness.”
Jarl smiled. “I suppose many would agree that love is an affliction. Tryggr certainly would. Has it never happened that a Teclan felt the spirit sickness so strongly they could not go on living?”
Nena knew he had worked her into this trap much as she had done Baldor in the council tent. “No one dies from spirit sickness. It’s not a true illness.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it were true. Lornel had refused to eat or drink when her husband was killed and soon joined him in the sky. And Pragdor, a great warrior, had allowed himself to be slain in battle, by a far lesser foe, after his wife died in childbirth. No one spoke of those things, but they all knew.
“That is what I feel for you,” Jarl said. “That is why I will not escape. I have nowhere to go where the spirit sickness will not follow.”
Nena finished and moved back around to face him. She knew she should leave, that her father was waiting for a report, but she couldn’t go.
Jarl could see she was upset, but could not read her to know for sure why. He pressed her further. “If you do not believe my words, or they are not enough, remember one important thing. You chose me. And through that choice your gods revealed their will. Your gods chose me for you, Nena,” he continued softly. “So how can you defy them now?”
Nena wanted nothing more than to flee the hut. He could not be right. Yet even she had once wondered the same. And if he was wrong and her choosing him had been only to allow her to escape, why had she balked at choosing a Teclan warrior once she was safely home? Why did her body, even now, yearn for his touch?
“I must go...to tell my father you are awake. He wishes to speak to you. He wants to hear why you are here from your own mouth.”
“I will not lie,” he warned, trying to gauge her response.
“I know.” Nena nodded and turned to leave.
In a sudden move that set his shackles rattling, he grabbed her arm. “Will you return?”
She nodded. “Yes. I will bring food and some ointment for your wounds....” Her voice trailed off as something occurred to her.
“You mean if I am still alive?”
Nena nodded as she stumbled for the door, unable to trust her voice to answer him. Gentok was waiting for her.
“Nena,” he said.
“Not now, Gentok,” she said in Dor and pushed past him. “I must find my father and tell him the Northman is awake.”
Nena stood frozen outside her father’s tent, unable to enter. Her steps there had been in a daze. Her father would have him killed. She knew that. She didn’t know how, or when, but she was certain of that fact. Nothing Jarl could possibly say would change it. Certainly not the truth of why he was there—that he’d come for her and couldn’t live without her.
Her mind drifted. He had come for her. Not the treasure. It had never been the treasure. She was shocked by his confession of love and what he was willing to risk for her. But that just made it all the worse. What did he think could possibly happen now?
Nena stared at the flap to her father’s tent, trying to compose herself, then lifted it and stepped inside. The tent was empty. Her father must still be consulting the gods. She chastised herself for the flood of relief she felt at the delay in hearing Jarl’s sentence.
Nena made her way to the bend in the creek in the Meadow of the Idols, where her father took his morning tea, but he was not where he normally sat. Perhaps he had already decided Jarl’s fate and had returned to the council tent. She couldn’t go there—not yet. She wasn’t ready to hear her father’s decree or face the joyous, raucous response of the tribe’s warriors to his decision.
She wandered among the idols, trying to sort through her tortured jumbled thoughts, still reeling from Jarl’s words and her own feelings. Her response to Jarl, first in the council and later in the cell, had been instantaneous and undeniable—as natural as when they had shared his tent after she had chosen him. There had been no trying, no searching for feelings or physical reactions that weren’t there. Their connection had been immediate.
Her father would have him killed.
Jarl had offered up his life for her. He was willing to die because he loved her. He had saved her life. The gods had chosen him for her.
Her father would have him killed.
&n
bsp; Her feelings didn’t matter. Jarl’s feelings didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was Teclan. He was the enemy. Her father would have him killed. Her mind raced in the same circles.
“Nena? Is that you?” Her father’s voice startled her. She hadn’t noticed him seated at the base of the large moss-covered monument to her left.
“Yes,” she said.
“Come join me. The gods have not yet seen fit to give me an answer. Perhaps they have questions for you.”
“Apologies, Father. I fear I have no answers, only questions as well.”
“Have you been to see the Northman?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Is he awake then?”
“Yes.”
“Did he speak to you?”
She nodded.
“Why is he here? Does he bring some offer?”
Nena hesitated. There was no sense withholding anything. Even if Gentok had not overheard them, Jarl had made it clear he would tell anyone who would listen. “He is here for me.”
Her father rocked backwards and sat in stunned silence while he considered her words and their implications, then thought back through everything that had transpired. “A man, especially a leader, does not risk everything for a slave prisoner—even a very valuable one.” He eyed her carefully. “So he is the one who held you captive?”
Nena nodded.
“And is he also the one the gods chose to be your first union?”
Nena could only nod again.
“That is irrelevant and changes nothing. The reasoning behind the gods’ choice is often impossible for men to understand. It could have been something as simple as the gods intent to lure him here for us to kill him. Or it could have been...” His voice trailed off. He could clearly think of no other reason—at least none he was willing to voice. “You are Teclan and he is Northman. He is the enemy,” he said with finality.
“I know. I told him that.”
“And what did he say?”
“He asked me how a Teclan woman chooses a warrior to marry after the gods’ choice. I explained to him that the man must be a good provider, a good hunter, a great warrior.”
Her father nodded in agreement.
“He said he is all of those things,” Nena murmured.
After a moment of consideration, her father shrugged. “I suppose he is right—in a way. But it is no different than if he was lion and you were wolf. Both are fierce powerful hunters, yet they are not compatible.” He dismissed the idea without another thought. “What else did he say?”
Nena’s troubled frown returned.
“He said he would match himself against any Teclan warrior to prove it.”
“He would be killed, of course,” her father said with no hesitation.
“Perhaps, but he is also a great warrior. His people say he is favored by their gods.”
“Maybe that is the answer, then.”
“What?” Nena felt sick.
“If his gods truly favor him, and he is willing to fight to prove it, then fight he shall.”
“Who?” Nena whispered. She prayed her father would say Baldor. Baldor had taken credit for Jarl’s capture. Baldor was their largest warrior and an impressive fighter, but Nena knew Jarl could defeat him. Jarl had defeated Tryggr, who would make even Baldor look small. She willed the name Baldor to be the next word that passed through her father’s lips.
“Lothor, of course,” he said. “He is your only remaining brother, and he longs for such an opportunity to avenge Ruga. Perhaps this will finally satisfy the blood-lust that fills him.”
Her father never considered, even briefly, that Lothor could lose. He was undefeated. But so was Jarl, as far as she knew. Not that any of that mattered now. Only one would remain undefeated after this match because only one would still be alive. It would be a fight to the death.
NENA LEFT THE Meadow of the Idols and made her way to the horses, seeking solace from her tormented thoughts in the mare’s warm energy. She buried her face in the horse’s thick mane, inhaling the warm earthy horse scent. She could feel the animal’s steady strength, but it was not enough this time to calm her.
She needed to force the chaotic thoughts from her mind. She didn’t have time to sort through them now or to try to determine the true root of her feelings. She had to focus on saving his life. The answers to all of her questions were irrelevant anyway, as her father had pointed out. She was Teclan. Jarl was Northman. Lion and wolf. Equals but enemies. They could never be together. She had to accept that and instead address the impending predicament that faced them.
She could not allow Jarl to be killed. And she could not allow him to kill her brother. This trial by combat could not happen. She must find a way to free him and spirit him away back to his troops. The Northmen had not been able to find a way in, but Nena knew where the weaknesses in the Teclan defenses lay. She knew every hidden game trail—where every sentry was located. She could get him out safely.
There would be punishment of course. Anyone so blatantly defying the chief’s direct order, even his daughter, would be punished, but she could take it. She was strong. She was the daughter of Meln. There would be a physical penalty, and then most likely a period of shaming, but that would pass. She would survive. If Jarl remained here—either he, or her brother, would not.
The one glaring flaw in her plan soon became apparent. Assuming she could convince Jarl to escape in the first place, something that was far from guaranteed, what good would it do? He had made it clear he was here by choice. He would not stay away. After she was punished, she would never be allowed in a position to help him a second time. They would end up right back here where they started. It would all be for naught.
She had to find another way.
“Nena, I would have words.” Gentok’s voice surprised her. It was the second time in one afternoon that her thoughts had so consumed her, she had allowed herself to be approached unaware.
“Apologies, Gentok, but I do not have time right now.”
“You seem to have nothing but time—and I insist.”
She was about to protest, but then nodded and waited for him to proceed. His face was agonized as he sought for the right words. She could see how difficult he was struggling to reconcile what he had always known and felt for her, with what he had overheard.
“Just say what you have come to say, Gentok,” she said, resigned.
“You told me you wished to see him, and that he would not harm you because he had saved your life. I assumed he was the one who helped you to escape. I even went so far as to think that maybe that was why he was sent here unarmed—as punishment for helping you. I thought all kinds of things a normal person would think. Then I hear that he is actually the one who held you prisoner? That he is the one the gods chose to be your first? I was just about to step inside the cell to stop you from killing him, but I hesitated—torn between whether to obey your father’s command, or to allow you to have your well-deserved revenge. I was sure that had to be why you had come...until I heard the last part... that you...you...chose him? ...and then continued to lay with him willingly?” The idea of it was clearly so shocking and unbelievable that he still had great difficulty accepting it.
“You listened to us?”
“You made no attempt to lower your voices,” he defended himself. “And trust me, I would prefer not to have heard.”
“Who have you told?”
“I would never betray you,” he said, his voice pained. “I have not shared your words with anyone, nor will I. Not even your father, if you do not wish it. But everyone will know soon enough. The Northman will make sure of it. The only way to keep that from happening is if he is forever silenced. I will kill him for you and make it look like he died of his injuries from Baldor—that his wounds were more severe than first thought.”
“No! You must not. Swear to me now, you will not harm him,” Nena insisted.
“Nena?”
“Swear it to me.”
“
I will swear it only if you will swear to me that you will not do something stupid—not try to help him escape or whatever other ideas you are thinking.”
She looked at him blankly. Could he read her mind now? “You heard his words,” she murmured without agreeing. “Aiding his escape would do no good; he would only return.”
“That is my price, Nena. Agree to it, or I will go back and finish him now,” Gentok threatened.
Nena hesitated, then nodded. “I swear.”
“As do I.” He took a deep breath and then let out a long slow exhale. “But if he remains and speaks as he says he will, the others will not understand. You must know that. I, who care for you—who have only ever wanted to be with you, am struggling to do so and cannot. They will shun you. He is a Northman,” he spat, his voice thick with disgust, unable to see Jarl as anything other than a man-beast.
Nena knew he was right about the tribe’s response. She thought of Lothor’s reaction—her own blood, and he had only suspected she had willingly lain with the enemy. When Jarl was given the opportunity to speak, they all would know.
“But there is another solution,” Gentok continued. “Choose me now. Our union will protect you from any doubts the Northman’s words will raise with the tribe. If we are married, his words will fall on deaf ears; no one will believe him. Your reputation will remain intact.” His voice softened. “And knowing the truth changes nothing for me. I said I would be waiting for you, and I meant it.”
When she did not agree right away, he stared at her, incredulous. “You cannot possibly be swayed by his honeyed words,” he said, his voice laced with disgust again. “Even if he speaks the truth—you are Teclan. He is Northman. There is no possible future for you together.” He echoed her father’s words. “You know that. Deep down you knew it all along, and that’s why you escaped him to return home. Your life and your future are here with your people. With me.”
He was right. About everything. No one would listen to Jarl or doubt her if she and Gentok were married. And Gentok was a good man. She should just say the words that she had been prepared to say that very morning. The words she knew he had always longed to hear and desperately awaited now.