Barbarian Outcast (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 1)

by Aaron Crash

  Maybe the tattoo on her face meant she was some kind of elven serf. Some of the tundra clans used ground root paste to ink their skins. Ymir had slept with a Red Elk woman who’d had tattoos across her back and belly, on her arms, and on her legs. She’d been older and wanton, a mother of three and a widow who had refused to remarry. She took lovers, and Ymir had been lucky enough to be chosen. She’d taught him so many things. That had been during a three-moon summer at Lost Herot. Just thinking about her stiffened his sex.

  And it reminded him of how free he’d once been. He vowed he’d be free again. Do the first task first. Patience is in love with cunning. He’d find what he was looking for at the school, and he would have fun along the way. This elf maid could help with that.

  “Lillee Nehenna, why don’t you like me?” he asked.

  She colored and backed up against the rusted metal wall. The sea alley was free of water for now. The cobblestones were nearly dry. The cells around them were empty. That would change when the rest of the scholars arrived.

  “I like you,” the elf girl insisted.

  “I’m not sure you do. I look at you, and you don’t look back. I talk to you, and you don’t talk back. Is it because I’m human? Do elves and humans hate each other?” He was genuinely interested in the answer. He’d heard that any humans who wandered into the far eastern forests were never heard from again.

  “Humans and elves have been allies before,” Lillee said. “It’s not that I hate you...” She frowned. “I’m shy. You’re not shy. If we did talk, what would we even talk about?”

  He smiled. “You have a point. But I am a stranger here. I have so many questions. We could spend hours talking about all the elkshit I don’t know.”

  “Elkshit?” That frown wasn’t going away. “For one thing, the Ohlyrra value poetry and the true meaning of words. We avoid cursing.”

  “See?” Ymir gestured with his hands. “Already we are talking. I’ll try not to curse. I wouldn’t bet on me succeeding.” This was going well, and so he risked a more dangerous question. “When I stood in line for the Open Exam, I saw you on a walkway. You were staring at me. Why?”

  The elf crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not proper to ask someone such pointed questions. It’s not polite.”

  That made him laugh. “I might learn a little politeness at this fucking school, but it’s not high on my list.” He shook his head. “Give up on me not cursing, Lillee, it won’t happen. As far as my pointed questions? I prefer honesty to dancing around the truth. Forgive me my rough ways.”

  That coaxed a smile to her face. “You are a barbarian from the North. I expected you to do more grunting.”

  He tilted his head at the unexpected joke. He laughed. “Yes, clansmen do some grunting, but words are more effective.”

  “Words are powerful,” the elf agreed. “Which is why cursing is troublesome under most circumstances. Other times? Such cursing might be welcome.” She glanced down, clearly embarrassed.

  He liked this shy girl. She’d made him laugh. And he sensed something wild underneath her calm, controlled appearance.

  “You did stare at me,” he said. “And I stared back. You are very pretty.”

  She touched the tattoo on her left temple. “Not so pretty.” She pressed her lips together, gathered her courage, and looked him in the eye. “I dreamed about you coming. When I saw you, on the Sunfire Field, I remembered the dream, a Flow dream. That was why I stared.”

  “A Flow dream?” he asked. “There—another example of all the things I don’t know. It’s one of the colleges here, right? The Flow, the Form, Sunfire, and Moons.”

  “Flow dreams tell of the future, or the past, or the secrets of the present,” Lillee explained.

  “Was it a good dream?” he asked.

  She shrugged and walked away from him. Her sandals slapped the stone, the sound echoing against the metal doors on either side of the alley.

  Her watched her body move, lost under the tunic and the blue cape. It was a pity it hadn’t been a good dream. Or maybe it had been, and she was lying.

  While she walked ahead of him, she sang something in a low voice, beautiful and haunting. She stopped, turned, and reached out to him. “Well, come on then, clansman. I guess we should be friends. You and I don’t know anyone else here, and you aren’t so ugly.”

  “Not so ugly.” He strutted up to her. “I’m a bit dumb, though, which is a pity.”

  “I doubt you are dumb.” She gave him an impish grin. “Though it’s nice that we agree you are ugly.”

  He tried to defend himself a bit. “For a human, I’m not bad.”

  “You aren’t so bad to an elf either.” She let him walk next to her and they made their way through the sea alley to the bottom of the Sea Stair. The steps led up through various buildings to the Flow Tower’s courtyard and then into the Librarium Citadel.

  If they went straight, a covered walkway would take them to the hidden docks on the northern section of the Flow housing. That didn’t seem fair. The passageway had protection from the weather, unlike the sea alley where their cells were. At some point, he’d need a waterproof cloak or a storm coat. He couldn’t go around wearing his bear fur blanket.

  They started up the steps, chatting, and Ymir couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The week alone hadn’t been easy. Here he was, with a new friend, so different from him and yet so similar.

  He didn’t know why she had the tattoo, or why she wore the forearm cuff, but both seemed to keep the other scholars away. In some ways, she seemed as exiled as he was.

  Chapter Six

  AFTER A LONG DAY WORKING, Ymir didn’t want to eat in the feasting hall, not with the sunset’s fire in the sky. With his new friend, Lillee, he grabbed a couple joints of meat, the weak beer they served, and some bread. It was meal enough.

  “We aren’t supposed to take food out of the feasting hall,” the elf girl whispered. They started down the steep Sea Stair.

  “If we’re caught, I’ll take the blame,” he said. “You’ll thank me once you see the view.” They descended through the deserted buildings built into the rock of the cape. They didn’t look quite like student housing, but Ymir didn’t know what they were.

  At the bottom, he led her to the hidden docks, where they found a bench. For now, there were no ships tied there, and no boats leaving or coming. There was a vessel inside a natural sea cave, protected from the elements. It had the crest of the school on its side. The mast was laid flat next to several sets of oars resting on the deck.

  Lillee faced the wind, still warm, as the sun bloodied the Weeping Sea. Such a name was bad luck, though the Hell Sea was probably not much better. Men weren’t supposed to leave land for any length of time. Every sailor Ymir had ever met hadn’t been right in the head. All that time trying to keep your balance damaged your sanity.

  He remembered his trip across the sea to get to the continent of Thera. Days of rowing in his moose-hide canoe, nights sleeping in the boat sitting up. Reaching the shore had been a true victory. He’d then walked up the coast to Winterhome, not knowing where else to go.

  Winterhome was the most northern city of the Sorrow Coast Kingdom. There, at an inn called The Torch, he’d been told of the Majestrial Collegium Universitas on Vempor’s Cape, a long journey south.

  Lillee sipped her beer, watching the sun. He joined her, and they sat, facing the horizon, eating the bread and the meat off the bone. She only ate half of hers, so he finished it. He washed the meal down with the weak beer.

  Again, she sang in a low voice. The words were in elvish.

  “What’s that song?” he asked.

  She blushed. “I’m sorry...was I singing? I sing all the time, but I try not to do it in front of other people.”

  “Let me hear it, loud and strong,” he encouraged.

  And she did, sitting upright to lift her voice loud. It was heartbreaking, and piercing, and the most beautiful song he’d ever heard.

  She saw his admirati
on and smiled. “And so the world is a better place because of my song.”

  He couldn’t disagree with that. “Your song and our meal together. Isn’t it better than the feasting hall?”

  “Much better,” Lillee answered. She pulled her cape around herself. As the sun died, the air grew cooler. One moon had set that evening. The other drifted close to the horizon.

  They sat in silence, which was common for the elf. He didn’t know if all Ohlyrra were so taciturn, but Lillee Nehenna certainly was...when she wasn’t singing.

  A question bubbled out of her. “You don’t ask about my forearm cuff. You don’t ask about my tattoo. Do you not want to know? You aren’t afraid of pointed questions.”

  “And you wanted me to be polite.” Gazing into her face, he touched the tattoo on her temple. “I’m very dumb, but I’m not stupid. You’ll tell me about those things in time.”

  She glanced down. Her eyes were such an interesting color of green, flecked with platinum, like sunlight off pools on a verdant summer plain. She looked up. “And what of you? Will you tell me why you are at the Majestrial?”

  “I’m here to destroy my dusza,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s possible.” Her voice was soft, sad. A wave rolled under the dock and smashed against the wall behind them. Mooring a boat here would take timing and a great deal of skill.

  “Then I’ll learn to control it.” He flung the two gnawed bones into the ocean. “Meat for mermaids.”

  “Feeding the merfolk is dangerous,” Lillee said. “Or that’s what the stories say.”

  They talked more, about nothing much at all, but Ymir could feel himself wanting to tell her about his past, the Lonely Man, everything.

  Not yet. He’d get to know her more before he burdened her with his troubles.

  The days passed, days of cleaning, of sleeping, of chatting with Lillee, who was by far the brightest part of his life at Old Ironbound. He never grew tired of her singing, and she did it more and more for him.

  The Princept didn’t call for Ymir, and he didn’t care much. He was falling into a rhythm, however strange.

  The morning before classes started, Ymir woke floating over his bed. Only a few inches, so the crash wasn’t painful. He lay on the bear fur, noticing the morning light through the window. He considered the day ahead. This cleaning business had to end. He’d figure a way out of it at some point. For now, he wanted to do something special for Lillee.

  He dressed and went out to knock on Lillee’s door. She opened it, her hair messy, and her eyes squinting. What time was it anyway?

  He didn’t know. He tried to gauge the time from the sky above, but there was a light fog, which baffled his attempts.

  “What is it, Ymir?” the elf girl asked.

  He smiled broadly. “Lillee, this morning, you and are going to break our fast, not in the feasting hall, but out under the sky, though it shouldn’t be called that. We should just call it the gray. May the Axman damn this place.”

  Lillee’s eyes brightened. “Like our sunset dinner?”

  He nodded.

  She frowned and shook her head. “This is dangerous. Gurla will be angry if she can’t find us.”

  “She’ll find us,” Ymir said confidently. “Just not right away. Get ready, and I’ll be back in a minute.” He returned to his room, grabbed his pack, his wineskin, and a loaf of crusty bread.

  He motioned for her to follow him down the narrow, misty alley. The sound of the breaking waves was loud. At the end of the sea alley, a rusted rectangular grate covered the lower part of the wall, giving most of the water a place to go. But not all. That was why the iron doors weren’t flush with the floor.

  The hallway grate was closed with a rusted padlock. He jerked the lock down and was satisfied when it crunched off in his hand. He’d have to repair it, or at least make it look like it wasn’t broken. The metal creaked when he pushed the gate open. Iron rungs had been pounded into the rock leading down to a beach, fifty feet below. He crawled over the edge and descended a bit. He waved Lillee forward.

  She was trembling. Her eyes were so wide as she touched her forearm cuff. “We shouldn’t.”

  “I am.” He descended the cliffside and reached the bottom. The sand felt good under his feet. His wounds from the Open Exam had healed nicely. He’d not made new shoes. Since all of the floors of the university were either wood or stone, he didn’t need shoes.

  The black cliff reached the tumble of scholar housing. At the very top, nice apartments sat under the Flow Tower on the west side of the Librarium Citadel. With so many ledges and downspouts, climbing that would be easy. Perhaps instead of the thousand stairs, he’d simply climb up the sides of the buildings clinging to the cape’s cliffs. The view would certainly be better, and it would be good exercise.

  Clouds cluttered the sky, high and low, gray and white. He was simply glad it wasn’t raining—it always seemed to be raining in this miserable place.

  Lillee lowered herself out of the opening and onto the first rung. She slowly climbed down.

  Ymir stepped under her to get an appreciable view of her legs and more. Her blue undergarments matched the border of her tunic and her cape.

  She alighted next to him, face flushed. “We can’t be here too long.” That was all she said. This girl, so quiet.

  “We have a minute. You and I can eat, talk, drink some wine, and we’ll be back with brooms in our hands before Gurla knows any better.”

  Lillee sighed. She walked down the beach, ahead of him, her song on her lips. The beach ended at an outcropping of rock at the mouth of Angel Bay. At the center of the inward curve of the coastline was the town of StormCry. Vempor’s Road led from the city up to the university. At the mouth of the bay, waves crashed against the AngelTeeth Islands, big monoliths of seagull-spattered stone. No one lived on those islands, too rocky and windswept, though a lighthouse rose from a center chunk of rock. That was StormLight; a bright radiance burned at the top of its tower, not flame, but some sort of spell. Probably Sunfire magic.

  Though Lillee wasn’t much for conversation, she’d given him some information. There was so much he didn’t know about Thera and the Fallen Fruit people. His questions were as numerous as mosquitoes in June.

  He laid his bear blanket on the sand and they sat down. He guzzled down a good portion of the wine and sighed happily. “This is much better than the watered-down beer from the feasting hall.” He handed it to her.

  Lillee sniffed it tentatively.

  Ymir tried to ease her fears. “It’s not from the seesee berry, so it’s weak. I ran out of that on the third day travelling. I refilled my skins with Theran wine in Winterhome after I won a fight. Some drunk wanted to test his mettle against a clansman. I showed him the error of his ways.”

  She sipped, gulped, and nodded.

  Bread and dried elk came next, along with dried seesee berries, and a few ground nuts. This was the food of his people, and he was running low. Every bite threatened to burst the wound in his heart wide open.

  She wasn’t talking, so it was up to him. That was fine. She was a good listener, and he enjoyed that.

  “I liked Winterhome all right. I drank with the man and his friends after I bloodied him. He told me about Old Ironbound, and he said if I could pass the Open Exam, I might be able to get rid of this curse on me.”

  “What curse?” she asked.

  “The Lonely Man’s curse.” He stripped a long thread of meat from his hunk of elk jerky. He didn’t want to share his heart with her. He didn’t want to speak of his shame ever.

  Grandmother Rabbit’s spirit drew close. Our secrets poison us. Time heals the wounds on our skin. The wounds in our hearts will fester unless spoken aloud. We heal through our mouths because, for some things, there is no better salve than words.

  That was partly her own wisdom, and partly from the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax.

  He gazed at the elf girl, so very strange, and so very beautiful. Could he trust her? She was cer
tainly better than that Jennybelle Josen witch, who had kept her distance. Jenny would only cast smiles at him, and when he drew close, she’d find some escape. Another game, another trick, to keep him off-balance.

  He wished he could find a battle brother to confide in, but damn the Ax, there were so few men at Old Ironbound. The stories were true. The Withering had left Thera mostly populated with women. At first that had seemed like a paradise, but now the whole continent felt as cursed as he was.

  He sighed. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

  Lillee shrugged.

  “Your next question should be...who is the Lonely Man?”

  A rare smile curved her lips. “Who is the Lonely Man?”

  He chuckled at the pain in his heart. These words were going to be hard to speak. But he spoke them, to tell his story, to heal.

  Chapter Seven

  THE CRACK LAY BETWEEN the Black Wolf Clan and the White Wolf people. The Crack was a bite in the world, a sloping ravine that led to a jagged place of darkness and cold. The ice at the bottom of the Crack never melted, not even in the hottest summer. The East-West Path crossed it, so people had to maneuver down one side, make the trek through the snow, and make the ascent.

  The Crack was haunted. Everyone knew that. It spat out the night bears, huge monsters that hungered for souls instead of blood and meat. Unnatural—the whole place was unnatural, but a part of life on the tundra.

  A year ago, a family of the White Wolf Clan went down there and never returned. Then people from the Black Wolf Clan went missing. King Ymok liked to ignore any problem he could, and he claimed that though the Crack was dangerous, there was nothing anyone could do.

  One night in late spring, a man from the Red Elk Clan made it out, and he told stories of a demon down there. He called the demon the Lonely Man, a villain from any number of grandmother stories. The tales warned that men should not live alone. People should eat together, be together, when they went to sleep and when they woke up. Like wolf packs, everyone in the clans should know their place and know it well.