Thrall

by Barbara Ann Wright

“It’s the world that’s often ridiculous, not me.”

  Aesa just chewed.

  “I’m curious, too,” Maeve said. “Why the secrecy?”

  Aesa’s gaze didn’t leave Laret’s. “You have a wyrd, right? What is it?” It was the most unsubtle, bullish change in conversation Maeve could imagine, and she almost laughed.

  Laret fiddled with her cup. “I can move plants.”

  “Can you speak with them?”

  “I would imagine they’re not very good conversationalists.”

  “Why aren’t you on a ship?” Aesa asked.

  “Why would I want to be?”

  They weren’t eating now, just staring. Aesa’s jealousy had jumped from endearing to annoying, and Maeve had never seen this side of Laret, the one that prodded where it wasn’t wanted.

  “I travel for the sheer joy of it,” Laret said. “When I’m not venturing out to break curses.”

  Aesa gestured around them. “Then why not move along? I’m sure someone out there needs your help.”

  “Aesa!” Maeve said. “I invited her to stay.”

  Laret sat back. “I want to know more about your people before I go.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why they’re so strange.”

  Aesa cracked the tiniest smile, or maybe it was just a twitch. Maeve went back to eating, letting them work out what they would, and pledging to only get involved if someone started throwing punches.

  *

  As she lay in bed that night, Aesa stared at the embers in the fire pit. It was a nice house, a good house, and she had someone who loved her to tend it. Maeve was more comfortable than Aesa thought she’d be. Her plans had been dashed, but she’d recovered.

  Aesa knew she should be happy, but if she closed her eyes, she could feel the heaving of Gilka’s ship upon the waves. She saw the wonders of Runa’s power, heard the air whistle as Gilka swung, felt Hilfey’s motherly touch, and heard the laughter of Otama and the others. Her crew, her ship. How could home ever compare to that?

  If she told Maeve of all she’d experienced, how could Maeve do anything but ache to join her? But then she remembered her vision of Maeve the healer in the midst of the charging guards, the blood, and the screams of the dying.

  Aesa imagined bringing home heaps of treasure, draping necklaces or bracelets on Maeve’s naked body. They could buy anything they wanted from the traders at market day. Maybe Maeve could breed horses or cattle. If she got too lonely, perhaps they’d seek out someone to give her a child—someone from Aesa’s family, even—and then she and Aesa could raise children together.

  Together, truly? What of the raid? The swirling gray seas? Aesa would heed Gilka’s every call, and during the winter, she’d pace, the farm feeling like a small room.

  A soft touch in the small of her back made her jump. “Are you awake?” Maeve asked.

  “I was thinking.”

  “About the journey you can say nothing about?”

  Aesa sighed, and the mattress shifted.

  Maeve rested her chin on Aesa’s shoulder. “Am I to be denied the chance to live through you as well?”

  Aesa turned. “Will you be happy here?”

  “As your thrall? Have you given up on my wyrd?”

  “You’d run toward the wounded in a battle.”

  Maeve’s face wrinkled as she inched back, resting her head on her arm. “Laret said a similar thing.”

  “I suppose anyone can have her moments.”

  Maeve gave her a wry smile that faded fast. “You don’t think I could do it.”

  “You wouldn’t want to.”

  “Did you want to kill anyone?”

  “It’s not pleasure; it’s what needs to be done.” If the guards had laid down their arms, she wouldn’t have shot them, though she bet such actions wouldn’t have stopped Gilka or Otama.

  “And you want to do it again. I see it in your face. You leave tomorrow, and it’s not soon enough.”

  The small house suddenly felt far too large, the bed a mile across. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s what you always wanted.” She turned toward the wall, and Aesa went back to staring at the fire, waiting for dawn.

  The next day, they were all smiles, hugging good-bye and wishing each other good health. Aesa listened to the farewells as she used to listen to Maeve’s tales about warriors parting with their beloveds. They both knew the stories. They could do them well.

  The only person who didn’t seem to believe them was Laret, who watched while pretending not to. Aesa appreciated the meager effort even as it annoyed her for breaking an already fragile fantasy. “Good-bye, Laret. Good luck in your journeys.”

  If she heard the unsubtle hint to be gone by the time Aesa returned, she didn’t acknowledge it. She gave a cheery wave, and Aesa marched away. Best to put home out of her mind until she had to deal with it again. Maeve would be all right, she was certain. The gray seas waited.

  Chapter Eight

  The huge wooden doors of Gilka’s longhouse stood open, spilling voices and laughter into the street. Torches burned in the corners, and the fire pits cast flickering light over everyone within as they drank and ate and toasted their good fortune on the morrow.

  Aesa stepped inside with her gear slung over one shoulder. A man brushed past, a hammer tattooed upon his muscular upper arm: one of Gilka’s captains. He didn’t spare Aesa a glance, but that tattoo set off a spark within her. Maeve and Laret and the tiny house blew away from her memory. She could be a captain one day with that hammer upon her arm, for surely Gilka would live forever, all of them would, in song if not in body.

  She heard Gilka’s roar of a laugh from the middle of the longhouse, near where the other captains and the arbiter had gathered. Gilka stood with one foot upon the bricks of a fire pit, her elbow resting on someone’s shoulder. Aesa started in that direction, but Hilfey caught her from out of the crowd.

  “Don’t bother, Aesa. You won’t get near her, and she wouldn’t be able to hear you if you did. Come on. First a cup, then on to Otama’s with the rest of us.”

  Aesa followed her to a cask of ale and filled a cup. The muddy street outside the longhouse was alive with celebration. People wandered in and out of nearby houses and shared cups and stories. The warbling voice of a singer echoed through the night.

  “How’s your bondmate?” Hilfey asked.

  “Full of questions.”

  “You, too? Mine wouldn’t leave me alone. Luckily, the neighbor’s cow went into labor, and Jhorn told him they’d keep watch together. I only had my children’s questions before the eldest put them to bed.”

  “Speaking of beds…” Aesa glanced around the crowded town.

  “We’ll sleep on the floor of the longhouse or at Otama’s.”

  Aesa nodded, hoping for the longhouse. She didn’t want to risk a bucket of cold water or whatever tricks Otama thought she should suffer.

  To her surprise, Otama smiled and welcomed them into her home. She had a tiny fenced yard, empty of livestock, so everyone gathered there or throughout the two-room house, drinking and eating, talking of everything except the forbidden topic of Fernagher.

  “Here.” Otama pushed a hunk of meat into Aesa’s hands. “Last geese of the season until my sister gives me more eggs.”

  “Thank you.” Aesa took a leery bite, but when it proved rich and tender, she devoured the rest.

  Otama slapped her on the back. “Are you excited?”

  Aesa took a swill of ale and felt the warmth spread to her cheeks, allowing her to smile. “More than I thought I’d be.”

  “That’s our cub.” She gave one more smile before diving back into the fray.

  “A warmhearted Otama. Like something out of a story, isn’t it?” Hilfey asked.

  Velka slung an arm across her shoulders. Her cheeks were red, and a scar across her nose stood out like a pale mouth in the middle of her face. “I once thought they were twins, one Otama on land and another on the sea.”
/>   “Maybe she’s under a curse,” Aesa said. “Making her grouchy when raiding.”

  They both sputtered into laughter. Across the yard, Otama looked toward them and lifted her cup.

  “Don’t let her hear you,” Hilfey said. “Or you might find a grouchy fist in your ear.”

  “Come on, Aesa,” Velka said. “Come meet my friends.”

  The rest of the evening was a haze of faces and ale. Aesa didn’t even remember lying down, just realizing that the house was darker, quieter, when she finally drifted to sleep. She dreamt of a field of sheep, the sun on her skin and the scent of lilacs on the breeze.

  *

  When Hilfey shook Aesa awake, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Her hip throbbed and complained about a night spent on wooden slats. They should have slept outside, but Hilfey didn’t want to wake up covered in dew, and the tents were already stowed on the ship.

  Aesa trooped to Gilka’s longhouse with the others. Seven ships waited in the cove, anchored beyond the dock. Two by two, their crews waded out to their ships, rowed them in, loaded, and then rowed out to wait for the rest. Aesa sat by the longhouse with the rest of her crew, happy that she sailed on Gilka’s ship, or she might have been waiting on the water for hours. Gilka always went last.

  A hill rose gently on the other side of the cove and cast a green tinge on all of Skellis. It was a clear morning, the still water just darker than the sky. If she were out on the open ocean, she bet she’d have a hard time telling where one began and the other ended. It reminded her again of the woman with the honey eyes.

  Aesa took a long pull of water and swished it around. She searched within herself for desire but found none. She could never want someone so stupid, or passive, or whatever the sheep people were. They were beautiful, perfect like a necklace filled with gems or a spring day. The honey-eyed woman was sunlight striking water like sparks, a vision worth setting eyes on again.

  Everyone around her relaxed, but Aesa pulled at the grass and drummed her feet. What secrets would Fernagher show them this time? Maybe Gilka would let them speak of what they found. Maybe she would kill again. Probably. That was the price of spoils.

  Another ship sailed into the cove, this one sporting a blue sail with a slash of white. “Who’s that?” Aesa asked.

  “One of Ulfrecht’s,” Hilfey said. “His payment for being Gilka’s distraction. More of his ships might come with us next time.”

  Aesa resisted the urge to touch her ribs again. She only hoped Ulfrecht himself wasn’t on that ship. She’d be thinking about shooting him instead of defending her crew. “Does he know about…” She trailed off, glancing around. “Anything?”

  “That’s between him and Gilka.”

  And she should mind her place, but Gilka might not have told him to leave the sheep people alone. Would Ulfrecht’s crew obey her, or would they slaughter everyone they met?

  Did it matter? Aesa rested her chin on her arms and tried to tell herself it didn’t. Part of her wished that whatever was between Ulfrecht and Gilka would just dissolve. How could she ally herself with a man who’d hurt one of her crew? But hadn’t that been Gilka’s idea, or at least a scheme cooked up by both of them? Aesa frowned hard, afraid to think on it too much and crack her heart open further.

  They were underway soon enough. Della hung over the tiller, standing as high as she could and shading her gaze against the sun.

  “Anyone following?” Gilka asked.

  “No one. Whatever Ulfrecht is doing seems to be working.”

  “Everyone’s going to know soon enough,” Runa said. “There’s no way to keep this many people quiet.”

  They spent another night at sea, keeping in sight of the lanterns each ship carried and steering by the stars. When Aesa awakened, the Mists of Murin were hanging like smoke on the horizon.

  Runa opened the way, and they landed on the same beach, Gilka wanting somewhere they already knew the lay of. They left a small force to guard the ships, and Gilka led them to a stream they’d spied on their way back from the gulley. Shaded by trees, it made an ideal camp.

  “Think that village is as we left it?” Hilfey asked.

  “Drowning in sheep?” Otama said. “If they haven’t fortified the place, they’re stupider than we thought.” When Aesa cast a glance at her, she smirked. Maybe she became ill at sea and couldn’t stand the thought of anyone knowing, so she put on an annoying mask.

  “They didn’t seem likely to make earthworks,” Velka said. “Or anything else.”

  Hilfey nodded. “Even farms. They were all so…clean.”

  “A puzzle.” Aesa stared in the direction of the huts, but there was no smoke this time.

  Some warriors mingled and splashed in the stream. When Velka flirted with a man from another crew, Otama chucked a stick at her.

  Velka glared, hands near her axes. The man hurried back to his own crew.

  “Don’t glare at me, Rat,” Otama said. “Would you rather be pregnant and staring down Gilka?”

  “I’m not stupid.” Velka threw herself down at Otama’s side. “I’m bored always hanging around you…and your cock.”

  Otama gave Hilfey a sour look. “See what you’ve started?”

  “You were the one quivering.”

  “No, the people who saw Unur would be quivering. They…” She sighed. “Quaking. In fear. The bear cub knows what I mean. She quaked in fear when she thought her pet sheep might be hurt.”

  Aesa shook her head. “I’ve only ever quivered for one person, and it wasn’t a sheep, and it wasn’t your spear.” She paused before she added, “Or your cock.”

  Velka rolled, laughing. Otama chuckled and got to her feet. “Let’s see if I can make you quake, eh? Have you learned anything from last time?”

  Aesa glanced at Hilfey, who shrugged. Even with the little she’d learned, Otama was the better fighter, but if Aesa walked away, she risked being called a coward. She stood and tried to think of another way. “Are you going to teach me something, or just knock me down?”

  Otama cocked an eyebrow. “Admitting defeat this early?”

  “I’m not going to be your target unless I learn something.”

  Otama stared at her as if wondering what to say.

  “Show her your tripping strike,” Hilfey said. “Where you sweep the ankle with your spear. She could do that with a bow.”

  Otama grinned. “That is a fun one. Grab your bow, bear cub, and stand beside me.”

  Aesa threw a smile to Hilfey, who winked. Otama made her lessons more painful than Hilfey’s, but Aesa understood the attack. Before they could convince Velka to be their practice partner, someone shouted from the edge of camp. Everyone grabbed weapons, and Aesa followed the line of people up a slight hill away from the stream.

  A group of gray-robed sheep people stood in the field, peering curiously even as several warriors rushed them, weapons raised.

  “Stop!” Aesa cried. “They won’t hurt us.”

  One of the sheep went down before a swinging blade. The others rushed to help their fallen comrade, and by the time Aesa arrived, they were surrounded.

  “They came to attack us,” the woman with the sword said.

  “With buckets?” Hilfey asked, kicking one aside where its owner had dropped it.

  These sheep seemed older than those who wore white. Several sported scars. “They’re fetching water,” Aesa said.

  They sought to help their dead friend and seemed surprised when they couldn’t. One stared at the blood as if she’d never seen it before. Another’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he fainted.

  “Who are they to you?” someone asked.

  “No one,” Hilfey said. “Don’t attack until you’re told to, or do you need to hear it from Gilka?”

  They shut their mouths as Gilka strode through their ranks to stare at the sheep. “They look like elders.”

  Aesa pointed at the buckets. “Maybe they do all the work.”

  “And don’t need guards?” Gil
ka’s gaze flicked through the sparse trees.

  “Expendable?” Hilfey asked.

  Otama leaned on her spear. “We can’t have them warning any guards that we’re coming.”

  Aesa stalked away. Killing the sheep was too much like slaughtering thralls, and while she couldn’t stop it, she didn’t have to watch.

  Hilfey kept pace with her. “You’re giving Otama more to tease you with.”

  “I don’t care what she thinks.”

  “You could be making trouble for yourself with others, too.”

  “Gilka doesn’t let her people kill one another, that’s what you said.”

  “If Gilka doesn’t think you can stomach a little death, you could find yourself on a different ship or grounded altogether.”

  Aesa’s stomach cramped. She stopped and turned back toward the circle gathered around the sheep. A weapon came up, caught the sun, and descended. Gilka’s hammer. The sheep didn’t cry out as they died.

  When it was done, Gilka marched back to camp, and Aesa met her gaze, not accusing, just acknowledging, but she couldn’t be sure that Gilka understood. Later, she wandered past Gilka’s tent, this time on purpose. Gilka sat in front, wiping her hammer. She stared at Aesa and waited.

  “It’s not the blood that I mind,” Aesa said.

  “You can’t let pity rule you.”

  “It’s not pity. It’s like…destroying a lake.”

  “How do you destroy a lake?”

  “A flower, then. They’re beautiful and senseless. We call them sheep, but a sheep has the sense to run from danger. It’s as if they don’t even know they’re people.”

  “We don’t know what they know, bear cub; that’s the point. We’ve seen them speak. That’s all they’d need to warn others of our arrival, and then we’d lose surprise. That could stand between life and death for some.”

  Aesa sighed and fought the urge to fidget. “They’re like children.” But children could also sound the alarm. She remembered the smiles on the sheep people’s faces and wondered if those warnings would be, “Our new friends have arrived!”

  “Why did the gods create us?” Gilka asked.