by Lee Savino
“Don’t speak,” the king’s terrible voice echoed in my head. The jewel in my hand pulsed hot enough to burn.
Then the king was looming in front of me. I opened my mouth to cry out and no noise came.
“Fern?”
I startled awake, gasping for breath.
“Easy,” Juliet said. “you were crying out.”
It was still dark in the lodge and everyone else was sleeping. Juliet had drawn back the curtain separating me from the rest. In the firelight, she looked tired.
“What was it? A dream?”
A terrible weight pressed on my chest. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. I gritted my teeth until tears pricked my eyes.
“Oh, Fern,” Juliet hugged me. “You are suffering so. It pains me to see it.” Her scent enveloped me, the light fragrance of rosewater. Back in the abbey, she’d tended a whole garden of roses and distilled their essence. Even here, the scent clung to her.
I sighed, deeply, and pulled away, touching her face in thanks. She was kind, but I could not burden her.
There was only one time I was free from the visions. I would give anything to return to that time again.
9
After the castle dream, I could not stop the visions anymore. They came unbidden, haunting my days. I dared not look into the water in my cup, or the caldron of broth, or stare at the fire. The younger girls grew used to me falling into a trance and made a joke of it. Juliet watched me more closely, worry written on her face. Of all my friends, she was the only one who guessed what was happening. She helped me hide it from our Berserker guard. It was easy, because the weather had turned bad and we no longer left the lodge.
“How long have you had visions?” Juliet asked me quietly one afternoon. We sat in the corner. I’d been tending the fire when the trance come over me. It lasted but a moment, but I’d slipped and burned my hand.
I watched Juliet’s fine, white fingers dab salve on my burn, and did not answer her.
“They are nothing to be ashamed of. I know the nuns threatened you when you would speak.”
They’d done more than threaten. Back at the abbey, the nuns had locked me up when they caught me in a trance, even beaten me. I learned to hide, to stay silent. But what would happen when my words burst from my mouth?
“Fern,” Juliet finished bandaging my hand but gripped my good one. “I think we’re truly safe here. The Alphas consult with witches. Their mates train with one… Perhaps you could talk to them—”
I shook my head. My visions were of the devil. I’d be labeled demon spawn and cast out—or worse. The warriors might not tolerate a sick woman in their midst, around their precious mates.
“I am worried about you, Fern.” Juliet stroked my hair for a moment and added thoughtfully. “Your hair is so beautiful. You should wear it uncovered more.”
I had red hair like my mother’s. “A whore’s color,” I rasped.
“Did the nuns tell you that?”
I nodded.
“That was unkind.” She frowned.
“You were a nun,” I reminded her gently, surprised she didn’t share the same morality as my tormentors.
“I was an orphan first, and even after I took vows, I was the youngest of them and never a very good nun.”
I disagreed silently. Juliet had always been pious, and kind, even when she wore the habit. She was a better nun than the rest of them.
“It doesn’t matter now does it. I’m no longer one. Even I could not escape my fate.”
Did she mean the fate of a spaewife—the kidnapping or the fever?
“God has abandoned me. Or perhaps he never cared.”
I touched her hand.
“Oh Fern, what am I to do?” She turned her face to the wall, hiding carefully from the others. It was my turn to comfort her, but I had no advice. The more she went into the mating heat, the more likely it was a warrior would discover her secret. Even though she’d been a nun, Juliet was young and lovely. She was a spaewife, and those were in short supply. When the heat came fully upon her not even a thousand bundles of wintergreen could cover her scent. The Berserkers would find out, and they wouldn’t ever let her go.
The door to the lodge opened, and men’s voices echoed on the other side of the hearth. Juliet ducked her head and wiped her eyes just before Jarl appeared. His gaze swept over the room, moving until it found and fastened onto Juliet. The former nun raised her chin and met his gaze with a glare.
“What do you want?” Her voice was cool, with none of the tremor it had just moments ago.
“We have supplies. Provisions. Snow’s coming. A blizzard.”
“Will we be stuck here?” Meadow piped up.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Jarl answered her, but it didn’t take long for his gaze to drift back to Juliet. “We’ll be prepared. We’re stacking extra wood outside.”
“What about bread?” Juliet asked. “Should we visit Laurel while we still can?”
“I’ll get it. The flurries are already coming down. Could pick up quickly, and then it’s hard to see. Easy to get lost and fall right off the mountain.”
“Will you get lost?” Violet asked.
Jarl smiled and squatted so he could look the young one in the face. “No, I’ll be fine. Berserkers have more senses than just our eyes.”
“What about the missing warriors?”
“The missing?” Jarl questioned, and his eyes met Juliet’s over Violet’s head.
“The wolves who aren’t on the mountain,” the nun reminded him. “The ones who howl.”
“Ah. Them. We told the Alphas of the howling. We have orders to drive them away, as soon as the snow stops.”
As if they knew we spoke of them, the howling began again. I relaxed, realizing I’d been waiting for the sound to reassure me.
Jarl left soon after, and I crept to the door to peer out. Sure enough, the sky was grey, and white flakes already drifted through the air.
A memory hovered, surfaced. Dagg and Svein carrying me through the mist. I’d braced myself against visions of the haunting skeleton specter, but they hadn’t returned. Dagg and Svein kept the visions away. It was the last time I felt safe.
“Those poor warriors,” Juliet murmured. She gave me a pelt to tuck around my shoulders and left me to watch the falling snow.
10
True to his word, Jarl returned with baskets of bread and meat pies. He and a few fellow warriors went in and out with armfuls of wood for the great hearth, stomping snow from their boots each time they entered. When the blaze was built up, Meadow and a few girls invited the warriors to stay and warm themselves. Juliet gave them a sharp look but did not object.
“For a little while, then we must return to our post.”
“The Alphas won’t expect you to stand guard in a blizzard?” Meadow asked as she and Violet served the warriors hot tea.
“We’re used to snow,” Jarl told her. “We came from the Northlands, a land of ice and mountains.”
“How did you come here?”
“On dragon headed ships that fly over the water.” Jarl winked at Violet and accepted a roll from one of Laurel’s baskets.
“Really?” the young one asked.
“It’s true. Do you know how the Berserkers came to be?” When she shook her head, he settled in to tell the tale, speaking loud enough for the entire lodge of warriors and young women to hear.
“Long ago, a great king wished to rule the land. He assembled an army of warriors. The best he sent on a special quest.”
“How did he determine the best?” This came from Rosalind.
“The king set challenges for all the warriors. We fought in mock battles and competed for his favor. The best of us were sent to a witch who cast a spell over us, giving us great power and even greater fighting skill.”
“The witch Yseult?” Meadow asked.
“A different witch. This was over a hundred years ago.”
“So long ago? But how are you still alive?” Rosalind scowled as
if their long life was a personal affront to her.
Jarl mock bowed. “Magic, my lady. The spell the witch wrought gave us superior strength and speed. We fought for the king and won him a kingdom. But our power came with a price. The magic awoke a beast within, and it grows restless in peace times. If we are not careful, it will drive us mad.”
“Many Berserkers have already succumbed,” one of Jarl’s friends, Fenrir, added. A tall man with a thin scar on his cheek, Fenrir spoke little, but seemed to see everything. Like, Jarl, his gaze often fell on Juliet. The nun ignored both of them, focused on braiding her long, dark, curly hair.
“The magic that made us allows us to form bonds between each other. Pack bonds, as well as a brother bond with another warrior to support each other when the battle rage comes. That is how some of us survived. But it is best for us all to soon claim a mate.” Now Jarl looked boldly at Juliet.
“Two men with one woman?” Juliet raised her chin in challenge. “Tell me how that is right in the eyes of God.”
“We don’t believe in one god,” Jarl answered.
“That is blasphemy.”
“Not to us.” he cocked his head. “Are you upset that we don’t worship yours? Tell us his name, and we will add him to our faith. We have many gods. There is room for one more.”
Juliet pressed her lips together and looked away.
“I think it is all right for two to claim one mate,” Meadow said thoughtfully, “as long as the woman is content. Our friends seem happy.”
Juliet rose and left the room. Jarl signaled and Fenrir followed her.
“Is it true the Alphas will force us to take a mate?” Meadow asked.
Jarl paused before he answered. “The Alphas don’t wish to force anyone—”
“But they will, won’t they?” Rosalind spoke bitterly. “Once we come into heat we will be forced to take a mate.”
Jarl spoke carefully. “It’s more a matter of what you will desire. The Alphas will protect you from the pack, but the spaewife fever is difficult to withstand.”
“And if we get the fever, but still don’t wish to take a mate?” Rosalind probed.
“The Alphas do not want you to suffer,” Jarl murmured.
Rosalind leaned forward. Her young sister, Aspen, a girl about Violet’s age, sat close by. “So they will match us with warriors?”
“They will... encourage you to choose mates, yet. For the good of the pack, as well as for your own relief.”
Rosalind snorted. She sat stiff and straight, her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders like a cape. Many Berserkers noticed her, but she ignored them all.
“Is it so bad?” Another warrior with red hair spoke up from his place by the door. “Your friends found mates and are happy.”
“At least in the abbey we had a choice. We did not have to take husbands, we could become nuns,” Rosalind snapped.
“Yes, but now the abbey is no more. The Corpse King sent forces to take you and destroy it.”
“So you say,” Rosalind sniped.
“You know it is true,” the warrior raised his voice. “You were among the band of warriors that was routed. You and your sister were almost kidnapped. We penetrated the mage’s lair to free you—”
“Enough,” Jarl ordered. “Tyr, we need more wood for the fire.”
Shaking his head at Rosalind, the redhead warrior stalked off. Rosalind huffed and grabbed her sister’s hand, leading her to the back of the lodge, away from the warriors.
An awkward silence followed.
“The Berserkers want to protect us, right?” Meadow asked.
“Right,” Jarl said with a bit of relief. “The Corpse King would claim you all if he could.”
“Why?” Violet asked.
Jarl shrugged. “The witches say he uses spaewives to feed his evil magic.”
“But you are strong enough to beat him?”
Firelight glinted off Jarl’s eyes as they turned gold. “We are. We will do everything in our power to keep you safe.” With that, he moved away from the hearth, heading out the way Juliet and Fenrir had gone.
“Why do they call him the Corpse King?” Meadow asked one of the remaining warriors quietly, and he answered just as quietly. I strained to hear.
“Because he raised an army of corpses to fight for him. More than that, some say he is a corpse himself.”
A hand reaching from the mist. Bony fingers extending from a skeleton…
I jolted out of my trance and blinked.
“Fern?” Violet asked, and I turned away from the fire and my vision. I knew the figure who’d been haunting my dreams. Suddenly, I could not stand to be around anyone. Grabbing a bucket that we used to fetch water, I headed outside. Juliet stood with her back to the wall, looking up at both Jarl and Fenrir. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shot sparks as she argued with the two of them. Their voices didn’t carry, and they didn’t notice me hurrying past. Grasping a pelt tight about my shoulders, I stepped into the bitter cold. The wind numbed my face, but I welcomed it, knowing it was real and not a vision.
Jarl was right. The warriors who took me from the abbey told me they keep me safe from the Corpse King. They did, too, until the madness took them, and the rest of the pack drove them away.
By the time I’d finished filling the bucket with snow, the missing wolves were howling again. I could hear the loneliness in their voice.
If I could find Dagg and Svein, they could help me. They could keep the dreams and visions at bay.
I would leave and go to the banished ones. They were my last hope.
11
I woke just after dark. After breaking bread with us, the warriors had gathered outside the lodge. They built a fire large enough to withstand the snow and stood under the eaves sharing a jug of mead. The rest of the lodge was quiet. Juliet wasn’t abed, but that was just as well. Of all the girls, she would guess why I’d gone. Better she not see me leave, so she knew nothing if the Berserkers questioned her.
Carrying only a sack of food and a few possessions, I snuck out the back. My boots were new and tied up my calves, oiled leather that would keep out the wet, but I still felt the cold when I stepped into the knee-high bank of snow. I hurried along the back path, making my way to the place where I left the bread for the banished warriors. For days now, I’d been tossing loaves over the mountain side, slipping out of the lodge under the pretense of looking for herbs. I was as silent and stealthy as I’d been in the abbey, and no one noticed me coming or going. I might as well have been a winter sparrow hopping over the drifts, a brown shawl covering my bright hair.
The snow had stopped coming down. A few flakes danced in the air, blown off the snow-laden tree branches. The moon peeped out from behind a few clouds, but I knew the trail enough not to need to see it. I trekked down the mountain until I came to the lower ledge. There I searched for any sign that any warrior had come here but found nothing. Hours ago, the howling had stopped. I waited for a time, shivering in the deep snow drifts, hoping the wolves would start their lonely call again, and lead me in the right direction. Never had anyone been so eager to seek out two mad beasts. I almost smiled at myself.
Finally, I gave up waiting. Facing the briars, I chose a direction, and started to find my way off the mountain.
Halfway down, it started snowing. Clouds covered the moon and the flurries came fast and thick. I kept going through the blizzard but soon enough I was struggling through the drifts. But I dare not stop. After this storm, the banished ones would be driven away. I could not sleep until I had found them.
After a time—could’ve been a few wearisome minutes or hours—the snow stopped. High above, I could see the light from the warrior guard’s fire. If they realized I was gone, they’d come for me, and I’d never have another chance to escape.
I pushed on. At last the boulders gave way and trees took their place. I plowed between them, and the falling flakes quickly covered my tracks. My feet were numb, as were my hands. My cheeks ached wit
h cold.
Perhaps I had made a mistake. But I had to press on. All my life I’d been unwanted, unloved. Dagg and Svein had wanted me. I had to remember this.
I stumbled and caught myself. Trudging to a tree, I rested against the trunk until my vision cleared and the world righted itself. That’s when I realized the land had leveled.
I’d done it. I’d left the mountain.
Behind me was a slight depression—my trail in the snow. A few more hours and the storm would obliterate it. The Berserkers would have trouble tracking me. Now I just had to survive long enough to find my former mates.
When my legs grew too weary to press on, I crawled under a hemlock. There was no snow under the thick bower of branches. I pushed aside the twigs to lay down in the dark cocoon, a pocket of dry warmth under the weight of the snow. I wrapped my cloak around me and slept.
12
Svein
Thick snow piled between the rows and rows of dark trees. My world was black and white, simple and clean. The cold muted all the smells of the world, except for the sharp sky scent of the falling flakes. I climbed a large rock and rested a while, letting the snow pile higher and higher. I’d woken early to mark my territory, going from tree to tree to splash my scent on the bark, leaving a clean border I’d defend unto death. My territory was all I had left.
The black wolf trudged through the drifts, nose lowered as if he was on the hunt. I waited until he passed the pine grove and approached my standing stone before I raised my head and growled.
The black wolf stopped and gazed at me. His golden eyes were clear, but I knew better. There, on the edge of his scent—the bitter smell of madness.
It wouldn’t be long now. We’d spent many nights at the foot of the mountain, banished from safety but unable to leave it behind. How many moons had we greeted with voices entwined in a melancholy song? How many moons since he’d turned on me, snarling, and driven me off as an enemy? Now I carefully marked my territory and waited for the end.