Nena

by Ann Boelter

  Nena sat and Jalla removed her hair tie, then began to comb out her long tresses. Once the tangles were removed, she separated the hair into sections and began to plait it back into a single thick braid.

  “Nena, I am going to ask you something important, and I need for you to tell me the truth,” Jalla began.

  Nena was surprised by her aunt’s strange request. She would never lie to her—evade telling her the whole truth perhaps, but not lie. “Of course,” she agreed.

  “Of what is it you dream at night when you cannot sleep?” Jalla felt Nena tense, and tightened her fingers in her hair.

  “I cannot,” Nena whispered.

  “I never asked before because I assumed you were reliving the suffering you endured while being held prisoner. There was no reason for me to hear the details of that. But now I have come to doubt that is the true source of your pain. Is that what haunts your dreams?”

  “No,” Nena murmured.

  Jalla exhaled slowly. Nena’s reaction told her there was at least some truth to the Northman’s words. “So he did not harm you?”

  “No.”

  “Did someone else?”

  Nena shook her head.

  “Then what?” Jalla probed gently. “It is of him you dream, yes?”

  Nena’s stiff silence was the only answer.

  “If he does not harm you, what does he do that so troubles you?”

  Jalla’s question hung in the air, but Nena couldn’t answer. Even though she wanted to share this secret, this burden with someone else, she was terrified. She knew what her aunt’s reaction would be. What it should be. Her feelings were absurd. No, they were beyond absurd; they approached madness. But she had agreed to tell the truth, and truthfully, she no longer wanted to keep it inside. “He forsakes me,” she whispered. Nena held her breath, waiting for her aunt’s outraged rebuke. Waiting to hear how she was stupid and weak. Waiting to hear the scathing disappointment in Jalla’s voice, as she had in Lothor’s, or the shock and disgust, as she had in Gentok’s.

  “I see,” Jalla said, and resumed braiding as she struggled to process the enormity of what had been revealed to her, first by Jarl, then confirmed by Nena. Her niece’s predicament was suddenly crystal clear, and though everything made sense now, it only made the situation that much more impossible.

  “You have no answer for me?” Nena asked.

  “I do not, but I am only a woman, Nena. You must trust that the gods have a plan.”

  “That is my deepest fear,” Nena admitted with a whisper. “I fear the gods had a plan when they chose him to be my first union, but in my arrogance and blindness, I thwarted their wishes. Now others will suffer the consequences of my actions.” Both women sat in silence while Jalla finished the braid and tied it off. “Did you know Father is sending me to the cliffs?”

  “No,” Jalla said quietly.

  “For four days.”

  “Did he say why?” Jalla asked.

  “He said because it is my warrior duty,” Nena said cynically.

  “Do you think he knows of your feelings for the Northman?”

  “I don’t know. But he does know why Jarl is here.”

  “Your father never acts without purpose,” Jalla contemplated out loud.

  “I know, which is why I have a favor to ask of you,” Nena said. “I need you to look after Jarl while I am gone.”

  Jalla shook her head. “Nena, you put me in a difficult position. I am Lothor’s blood, too. And surely your father has no intent to harm him before the trial.” Even as she said the words, Jalla wondered if they were true. Desperation made people unpredictable. She thought of her own plan to kill the Northman earlier that day. But Meln? And if it were true, maybe it would be for the best. Why prolong Nena’s heartache when she could never be happy? And why risk Lothor’s life? If Meln did plan to kill him, both her niece and nephew would benefit. The tribe would benefit. Jalla knew she had to decide quickly. Once she gave her word to Nena....

  “It is at Lothor’s request that Jarl requires care for these days,” Nena added. “You can look at it that way—that you are doing it for him. Just promise me you will tend to him.” Nena waited for her response.

  “Very well. I will care for the Northman in your absence. Little did I know the answers to my questions today would come at such a price,” Jalla said and shook her head.

  “You are the only one I trust.” Nena stood and hugged her briefly before leaving to tell Jarl.

  Jarl’s eyes covered every inch of her as she passed through the doorway. “It is late. But you are safe,” he said, relief evident in his voice.

  Nena ignored the guard seated at the table. “Apologies for worrying you with my delay. My aunt said she sent word to you of my safe return.” Nena spoke quietly and quickly under her breath. She knew the guard understood the Northman tongue, as all the Teclan did, but they were not as fluent in it as she was, thanks to her time with them. If she spoke rapidly and low, he would probably not understand much of what she said.

  “She did, but I did not believe it. I could see no reason, if it were true, why you would not have come to tell me yourself.”

  “My father has ordered me to the cliffs to stand guard until the trial.”

  “Why?” Jarl asked.

  “He said because we have increased the guard for so long there, we all need to take shifts.”

  “But you do not believe him.”

  “I don’t know. I think he suspects I would try to free you or do something else foolish.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “I fear someone has put that idea in his mind.”

  “Who?”

  “The guard who interrupted us that first night.” She confessed her suspicion. She could not accept the idea that her father had foul play in mind. Gentok was the only one that made sense to her.

  “Why would you think him? He seemed alright to me. He even assigned my safety detail.” He smiled and nodded to the guard at the table.

  “Gentok heard us the first night. And...he wants the same from me as you do.”

  Jarl took a moment to comprehend what she was saying. He looked at her, his eyes sober. “Does he have cause to feel that way?”

  Nena sighed. “When it was the gods’ choice, Gentok professed his willingness to be chosen only to me. There were whispers about it at the time, but then that passed. When I returned and my father made it clear I was expected to make my second choice quickly, Gentok again expressed his desire and renewed his willingness. I would have chosen him, had you not come,” Nena admitted bluntly.

  “Do you have feelings for him?” Jarl asked.

  “No.” She paused. “But I would have chosen him anyway.” She looked up at him, her eyes haunted.

  “If he heard us, why would he think I would escape?”

  “He came to me that night after I left you, and warned me against doing anything shameful. He mentioned helping you to escape, specifically. He also asked me to choose him then, to insure that your words of our...being together, would not make the tribe look upon me with shame.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I would not be making a decision until after the trial.”

  “And I suppose if I were to fall, he is expecting to be chosen?” Jarl asked, his jaw tight.

  She nodded.

  “When do you leave?” he asked.

  “Tonight. Now.”

  “I will miss not seeing you, but at least you will be away from this Gentok, too. Will you return for the trial?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if your father commands you somewhere else?”

  Defiance flashed in her eyes. “I will be there.”

  He nodded. “Good. Do you anticipate any treachery while you are gone?”

  “No, but just in case, Jalla will be caring for you. Eat or drink nothing that she does not provide.”

  “Jalla?” Jarl exhaled and screwed his face into a grimace. “Are you sure?”

  Ne
na smiled at his reaction, not knowing its true cause. “She may seem unyielding, but she knows the truth about us now. No harm will come to you at her hand.”

  “I guess I’ll have to trust you in this—it appears I have no choice.”

  “Nena.” Gentok was the first to greet her when she arrived at the cliffs in the dark.

  Nena stared at him for a long moment before she slid from the mare’s back and held up her hand. “Do not speak to me unless it relates to guard duty,” she said, and turned to walk away.

  “Nena, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Has something happened?”

  She whirled to face him. “Do you think I am stupid? Did you think I would not know you betrayed me when I was suddenly sent here?”

  “What are you talking about? And lower your voice,” he cautioned.

  “There will be no need to lower my voice. We will not be speaking.” She turned away again.

  “Yes, we will, but in private.” He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the trees. “Now, what is the meaning of this attack on me?” he demanded when he stopped out of earshot of the others.

  Nena jerked her arm away from him. “Did you really think I would find it coincidence that my father suddenly sends me away until the day of the trial? And that you are also conveniently here?” she seethed.

  “You are needed here,” he responded. “As am I. As are all the warriors here. You would never have questioned that, had that Northman not twisted your thoughts. Of what is it you accuse me, Nena?”

  “You told my father what you heard that night, to manipulate him to send me here with you.”

  “Listen to what you are saying! First you rant at having to do your warrior’s duty like a spoiled child, and then you make accusations—all because it takes you away from the Northman! He is the enemy, Nena, or have you forgotten that? In less than a week, he will try to kill your brother—your only remaining brother—as he killed Ruga, or have you so easily forgotten that, too? What has happened to you? I told you before, neither of you were quiet with your voices that night. Someone else could have heard you. The Northman even bragged he would tell anyone who would listen. Perhaps he told someone else.”

  “But ‘someone else’ was not waiting to be chosen by me, Gentok. ‘Someone else’ did not have so much to gain.”

  “What is wrong with you? Why do you defend him over me? You shame yourself!” Gentok took her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into her skin. She expected him to start shaking her. “I did not betray you, Nena, no matter what you might think. But seeing how you act, I am grateful to whoever did. It is clearly for the best that you are here, away from him, to prevent you from shaming yourself even more. He has some spell over you. Somehow he has trapped the honorable woman I know inside an unrecognizable shell.” His face was contorted with emotion.

  But if Gentok was telling the truth, then who? Nena was suddenly terrified. Jalla? She had told Jarl to trust her, and now there was nothing she could do about it. She could not leave her post and race back to the village on a suspicion. Everyone would think she was mad. Was she?

  Gentok was still staring at her, breathing hard from their explosive confrontation. That he cared for her deeply was clear, but that did not necessarily make him innocent. She took a deep wavering breath.

  “Apologies, Gentok. You are correct. I am not myself. Please forgive me.”

  “Nena, I worry for you,” he began.

  “I know. I will be alright. This will all be over soon.”

  “Why don’t you rest. I will cover your shift tonight,” he offered.

  “Gratitude, Gentok, but sleep will not come to me. It will be better for me if I am useful.”

  “As you wish.” He nodded. “Since you are the most familiar with them, you have been assigned the post with the clearest view of their camp. You will be best able to recognize any changes in their routine, and know if they are planning anything out of the ordinary.”

  The next four days were an unending hell. As she watched the relaxed activities of the Northman camp below, Nena knew Gentok was right; she would have easily recognized the battle preparations that always preceded their attacks. There were none. They clearly posed no threat, and it made her presence there even more useless and frustrating. But she could not say a word. Gentok would assume she was only looking for some excuse to return to the village. He hadn’t approached her again after the first night, but his eyes always followed her with concern.

  Nena regretted her outburst, but did not apologize. She was consumed with far bigger worries. She looked to every messenger or replacement warrior arriving from the village with trepidation, more than half expecting one to bring word of Jarl’s death. The more thought she gave it, she could not believe Jalla would lie to her and then betray her. She would not have promised to care for him. And if she believed Gentok, which she was inclined to do, that only left her father.

  She had assumed someone had told him, but her father was not a fool. He knew why Jarl was there, and he had witnessed her uncharacteristic response to Baldor that night in the council. Most importantly, he would have noticed that she had never once demanded revenge. She had assumed Gentok had positioned himself to be at the cliffs at the same time, but even that could have been her father’s doing. He had not disguised the fact that he wanted her to choose, and he would know of her leanings toward Gentok.

  Or—and she hated to admit this, her being sent here could just have been a coincidence. Gentok was right about that, too; she never would have questioned it, had she not wanted to be near Jarl. Guarding the cliffs was a normal expected duty. And the other warriors were, in fact, taking four day shifts. Had she just overreacted? Gentok’s other words burned in her mind. Did she shame herself? The concept was so foreign, it was difficult to even imagine. She had always been the one others emulated. Successful. Strong. Never before would the word shame have even been breathed in the same sentence as her name. But now?

  She tried to imagine the situation through their eyes, as if she’d never left the village, as if it were some other female warrior who’d been captured and returned acting as she did. Some other woman who now cared for an enemy prisoner—a Worick perhaps. Woricks were the only enemy she could think of that her people despised as much as Northmen. She imagined this other woman caring for a bulging-skulled, jewelry-pierced Worick—bringing him food, thinking of him, pining for him. It made her sick. Nena had no doubt she would have looked at such a woman with pure and utter disdain. As Lothor had looked at her.

  And, she would have believed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that for Lothor to kill such an enemy was the best thing for the woman. The certainty of her conviction left Nena shaken. If she would have felt that way about someone else, then was it right? Was she under some spell that she needed to break free from? The thought made her heart ache even more because now it added guilt to the existing pain.

  How had she come to this? How had she turned into someone who had to restrain herself from attacking one of her own people to protect an enemy? And Jarl was the enemy; why did it not feel that way? Baldor had never been a favorite of hers. His heavy-handed, brutish ways had eliminated him from ever being chosen by her, but to want to kill him? And in that moment when he had clubbed Jarl to the ground, she had wanted to kill him—had wanted to fly across that space and beat him to death with his own club. How had her loyalties become so skewed?

  Was it because she owed Jarl her life? Because he had fought the gods to keep her alive? Or because the gods had chosen him to be her first? Could Jarl be right? Had the gods been trying to show her their choice all along, but she’d been too stubborn to see it? Had she defied them? What she felt now—was it the spirit sickness Jarl called love? Or her spirit being strangled as her father had predicted?

  Her mind felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. Trying to balance what she felt with what she knew, was tearing her apart. How could she do what was right, when she couldn’t even tell what was right anymore? How cou
ld everything and everyone she cared for, push and pull her in such opposite directions all at once?

  But even if she had the answers, it would not solve her most pressing problem. She had to find some way to keep the trial from taking place. To do so, she needed to clear her mind of everything else and focus on that. This was all her fault, and she had to find some way to put it right. There had to be some other option—something else she could do. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

  Jarl would not leave without her—he had made that clear. But what if he had his prize? Would he agree to go then? Nena wasn’t sure. There was more at stake for him now. Pride. Honor. A desire to prove himself up to the challenge—to prove he was worthy. He had not requested this trial, but he had embraced it.

  And if he would agree to run, could she do it? Could she skulk off with him in the night? Jarl had risked all for her—could she do the same? Assuming she could find some way around the increased guard on the cell, could she forsake her people and leave with him? It would ensure her father did not lose Lothor, but he would lose another child. Would that be any easier for him—especially to lose one in such a shameful way? Nena wasn’t sure.

  And if she were to go through with it, it would affect far more than just her father. There was Exanthia. She would forever be known as the ward of the shamed one. Her life would be destroyed. No man would ever profess to be chosen by her when she came of age.

  There was also Lothor. Losing the opportunity for revenge could quite possibly send him so deep into his pit of rage that he would never recover. Even if it did not, the smear to their family name quite possibly would. It would be the legacy left to his unborn child and all who came after. Whispers of weak blood would plague them. Some would perhaps even blame it on their mother for coming from the Southern Plains tribe. Forever forward her family would be known, not as the fierce or the strong, but as the weak, the shamed, the undisciplined.

  Nena knew she could not do it. If it were only to reflect badly on her, perhaps, but such an act would have immediate harsh consequences for all who were close to her. Ultimately the whole tribe would suffer—when her brother dragged them into his relentless quest for revenge.