Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  “I’m s-sorry, mu . . .S-Salig, but b-before Soren left this morning, he asked me to tell you . . .t-tell . . .you…” The woman’s eyes darted between Hollen and Joselyn. Lavinia shifted her weight from one side to the other while her hand picked at a white bangle. Joselyn stared at the stuttering woman with dawning realization.

  I’m making her nervous.

  Joselyn was about to avert her gaze when Hollen took the new woman by the elbow and gently pulled her toward himself. As though this were common, she bent forward and whispered whatever she’d been trying to say into his ear. Joselyn watched, uncertain what to make of them. Men didn’t touch women so casually, at least, not where she came from. She glanced around the ring, but no one seemed the least bit interested in her captor’s exchange.

  Hollen sighed. “Then I’d better go.” He stood from the bench, sucking the last bit of grease off his fingers as he did. “Lavinia, mu hamma has not yet bathed. I wonder if you might show her the springs?”

  Lavinia crossed her hand over her hips and bowed low. The gesture instantly put Joselyn in mind of the Golden Court of Ebron. She eyed the woman’s dark, twisted hair and wondered. As she straightened, Lavinia brought her hand to her forehead and drew her opening fingers downward in what Joselyn was beginning to recognize as a feminine greeting.

  “W-welcome to . . .Bedmeg, mu Saliga.” Joselyn heard it then, the faint Ebronian accent, faded from years of disuse, and muffled by the stutter. How long had she been on the mountain? Joselyn smiled, nodded. Was she about to get a moment alone with a fellow captive? She tempered her eagerness as she stood from the bench.

  Hollen touched Joselyn’s arm lightly. “Will you be all right on your own?”

  “I’m already on my own,” she said, stepping away to get around the bench to Lavinia. The other woman’s smile faltered at Joselyn’s cold words, her eyes shifting to Hollen as though searching for a reaction. Hollen said nothing, electing instead to sign his farewell to the women as Lavinia led Joselyn from the ring.

  “That one needs no knife to draw blood, eh brother?” Erik’s sympathetic voice faded as they walked away.

  Joselyn followed Lavinia, who cut smoothly around the clusters of people watching them. Lavinia’s presence must have been taken by the clan as a sign that Joselyn was available for conversation. Many of them greeted her as she passed. At one point a small group of much older women flanked Joselyn. She jumped when one of them caught her braid in a wrinkled hand, and ran it down the long stretch of hair.

  “So red!” the old woman exclaimed.

  “Like flame,” another added with an appreciative nod. “But does she have the spirit to match?”

  “If so she’ll have our Salig on his knees within days,” The one holding her hair said with mischief in her eye.

  “All the better, I’ll wager she pups before her year’s up,” said a third woman. Her voice buzzed with enthusiasm.

  “No doubt! No doubt!” a fourth agreed.

  Joselyn, shocked into silence, was just opening her mouth to respond when Lavinia took her by the hand and tugged her free of the women’s excited pawing.

  “L-ladies, please! Atu . . .Saliga has only just arrived. Allow h-her a bit of . . .peace.” Lavinia’s spine straightened as she spoke, raising her yet another inch above the other women.

  Joselyn sighed in relief when they took a few begrudging steps back. She gathered her composure and curtsied to the group of women who watched her with intense interest. One teetered precariously as she attempted to return the unpracticed gesture. The old woman’s friend reached a hand to steady her as the rest giggled.

  “Forgive me, ladies. I am Lady Joselyn Fury, of Morhagen. I should like to be formally introduced to each of you just as soon as I have made myself presentable.”

  Before anyone could protest, Lavinia took Joselyn by the hand and continued leading her toward the back of the cave. “Forgive u-us, mu S-Saliga, the claiming of a h-hamma is an exciting event . . .among the clan. The claiming of a new Saliga is even . . .more so.”

  “Thank you.” Joselyn breathed, feeling as though she had an ally for the first time since being stolen away. Joselyn looked at the hand Lavinia gripped. She wasn’t usually comforted by the touch of strangers, but in this moment, connection to the warm woman was lending her strength.

  “How long have you been here?” Did she really want to know? A long stretch of captivity didn’t bode well for Joselyn’s own chances of escape. This woman obviously wasn’t native born. Despite her apparent ease in her surroundings, Joselyn sensed an air of trained nobility in her, with her tall posture and graceful movements. A shame about the stutter. Royal courts could be mercilessly cruel about such things.

  “Nine y-years,” Lavinia said.

  Joselyn’s eyes widened. “Nine years? Did no one come to rescue you?”

  “I was alone at . . .the t-time of my c-claiming. No one saw me taken. Even if they h-had . . .it’s unlikely they could have t-tracked me here. The g-gegatu leave no trails.”

  “You were alone?” Then maybe she hadn’t been a noblewoman. Though the Crookspine Mountains formed an impassable barrier between the Lands of Morhagen and Ebron, she was familiar with the ways of the dark-skinned people of the south.

  The Ebronians were well known for their radical ideas about the appropriate roles of women. Whereas most of the world limited women to the roles of motherhood or celibate piety, Ebronian women enjoyed a great number of freedoms. One or two female generals had even been known to command their armies. Even so, if her suspicions about Lavinia’s background were correct, she couldn’t imagine a noblewoman being left to go anywhere without the benefit of an armed escort.

  Lavinia sucked in her lips and threw a sheepish expression over her shoulder. “Yes, m-much to my . . .uncle’s dismay.”

  Who was her uncle? The question stalled on Joselyn’s tongue. Lavinia didn’t look comfortable with the direction of this conversation. Joselyn changed course.

  “How often is a hamma claimed?”

  “When our r-riders complete the Veligneshi, they may claim a bride anytime a-after.”

  “You mean after they kill an underdweller?”

  Lavinia nodded. “Yes, a veligiri. M-most years two or three . . . hammas are claimed.”

  Joselyn looked around, trying to work out how many men must live here. It was doubtful that the women of this clan also abducted their mates from the lowlands. The unbalance would surely leave a surplus of unmarried women. “Do your warriors take multiple wives then? What of your daughters?”

  “We don’t have any daughters, m-mu Saliga.”

  Joselyn’s step faltered at that. Lavinia stopped walking as well. She stared patiently at Joselyn, who was searching for words.

  “What do you mean?” A vague sense of dread settled over her. Was it possible that these barbarians cast off their female children? The elements in such a high place would surely kill an infant.

  Lavinia’s mouth opened a beat before she actually began speaking. Her voice was slow and careful. “The Dokiri cannot sire female children. Only . . .males are born to them.”

  Stunned, Joselyn looked around the cave at the many children occupying themselves with games. She turned and took care to examine each tiny face in the crowd. Every one of them was male. How had she not noticed before?

  Joselyn blinked. She’d never heard of such a phenomenon. Could it be possible? An entire race of men unable to breed daughters? How could such a society be sustained? A thought occurred. She began scrutinizing the many women in the common area. They were as lovely as they were varied. Black, white, brown, and red, they were each exquisite in their own right. Even the elderly women held a degree of beauty that seemed immune to the cruelty of time. All at once, the answer to many of Joselyn’s questions became clear. Her mouth fell open.

  “You’ve all been claimed?”

  “Yes.” Lavinia nodded. “All of us.”

  Joselyn’s mind spun. Had Hollen told her this before, she�
��d have been brought to Bedmeg prepared to meet a mob of women riled to indignant hatred for their captor-husbands. Either that or a throng of broken, hopeless domestic chattel. Joselyn brushed a hand over her hair. There were no slaves here. Only happy couples and cheerful children. Families. She frowned and released Lavinia’s hand.

  “Why? How can you all be so . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to articulate her question.

  “C-content?” Lavinia offered with a raised brow. She smiled at Joselyn’s stupefied nod. “It’s true that f-few of us were pleased when we first . . .arrived. But our hatus aren’t like other men. I was f-fairly well traveled before coming to Bedmeg . . .nowhere on Earth are brides treasured in such a m-manner.”

  Joselyn frowned. “You’re captives.”

  “We were.” Lavinia nodded. She turned and continued to lead. Joselyn hesitated, allowing a bit of distance between them. Lavinia went on. “Now we-w are wives and mothers to the . . .mountain guardians. It’s a noble thing.”

  Joselyn choked back a scoff. She remembered how Hollen talked about guarding the earth from the ‘evils of the mountain.’ At the time she hadn’t given it much consideration, had dismissed it as an ill-conceived excuse for his barbarism. Apparently the bluster was enough to persuade an entire village of women to be content with their own enthrallment. Temper roiled with Joselyn’s gut and rose up out of her throat.

  “So because these savages kill the occasional pest that sneaks into the sun, you think it justifies that they help themselves to any woman in the world, regardless of her will?”

  Lavinia smiled. She seemed unruffled. “I‘m g-grateful to hear that the . . .lowlanders may still take their security for g-granted. I w-was the same before . . .coming here. As for my personal will, the world . . .never paid it any heed before. At least now I am h-happy.”

  “Surely there are those among you who know better!” Joselyn demanded, drawing the attention of several people around them. She needed to speak to someone who would understand her need to return home. She needed an ally.

  Lavinia’s pace slowed. Her back stiffened. She glanced backward and met Joselyn’s furious gaze. Somehow, the other woman’s stutter got even worse.

  “P-perhaps, m-mu Saliga. Though if . . .they exist, I-I’m afraid I c-cannot identify them for y-you.”

  A pang of guilt wormed its way into Joselyn’s chest, swallowing her rage. She was unfamiliar with guilt. Joselyn was usually too careful with her words for regret. But weariness and fear had gotten the better of her. She kept her gaze to the ground in front of her as she followed.

  Lavinia pulled a torch from a nearby fire and led Joselyn into a wide tunnel that descended gradually downward. The air hung thick and damp. Joselyn’s skin warmed as the temperature steadily rose the further they traveled into the darkness.

  Before long, the ground grew slick with moisture. A wave of steam rolled into Joselyn’s face as they stepped through a natural doorway into a large black cave. The faint scent of sulfur permeated the warm air, and something bubbled in the distance. Lavinia used her torch to light several more half-burned torches set into wall notches similar to those in Hollen’s bok.

  As the cave grew brighter, pools of various sizes came into view, stretching into the blackness. One of the pools was vast, with boiling water bubbling in the middle.

  “These are the hot springs, a gift from Helig, the earth mother,” Lavinia said.

  So that was why Hollen was so clean despite living on snowcapped mountains. In her world, hot bathing water was a comfort reserved only for the very wealthy, who could afford not only a tub to soak in but also servants to fill it. Joselyn had craved the bone-deep heat afforded by steaming water since she’d been captured.

  “G-go ahead and b-bathe, mu Saliga. It will c-comfort you.” Lavinia gestured to a wooden rack that Joselyn assumed was for keeping her clothes off the wet floor. “There are s-seven pools and each is a different . . .temperature. I suggest you start cool and work your way up. T-take care to stay well away from any bubbling. The w-water grows hot enough to boil in certain . . .places.”

  Though longing pulled at her, Joselyn peered into the darkness of the tunnel’s entrance. “Do you all bathe here?”

  “N-no, only the women, though usually in the evening. The men . . .have springs of their own.”

  Joselyn fingered the collar of her dress and worried her lower lip between her teeth. Did she dare disrobe and leave herself vulnerable if a man were to wander in?

  “I will stay with you, mu . . .Saliga.” Lavinia said, surprising Joselyn. “Please, allow y-yourself to rest.”

  Joselyn bowed her head. How generous. Surely her guide had better things to do than to stand around watching her bathe. Another twinge of guilt pinched for her prior rudeness.

  “Thank you, Lavinia. And—” Joselyn faltered, searching for the right way to apologize.

  “Yes, mu Saliga,” Lavinia said, holding up a silencing hand. “You are . . .most welcome.”

  The older woman smiled and Joselyn hurried to remove her dress.

  10

  May the Mountain Fall

  “Mu S-Saliga, please meet m-mu hatu . . .Soren the Lightfooted.”

  Joselyn stood from her bench in the common area to meet Lavinia’s ‘hatu,’ her husband. Perhaps he would be the reasonable soul to finally help her?

  Soren drew his fingers downward from his head. “Welcome, mu Saliga.”

  Joselyn fought the urge to sigh. By now her patience was threadbare. She was tired of being welcomed. What she needed to hear was ‘farewell.’ She nodded despite herself, unwilling to be rude.

  “Thank you, Soren. Your wife has been most hospitable.”

  Though tall, Soren was a good deal leaner than most of the Dokiri. He had a jagged scar that sliced through the center of one slanted eye, though his vision appeared to be intact. He was shirtless, revealing a toned expanse of warm bronze and thick, dark hair. Joselyn’s cheeks warmed. What did these men have against wearing shirts?

  Like all the Dokiri men, he was very handsome in his own, uncivilized way. It was to be expected of a race that bred only with women who were chosen primarily for their beauty.

  Soren stroked his hand at the small of Lavinia’s back. She leaned into her husband with a contented smile on her round face. “She is a credit to the clan and to me, just as I’m sure you will be to Bedmeg and mu Salig.”

  “I’m certain I will not,” Joselyn said.

  When Soren frowned, Joselyn sighed. The comfort of bathing had been short lived. After Lavinia led her back to the common area, Joselyn had taken it upon herself to make as many introductions as possible. It had been difficult to approach the men at first. On the whole they were far larger than those in her homeland, yet they would shift uncomfortably as she spoke, finding anything and everything around her a more appealing target for their eyes.

  How ironic. These beastly men seemed almost afraid of her as she planted her hands on her hips and her feet in the dirt, demanding their attention. Still, they listened patiently while Joselyn submitted all the reasons they should assist her. In the end, however, no one seemed interested in either her promises or threats.

  “I’m afraid I cannot stay,” Joselyn explained, trying once more. “I’m sorely needed at home. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  Soren looked down at his wife, who turned her face up to him. “Mu Saliga is d-distressed. She has been unsuccessful in . . .securing an escort off the m-mountain.”

  The women had been even worse than the men. They seemed deathly determined to defend their husbands for having claimed them, and by extension, their Salig for having claimed her. Each woman made similar references to the creatures beneath the mountain known as the veligiri. Their voices were threaded with an almost religious fervor as they spoke of how their husbands were all that stood between the dangers beneath the mountain and total destruction of the lowlands from where they’d all come. At most, a few of the older women would pat her on the hand and ass
ure her she’d come to accept her new life, in time. Joselyn wanted to pull out her hair.

  What was she going to do? Would no one take pity on her? She’d never been in such a position of weakness. Her will had always been the will of her father. In her world, no one stood against Marcus Fury.

  No one until Dante Viridian. Damn him.

  Hatred suffused her. Hatred for Lord Viridian, hatred for the barbarian, and hatred for herself. House Fury needed her, and because of her selfish desire for a moment alone on a hilltop, she’d rendered herself useless. Worse than useless. At least if she were dead, her father could present Viridian with a body, and thus prove himself innocent of foul play. But here she was, trapped on a gods-forsaken mountain.

  “Please”, Joselyn said, weary of begging. “If there is anything men like you desire, ask it of me. I swear that I will see it yours.”

  Soren returned Joselyn’s haggard expression with a look of patient understanding. She cringed and her neck went hot.

  I swear to the gods, I’d strip off my clothes if you people would but cease with your pitying smiles.

  Soren didn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil. “It would be easier to ask the mountain to fall than to persuade a Dokiri rider to betray his Salig. What you ask would require a warrior to give up his life on the mountain, for he could never return. Without the mountain a Dokiri has no purpose.”

  “There are a great number of warriors in the lowlands who find their purpose in serving men just as worthy as your Salig,” Joselyn said.

  Soren grimaced. “I doubt that.”

  “You could find a new purpose elsewhere, as a rich man, and held in the highest esteem by the greatest lord in Morhagen.”

  Soren shook his head. “For the Dokiri, there is no other purpose than guarding the world at the throat of the mountain.” Soren squeezed his arm around Lavinia, who leaned her head against his chest. “And I am already a rich man, mu Saliga. What could I want that mu hamma has not already given me?”