Aeva The Wild

by Claire Marion

  “Come with me,” she said, and she turned abruptly on her heel and began hurrying away. They marched through the nunnery, passed many nuns who called out to the Abbess, asking what was happening. She ignored them, reaching back to grab Æva’s hand and pull her faster. At her waist jangled a large ring full of keys and she reached down to it, fumbling through them as she searched for the right one. They stopped in front of a faded tapestry that hung against the wall, an ugly thing Æva had walked past countless times. It depicted the crucifixion, but Christ’s face appeared stupid, dim-witted. She had always seen it as an offence, an obscene luxury out of place in their sparse environment. She’d assumed it was a gift from someone the Abbess did not want to offend.

  Æva was astonished, therefore, when it was hauled back to reveal a doorway; small, only three feet in height, and narrow. The Abbess slotted a long key into the lock and, with some difficulty, turned it. She pulled open the door and Æva caught sight of a steep flight of crudely cut stone steps, hacked out of the rock bed the nunnery nestled on.

  “Æva, take these stairs. They will lead you out to the cliffs. Find somewhere to hide, then do not move until they have gone. You must be absolutely silent, do you understand? No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must stay put.”

  Her blue eyes, lined with wrinkles, burned into Æva’s. They were wild but blazing with intensity.

  “But, come with me,” Æva stammered. “Or the girls. We can all escape this way.”

  “No, Æva,” the Abbess said, her voice firm. “We would be caught. Only you must go. Now.”

  The last word left her lips just as a savage thudding started somewhere in the nunnery.

  “Go,” she whispered, pushing so hard Æva almost fell down the steps.

  “Then she shut the door and engulfed me in darkness.”

  Æva’s voice broke on the final word. In front of her the fire crackled merrily, the noise at odds with the tense stillness of the men sitting around her. They did not interrupt but waited patiently for her to continue. After several long moments, she began again.

  “For a while I couldn’t move. I stood, waiting. I thought maybe she would come back, or that she would send another girl down with me. But she didn’t. I waited and waited, my ear pressed to the door, listening, but the wood was too thick for sound to penetrate. At last, I realised – she was trying to save my life. Facing death, she had done what she could to save me and I risked wasting her sacrifice by lingering. I was terrified, but I had to move.”

  Æva fumbled her way down the passage, fingers searching along the path. It was very steep, the darkness blinding. At one point she fell, banging her head on the wall and scraping her hands and knees on the rough stone. She was bleeding, a myriad of small cuts which stung, but she managed not to cry out. Cooler air tickled her face, telling her she must be nearly outside, then suddenly the tunnel levelled out and she stared wide-eyed at the sea.

  The nunnery at Colodesburg was blessed with a beautiful outlook, perched atop cliffs with the roaring sea exploding into brilliant white foam below. Fishermen off the coast could see a network of tiny caves carved into the rock wall. Æva had never realised some of them formed tunnels.

  She moved away from the mouth of the passageway at once, in case one of the Viking boats spotted her, although none seemed to lurk in the cove. A narrow ledge ran across the cliff-face and she crawled on her hands and knees, leaving small splotches of blood on the rocks, too afraid of falling to walk upright. Eventually she noticed the ledge began to angle up towards the top. Minutes later she climbed awkwardly onto the grass. At last she realised where she was, what was happening. It horrified her.

  Æva stood in a field not far from the nunnery, less than a quarter of a mile, but she could have made out the outline of the abbey from many miles. It was an inferno. The roaring blaze doubled the height of the modest building, hissing like forked-tongued snakes, writhing into the sky. The only home she had ever known was being incinerated – along with the people inside. Curled up in the safety of the long grass, she clasped her hands around her knees and slowly rocked, tears streaming down her face. She was close enough to the blaze for the heat to dry each tear before it had time to traverse her cheek.

  This time she was close enough to hear the screaming.

  Wails and screeches, the like of which she had never heard a person make, rent the air. The agony someone would have to endure to make such a noise ripped at her heart. In the clamour, she could not distinguish the voices of any of the people who had become her life, the people she loved. It was just a cacophony of screams accompanied by the rumble and roar of the all-consuming flames.

  As Æva watched, a figure dressed in billowing white robes tore around the corner of the building. Her hair streamed out behind her as she ran for her life. Moments later, a monstrous figure followed. He seemed twice the size of the woman, and with each step something in his hand glinted in the light from the fire. With a sickening jolt, Æva realised he held an axe. She knew what would happen, but she couldn’t look away. He caught the woman easily, effortlessly. With a triumphant growl he threw her to the ground and fell upon her.

  “Her cries for help have haunted my dreams. I was right there, and I did nothing. I hid. I kept silent. Perhaps God wanted me to help that woman. If so, I failed him.”

  Æva paused again, but this time only for a moment.

  “When he finished, he cut her to pieces. And laughed. Then he lifted his head and stared right at me. I don’t know if he heard me, or saw me, or if it was just coincidence - but I panicked. I thought only that that must not happen to me. I turned, and I ran. His footsteps echoed right behind me. I kept waiting for him to catch me, to throw me to the ground. With each step I imagined his meaty hand clamping down around my wrist. It never did. I ran and I ran, and I didn’t stop until dawn.”

  Æva looked up, her eyes coming back into focus, back into the present. She glanced around at the three men, embarrassed now. She clutched her tunic tight around her; though the fire blazed with warmth, she felt cold.

  Wulfram was the first to speak.

  “I am sorry.”

  Æva dared to peek in his face and saw sympathy. It gave her the courage to smile timidly at him.

  “We, too, have suffered at the hands of the Vikings. Tell me,” and here his eyes were intense, penetrating. “What was your father’s name?”

  “Æthelred,” Æva replied.

  Wulfram stared at her for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable, then he looked up at the night sky.

  “It is late, we should sleep.”

  Idin reached into his satchel and handed something to Æva.

  “Here.”

  Shyly, she took the bundle of cloth. Wrapping it around her, she curled up on her side into a ball and stared into the fire. She knew sleep would take a long time to come.

  ᚩ

  When Æva opened her eyes, she felt a disturbing sense of déjà vu. Once again, she was uncertain, nervous. Once again, her fate lay in the hands of these unknown men, still little more than strangers to her.

  She was startled to realise that she was alone. For one terrifying second, she thought that they had snuck off in the darkness, making sure this time that she did not follow. But then her eyes roamed the makeshift camp and picked up the spears lying strewn across a large root of the tree, and the satchel of one man open on the ground, possessions spilling out. They would not have left these things behind.

  The sound of deep, resonant laughter behind her made her spin around. There, thigh deep in the river, stood the men. They were taking the opportunity, afforded by the rushing water and the warming sun, to wash. Æva’s eyes widened as she realised they were unclothed. She tore her gaze away, the hot rush of a blush seeming to reach from her forehead down to the tips of her toes. She had never seen a man naked before.

  Men had been rare visitors in the nunnery, and the Abbess had always kept the younger girls at a distance if she could. As such, men both
frightened and fascinated Æva. Despite her conscience, she could not resist. Slowly, she raised her gaze.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. Their bodies sang of strength and power, honed to perfection by years of soldiery; the result of constant long marches and many wars. Æva’s breathing quickened as she watched them, a strange fluttering squirming in her stomach making her want to fidget. She fought to stay still; she would be mortified to be caught in her ogling.

  As she gazed, Ælric shook the water from his hair and turned to retrieve his clothes from the bank. For a fraction of a second their eyes locked, before Æva whipped her head around. The blush returned a hundredfold as she squeezed her eyes closed in embarrassment. Each light footstep of his approach only made it worse. He stepped past her, close enough for the slight stirring of air to tickle her skin. A mischievous grin on his face - which Æva was too humiliated to witness as she kept her eyes firmly downcast - he stopped directly in front of her and began to dress.

  Æva didn’t know what to do. She knew that he was playing with her, but she was not sure how to respond.

  She was spared further embarrassment just moments later as Wulfram returned, fully dressed, to the camp, and addressed her. Æva looked up at once, grateful to have a safe place to direct her gaze.

  “I will not stop for you, and I will not slow down for you.”

  Æva’s heart began to thump as she realised what he meant. Her face glowed with gratitude. Wulfram took one step closer, his eyes intense, determined that she should fully understand.

  “Do you hear what I am saying? If you fall behind, I will leave you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Æva responded at once. The term felt strange on her tongue, but she did not have the courage to call him by his name.

  Wulfram nodded once, then turned his back on her to organise his possessions. Idin approached the camp last, a scrap of dripping cloth in his hand.

  “Let me see your feet,” he said softly to her.

  Æva stared at him, confused for a moment. Then she looked at her feet. The damage from yesterday’s march was obvious. Her soles were a clotted mixture of mud and blood, the skin tattered. She eyed the rag he held, unsure. She’d never been touched by a man before, either, save her father a long time ago.

  Idin must have seen her hesitation; he tried to smile reassuringly at her. Taking one slender ankle in his hand, he began to wipe the dirt and dried blood from her feet with the other. Once or twice she drew in a sharp intake of breath as the rough cloth scraped against deep scratches and open wounds. When he had cleaned both feet as best he could, he handed her two soft scraps of leather and a couple of frayed thongs.

  “Strap these to your feet. They will protect you.”

  “Thank you,” Æva mumbled. Her heart thudded fiercely and the skin on her feet burned, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of her wounds of the touch of the man’s fingers on her flesh. When she had fixed the makeshift shoes as best she could, she stood to test them. They were uncomfortable and cut into her tender skin, but she knew her feet would not survive another day of punishment unprotected.

  In the short time she had taken to fashion the improvised footwear, the three men had cleared up and made their preparations. Wulfram stood a few steps away, ready to leave. He nodded at his men and turned. Æva’s stomach did frightened flips. She hadn’t eaten or washed, but she knew Wulfram would not wait. Her insides twisting nervously, she followed close to the heels of the three men.

  Despite his words, Wulfram tried to set a gentler pace as he drove the group on towards their final destination of Babbanburth. The day was sunny, the air calm. No hint of foul weather loitered on the horizon and he knew they would easily reach the small hamlet of Maelton by sunset.

  His mind raced, however. The decision to allow the girl to accompany them weighed on him. He could not help but think it was a mistake, a potentially dangerous distraction. His every instinct had been to leave her, by force if necessary. The thought did not bother him; he had fought in many wars and done things that would make the flesh of weaker men crawl. It was the way victories were won, the way to survive.

  But the feeling that had stayed his hand two nights ago prevailed again. A whispering in the back of his head which cast doubts and left him uncertain. The sensation was uncomfortable. He was a soldier. He followed orders, acted decisively. His was a world of black and white, a simple place with a right course, and a wrong one. Now this girl had turned him upside down. He should drive her away, discard her. And yet he couldn’t.

  As he mulled these thoughts over in his head the time passed swiftly. He was surprised when the height of the sun announced midday. Time to stop, to rest for a brief moment. He wished their path had allowed them to stay by the river, but the old Roman road they followed had turned away from the lazy flow. Their provisions were limited, but provided they reached their destination tonight that would not be a problem. He slowed to a walking pace, and then stopped at a rough patch of grass.

  “We’ll stop here for a while, then make our way into Maelton tonight.”

  He turned to Ælric and Idin, who nodded once then sat down to rest their tired legs. Ælric delved into his satchel, searching for the flagon holding the remains of the beer. The girl stumbled a few steps behind. She was red in the face and limping, but she did not appear exhausted. She had kept up well. Wulfram was impressed.

  Æva huffed to a halt, stopping several paces from the men, aware of Wulfram’s scrutiny. She tried to breath evenly, to still the desperate gasping of her lungs. Her pulse thudded, her legs burned; the back of her neck drenched with sweat. She, too, wished they had stayed by the river. The most pressing issue, though, was the need to urinate. She had suffered throughout the morning, desperate to stop, but knowing she must not fall behind. Now her chance - at last - had come, but the place Wulfram had chosen to rest had almost no vegetation for privacy. She eyed the surrounding area, biting her lip.

  As she stood searching the ground for cover and for her courage, Idin hoisted his muscled body up, took three steps into the thicker grass and relieved himself. Æva looked away, embarrassed, then frowned. It was so easy for a man! Wulfram caught the frustration in her eyes and guessed the reason.

  “Over there,” he pointed at a slight dip in the ground a few yards away. “We will not look.”

  “Not much, anyway,” Ælric added with a chuckle.

  With such swiftness she almost missed it, Wulfram’s foot shot out and connected against the soft flesh of Ælric’s abdomen. Ælric was thrown off balance by the blow, sloshing some of the beer from the flagon onto the ground, where it pooled for an instant before seeping into the thirsty earth. Wulfram glared down at him, furious, and at once Ælric raised a hand in submission.

  “We will not look,” Wulfram promised.

  She nodded mutely and stumbled across the thick grass, self-conscious. The dip sloped into a shallow hole, not enough to hide her from view. She shifted from foot to foot, the urgent need warring with her embarrassment. A quick glance at the men revealed a row of three backs. Fiddling with the knot of rope holding the breeches up, she turned her back on them and emptied her bladder as fast as possible, cheeks burning. She heard the quiet murmur of their voices and hoped it would be enough to cover any sounds she made.

  Æva had set just one foot back on to the road when Wulfram announced they were leaving. Her heart dropped.

  “Here,” Ælric offered, standing beside her. He handed her the almost empty flagon and she drank gratefully, not even noticing the bitter taste. “I am sorry,” he added, as she returned the vessel. “That was rude. I hope you will forgive me.”

  With his words he gave her a wide grin, a twinkle in his eyes, and she found her lips smiling back.

  Wulfram approached, staring at her feet. Æva winced. The makeshift shoes she wore were not standing up well to the rigours of a day-long march. The leather had already ripped, and old wounds had broken afresh, leaving blotches of dark red. Blood rimmed
the nails of each toe. They hurt, but she’d cut her tongue out before she’d complain.

  “We will walk from here,” Wulfram declared suddenly. “It’s not far.”

  Idin and Ælric looked a little surprised, but pleased, at the break in pace. Æva could have cried she was so relieved.

  Announcement made, Wulfram turned and began to walk. Ælric and Idin fell into step side by side behind him. Æva decided this must be a routine for the men – they had run in the same pattern. She kept a few paces behind all three, nervousness returning now she had caught her breath. Oddly, at this new pace of a brisk walk, the wounds on her feet burned and throbbed more ferociously. She supposed it was the absence of stitches or cramping muscles to draw her attention from it. Too intimidated to talk to the men, she had nothing to do but try unsuccessfully not to think about her feet.

  In front of her, Ælric and Idin glanced back at her shuffling figure in tandem. Their heads had been close together in conversation, so she assumed they must be speaking of her. She stared down at the rough, uneven ground, self-conscious. Without a word, the two men separated then slowed their pace, falling into step with her. Uncomfortable, Æva drew her arms in tighter to her torso, unnerved at the thought of accidentally brushing their swinging arms.

  “So Æva,” Ælric began, his voice cheerful, “If we are attacked by a Viking raid of evil savages, are you going to save us?”

  Æva jerked her head up to stare at his face, her heart freezing in her chest. Her thoughts flew to the story she had told last night. Was he scolding her for the woman she had left to die?

  But he was grinning at her in a relaxed way, winking down at her shocked face. With a rush of relief, she realised he was teasing her again. The relief quickly turned to panic – how should she respond?

  “I...” she began, but her mind emptied, leaving her mouth gaping uselessly.

  Idin rescued her.

  “What Ælric is trying to ask, Æva, is do you know how to fight? Can you defend yourself?”