by Lee Savino
“She is small, slight and perfect,” Leif said. “Willow. Her name is Willow.” He ended on a slight whine, an animal sound.
In wolf form, Rolf answered with a whine of his own, one of sympathy. Can they put a claim to her? He spoke directly to me, via our private brother bond. Leif is close to losing control. If another tries to take her…
We’re supposed to be rescuing the women, not fighting among ourselves. The Alphas had made it clear that any Berserker who lost control would die. We could not risk damaging any of the spaewives—the women who could tame our beast.
As one of the older, steadier wolves, I had right of dominance. The Alphas trusted me to lead.
I told Leif, “I will give the order—no other Berserker is to touch her. You and Brokk will approach from the south on the front lines. If you see your potential mate, you may take her.”
“Thank you,” Brokk said. To his warrior brother he said, “Let us leave now. We must be ready if we are to claim her.”
To approach from the south, he and Leif must travel a wide arc around the abbey lands, and creep up through the forest. Rolf and I planned to leap the wall close to where we stood, but the trek would do Leif good.
“We will claim the one called Willow. The beast chose her,” Leif insisted. “And you Thorbjorn? Rolf? Have you chosen which woman will be yours?”
I reached out to my warrior brother, a tentative touch to the bond that connected us, that had kept us alive for over a century. Whenever my beast raged, Rolf lent me his control. And I returned in kind.
“We sense her,” I answered for us both. “She is waiting for us.” Years of waiting and the curse would be broken. But Rolf and I had learned not to be quick to hope.
Soon, we will all have our mates, Rolf said, and his words rang out like prophecy.
“Tonight,” I said. “We take them tonight.”
3
Sage
The orphan’s dormitory held twenty beds. The girls—for there were no boys—slept two or three together. I sat on the bed I shared with Willow, bent over a torn dress, stitching as best I could in the low light. Candles weren’t wasted on orphans, but Rosalind had permission to light one to make sure all the orphans were tucked in safely. She’d set it between me and Fern, and went to stand watch at the door, in case the nuns wandered past our quarters.
“I don’t know how it happened,” Aspen, Rosalind’s younger sister, stood biting her lip and clutching one of her hands. “Ivy dared me to climb the tree, but I was so careful…”
“Not to worry,” I murmured, squinting at the rip. “I’ll fix it up quick and no one will be the wiser. I’m not as good as Fern, but it’ll do.”
“I would’ve asked Fern to do my dress, but she’s repairing Ivy’s.”
I glanced up and smiled at Fern, a soft-spoken girl with waves of auburn hair. Ivy, a girl Aspen’s age, stood nearby, a frown on her unrepentant face. Like Aspen, she held her right hand to her chest.
“There. Good as new.” I checked the neat line of stitches and laid down the dress. “Now let me see your hand.”
Aspen’s left hand relinquished her right. She winced as I examined the reddened palm and bade her to flex her fingers.
“Sister Anne’s favorite punishment is the tawse,” I said, turning Aspen’s hand over to check the swelling. “Did she happen to see your torn dress or just your shenanigans?”
“She saw us climb the tree and fall out, but didn’t look at our dresses.”
“Then she won’t have any more cause to punish you,” I squeezed her good hand, “for it is no longer torn. But promise me you will not try to climb trees again.”
“Sorrel does it all the time.”
“Sorrel is part squirrel.”
A snort came from the far corner where Sorrel, a wiry young woman with tanned skin, crouched sharpening arrowheads for her makeshift hunting kit.
“Part squirrel and part fox,” I amended. “And maybe part fish, if she swims as well as she climbs.”
“Not me,” Sorrel said. “Willow is the one who likes to swim. I stick to trees.”
Aspen giggled.
“All right, off to bed with you. Wash your face first, and ask your sister if she will give you a cup of cold water to soak your hand. By morning your hand should be good as new, like your dress.”
“Will you help me wash?”
“I must go on an errand.”
Aspen accepted this, but Sorrel watched me with a sharp look on her face.
“Where is Willow?” Sorrel raised her voice to ask.
“Shh,” Rosalind snapped, almost as loud as Sorrel. “Willow will be here soon. She went to the market today and the friar wanted to see her.” All true, but Rosalind knew as well as I did that Willow wouldn’t sleep here tonight. She’d snuck out to a shed on the far side of the abbey grounds where she would stay until the worst of her fever passed.
“I’m to go to the friar also. I’ll tell her you asked after her,” I said. I’d check on Willow after I placated the friar, so I’d told the truth without the details. Rosalind and I agreed to keep some things secret, but neither of us wanted to outright lie to the girls. We were the only family we had.
The cool night air wafted over my face as I hurried back to the kitchen and the friar’s office. Perhaps I could avoid his touch until he dozed off, then escape and sleep outside. Willow and I kept a few blankets in the shed, but with the fever on her, she wouldn’t need them. I could curl up outside and spend the night under the stars. Breathe the clean air. Or stay close to Willow and give her water and company while she suffered, and act as a diversion in case someone ventured close in search of her. Spending the night away from the dormitory was risky, but we could not reveal our fever to the friar.
The girls who were found out disappeared.
“Sage,” someone behind me hissed. I nearly leapt out of my skin.
“Sorrel?”
The tomboy peeled away from the shadows, anger in her stance. “You and Rosalind aren’t fooling anyone. Tell me truly. What’s going on?”
Sorrel had come to the orphanage when she was very small. The nuns named her, as they did all of us who came as babes, after a wild herb. A few years younger than Willow, Rosalind, and I—she did not suffer the fevers. We hid them from her.
“I’m on an errand for the friar, Sorrel. I must go to him now.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you are up to something. You and the others.” She bit her lip and looked away for a moment, as if fighting back tears. A surprise—I’d never seen Sorrel cry. Even during beatings, which she suffered often for her wild ways. “I know Hazel is gone for a reason.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that—”
“I know! But I can’t help you fight if I don’t know—”
“All right,” I tugged her back into the darkness. “All right. Before she disappeared, Hazel came and told us the friar was lying. He isn’t finding husbands for us. He’s up to something. That’s why Sari vanished and now Hazel. I don’t know what’s happening, but the friar is taking girls—girls like us—and selling them off so they’re never seen again.”
“I knew it,” she breathed. “That’s what the guards are for.”
I blinked. “What?”
“The pale guards? Surely you’ve noticed them. The ones always hanging around, with the strange, sallow skin. They don’t speak much, but when they do, it sounds like hissing snakes.”
I shuddered. “I noticed them.”
“They’re not keeping us safe. They’re keeping us here. But why?” She went on, speaking my thoughts. “What would they want with us?”
“Hello?” A small voice called from the shadows. Sorrel and I jumped, but a girl padded after us. One of the little ones.
“Go back to bed, Violet,” Sorrel said.
“I can’t sleep,” she said, rubbing her arms.
I removed my shawl and set it about her shoulders. “Is your stomach ill?”
“No. I dreamt of voi
ces in the dark, weapons clinking.”
“It was just a dream,” Sorrel told the frightened girl, while I stroked Violet’s hair to calm her shivering body.
“Will you walk with me back down the hall?” Violet asked.
I bit my lip. The friar would be waiting.
“Go to him.” Sorrel sighed, unfolding her arms and reaching for the young girl. “I’ll take her. But this conversation isn’t over. I want to know what you know.” Her eyes bore into mine over Violet’s head.
“I’ll tell you,” I whispered. “I promise. Just…not tonight.”
I waited until they’d disappeared in the direction of the dormitory before continuing.
My footsteps echoed in the stone corridor. Halfway to the kitchens, I paused. Night had fallen, and it should be filled with the evening song of the birds. Instead, the gardens, forest beyond, and the abbey grounds were completely still. Odd.
Laurel still stood in the kitchen, scrubbing the pots.
“Sage,” She straightened and hurried to dry her hands. “He’s been shouting for you. I gave him the best meat tonight, with rich gravy. He should sleep soon. And give him this.” She handed me a flagon of ale.
“Thank you.” I strode on so I didn’t have to face her pity. A few kind words and I’d be hiding in the pantry for the night, or running out to Willow’s shack. Or running away.
Soon. Soon.
Heart fluttering, I stood outside the friar’s door and knocked.
“It’s Sage,” I called. The lock clicked open and he beckoned me in. The gold still glinted on his table. I gave him the ale and hovered by the door.
“Come here, child.” He sat and patted his knee. My stomach lurched again. This was how it began.
We both heard the scream—ugly and violent, shattering the evening calm.
4
Rolf
Wolves can see with their eyes closed. In the dark, the scents reached out to me until I could find my way blind to the heart of the abbey. I led the warriors through the garden full of pungent herbs and baited rabbit traps, past a stinking midden, all the way to the great building of cold stone. Inside, a sweet scent pulsed like a bright star—soft flesh, freshly scrubbed clean, faintly floral. The scent of innocence, of sweet fruit ripe for plucking. Ripe for the taking.
Our mate. The wolf raised its head as my wild nature—the beast—whined.
Steady, Thorbjorn told me. We will take her soon. He waited outside the wall, watching the road. I shared my impression of the abbey with him.
I scent her as well as you do: our mate. Our true mate. The one who would rid us of the curse forever.
My body quivered. More than anything, I hated the curse, the taint of magic that rode my body, warping the power of the wolf and warrior into a wretched, wild thing, made of lust. Lust for blood. Lust for flesh.
Only a woman could set us free. And not just any woman. Our mate.
She is here. We will find her, I told my warrior brother.
Can you get any closer without being seen?
Tell the warriors to wait. I will scout forward.
I slunk low on my belly around a berry bramble. Low voices wafted towards me and I stopped. Too much moonlight shone on the lawn between us and the abbey. Someone is on the walkway. Let her pass.
We waited, barely daring to breathe. One warrior shifted and his weapons clicked together.
Fool. I bared my teeth at him, channeling the dominance of my warrior brother. Put up your axe. We are to kidnap these women, not hurt them.
Do as Rolf says, Thorbjorn echoed my command with a push of pack magic.
A choked cry broke the stillness. Every warrior froze.
We’ve got one, Brokk reported. The one we met on the road. She was hiding in a shack on the edge of the woods.
They should all be in bed, Thorbjorn grimaced. We need to move fast.
The wind blew past me, carrying with it a honeyed scent. The beast inside me raised its head, but for the first time, it did not want to fight.
Did you… Thorbjorn asked with a touch of wonder.
Yes, I smell her. Our mate.
One warrior broke rank and ran across the field, in plain sight.
Stop, Thorbjorn ordered, too late.
A scream rang out.
Go now! They know we’re here. Thorbjorn rushed the wall and leapt over it. Surprise is gone; use speed.
I darted forward, following my nose to the walkway where a trace of a young woman’s scent called to me.
Warriors followed, slamming through every door and pouring through the tight stone halls. They’d hunt down each spaewife and carry off each one.
The raid had begun.
5
Sage
“What was that?” The friar’s face twisted with rage.
I bit my lip. If one of the girls had a nightmare and cried out loudly enough to wake the nuns, all of the orphans would pay.
“I’ll go check.” I sidled away, but not quickly enough. His backhand caught me and I staggered.
“Silence. You think I do not know what sluts like you all do at night?”
The friar rose, lurching after me with sluggish movements.
I backed away. Laurel must have drugged the ale, but he hadn’t drunk enough. He lumbered forward, and I closed the door on him. His bellow told me I would pay.
I rushed back down the hall through the kitchens. Laurel met me there, wringing her hands.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
“Somebody cried out,” I said through gritted teeth. “One of the girls must be having a nightmare.”
“I don’t think—”
Another scream rang out, followed by more frantic cries. Laurel dropped the jug and it shattered.
“What’s going on?” roared the friar in the door.
We both fled from him, me outside; she to the corner. I felt guilty for leaving her, but maybe the friar would chase me instead. I didn’t wait to find out.
I ran flat out down the outer corridor until a flash of movement in the shadow stopped me short.
Giant men rushed over the lawn. Moonlight glinted off their weapons. One kicked in the door to the dye rooms, and the wood gave way with a crash. He roared, and disappeared, followed by screams of the nuns who worked late in there. More warriors pushed inside, grunting and laughing as if they were at play.
One orphan escaped across the lawn and a shadow leapt forward, claiming her. Her pale white legs kicked up under her nightgown as the warrior tossed her up over his shoulder and strode off into the forest.
“Sage,” the friar shouted from the kitchen. Light flooded from the door, falling over me. Several pairs of golden eyes turned my way. The attackers had seen me.
My breath came in pants, I backed against a column, mouth working silently.
A dark shape leapt onto the walkway. I screamed.
The warrior growled, lunging for me.
“No.” A giant landed lightly on his feet in front of me, blocking my attacker. “Seek your own. This one’s mine.”
The first warrior rushed towards the dormitory. The second glanced back at me, the light from the kitchen falling over his bearded face. Something about his stance told me I’d seen him before.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. I recognized him: the warrior from the woods.
I whirled to escape and found my path barred by a giant wolf.
My cry stuck in my throat. I slammed back against the column, putting as much distance as I could between me and my two attackers, one man, one canine.
“Easy, little one. Do not hurt yourself,” the warrior held out a hand. “Back away, Rolf,” he addressed the wolf. “Let her go. She will be an easy catch.”
Once the wolf stepped out of my way, I ran past it. The warrior stalked me all the way back to the galley. I slammed the door but it bounced back open.
Laurel was still squeezed in the corner, but the friar had disappeared—most likely ran at the sight of our atta
ckers.
Who were these warriors, to come in the night to overrun a defenseless abbey? What did they want?
More panicked cries came from the direction of the dormitory.
I stopped a few feet inside the kitchen. Both warrior and wolf loomed in the door. The man ducked his head to enter. He moved with grace for such a big man.
“Please,” I babbled. “Do not hurt us.”
He stepped inside and straightened. The top of my head barely came to the center of his chest. I may as well have been a child, standing up to an angry parent. But I had to do something.
“No one will hurt them,” he sounded amused.
“Leave them be,” I whispered, my head tipped back. The warrior’s eyes caught the light of the fire, flashing like a cat’s. The wolf prowled behind him, but kept its distance. Its eyes matched the man’s.
“What do you want with us?” I asked. Laurel stood in petrified silence in the corner. If I could lure the man and wolf away, perhaps she could escape.
The warrior cocked his head to the side. “We don’t want any of the others. Just you.”
My heart stuttered to a stop. I swallowed several times until I found the strength to speak. “If you leave the others alone, I’ll come with you.”
For a moment, he and the wolf regarded me. “What’s your name?” the warrior asked.
I blinked at him. “Sage,” I said.
“Sage,” he repeated, and smiled. “You’ll be coming with us, all right.” The warrior reached for me.
6
Thorbjorn
I smelled the friar, a greasy, sweaty scent tinged with mead. Rolf and I would have hunted him down if it weren’t for the little female standing in our way.
She trembled where she stood, fists clenched at her side, her voice barely above a whisper. Her scent reminded me of honey. I longed to touch her...