by A. J. Adams
After that, whenever the Patriarch tried something on, I’d tell Courtney he had to act to secure his position. It didn’t always work, but I was subtle, and I was able to frustrate a lot of the old fat gut’s power play.
The Patriarch still made speeches about witches, so as I became more confident, I let a little of my powers show. I helped find lost cattle and horses, claiming, “Freyja inspired me!”
It went over well, so at the end of the summer when I saw a big storm coming, I went straight to the village and went all out. “The loving goddess sent me a vision out of her love for you.”
At that, the Patriarch got upfront and nasty. “The Beast’s daughter is a witch!”
He was too late.
“Bliss set my daughter’s leg,” David said.
“And she helped me find my favourite cow,” Theta added.
“Freyja asked me to warn you!” I was holier than Apollo’s sacred cup. “The goddess wants you to know she loves you! Don’t go to sea today, and make sure you secure your haystacks. A giant storm is on the way!”
When the storm did strike, it was a monster. But the village was safe inside, and we all came through it intact. That was the turning point for me.
“This is proof that Bliss and the Lady Freyja care for us,” Courtney said, adding nastily, “and she doesn’t charge for it, either.”
After that, I identified myself completely with the goddess. When I found two wildcat kittens in the forest and then a little wolf cub, I took them in and made a big fuss of them. “Freyja sent me guardians,” I told everyone. “Saga is her symbol, and of course Bygul and Trigul are named for the Lady’s own pets.”
Furious, the Patriarch finally went for broke and wrote to the duke, accusing me of “communing with the spirits”, a remark that might mean I was a sibyl or in league with the devil.
I knew as soon as he set pen to paper because I was racked with visions. In some I came through, but in others I was going up in flames, so when Courtney came with a letter, I was sick with worry.
“Bliss! Guess what? The duke is on his way to Caern, a trade mission, but he’ll stop by to see us. He wrote to me, Bliss, and there’s a note for you, too!”
The noble had sent good wishes and a formal greeting, but by the way he’d styled me as “sweet sibyl” I knew I was facing a dreadful trap. Having admitted to visions, the duke would examine me. If I passed, I faced a lifetime as a poppy-addled political pawn. If I didn’t, the Patriarch might have me arrested as a witch.
Courtney was giving me a sideways look. “Uhm, the Patriarch says that your visions are, uhm...”
“A blessing,” I said firmly, but I sensed his fear and uncertainty. If she is a witch, the duke might punish us all. Courtney was in a panic. That’s the problem with having allies who have no heart, no balls, and no wits. When you need them most, they vanish.
“I’m looking forward to seeing my royal guardian and benefactor.” I gave Courtney my nicest smile. “We should clean the pond, plant flowers, and be ready to greet our loving liege.”
“Absolutely!” Courtney said. At least he would be too busy to pester me.
Although I was scared stupid, I worked my arse off, determined to give my best performance. On the big day, I washed my hair with lemon, making it shine brightly, and dressed in virginal white. I put the duke’s gift, the blue cloak, over my shoulders, knowing it would highlight my strange eyes.
Mind you, knowing that nobles are always after one thing, I wore my lowest-cut tunic and my best corset that pushed up my breasts. Saga was by my side, her fur pristine from hours of washing and combing.
When the duke arrived, we made quite a pretty sight as we waited humbly on the roadside. “Sweet sibyl, is that you?” the duke called out to me.
I affected the courtly language the Lady Divine used when leading us in prayers, curtsying deeply and making Saga bow, too, with a strong hand on her neck. “My lord duke, Freyja’s heavenly blessings on you!”
The duke drank in the sight of me, eyes lingering on my tits, and then he played up beautifully, enjoying a little drama in front of the gaping villagers. “Lovely Bliss, you’ve grown into a divine young lady!”
I curtseyed again, giving him an eyeful. “Thank you, my lord. I rejoice to see you are flourishing, sir.”
“As are you, my lady!” The duke jumped off his horse and stood before me. I dipped again and looked as humble as I could. “Yes, as sweet and ripe as a peach,” he murmured lasciviously.
The Patriarch was there, glaring at the way I’d snared the duke’s attention. Furious, he roared out, “My lord duke, Ullr’s blessings on you!”
The duke frowned. According to protocol, the fat gut should have been silent until noticed by the noble. But the duke spoke nicely, “Dear Patriarch! You look well!”
The old bugger bowed, but as he was far too stuck-up to have any practice at looking humble, it was an awkward performance and came off as grudging. “Thank you, Duke. Those who serve Ullr always prosper.”
We all waited to hear him say the god loved the duke, but the Patriarch dropped a loop and forgot.
With a little frown of irritation, the duke turned back to me. “My good and loyal squire writes of you often, Bliss.”
“You are too kind, my lord. I’m honoured by your care. But you are so good to all your people, sir.”
The flattery made him smile, but he was right on his own agenda. He took my hands and led me aside a little, saying quietly, “You have visions, sweet lady?”
At this, the Patriarch was stiff with evil intent. I felt his hatred for me, red hot and evil, but I spoke lightly, “Yes, sir. Of storms and lost cattle.”
“Ah!” The disappointment was in the duke’s eyes but he hid it well. “That must be very useful.”
“Yes, sir. Freyja loves us all, but I rejoice that she allows me, your most humble, loyal subject, to aid your people.”
The duke blinked. She’s ripe for picking, but taking her would cause a civil war. As for her visions, storms and cattle are of no use to me. Do I really want another sibyl? We’re divided enough as it is.
For a horrible moment my fate lay in the balance, but then the noble simply smiled. “It’s an agreeable gift, lady. The people of Salvation are blessed.”
I was safe. The Patriarch stood by, the wind taken totally out of his sails. I was acknowledged a sibyl, a gift from the goddess to the most noble duke, but not good enough to be taken to the city.
The duke was smiling at me. “Bless me, sweet sibyl, that I may have a safe ride to Caern.”
I dipped into a low courtesy. “Blessings on your journey, sir!” I casually worked in my best line. “And if I’m not too forward, sir, my grateful thanks to you. I am humbled and honoured by your gentle care for me. I am flooded with love from one who is as far above me as the clouds in the sky.”
The duke bowed to me, completely ignoring the Patriarch. “Lady, you are my sweetest charge. When you tire of storms and lost cattle, come to me in Brighthelme!”
The Patriarch was fuming, but he was helpless in the face of the duke’s seal of approval. I was safe. I stood by as the duke chatted to Courtney, maintaining a sweet and humble aspect, and finally I was waving as the duke went on his way.
Of course it didn’t end there. The Patriarch was still after me, and I knew that the slightest mistake could spell my doom, but I was holding my own, winning actually.
Until the Beast came.
There was a rush of flame, and then the Beast was screaming as they burned him alive. The vision simply blasted me. I had to do something. So I ran to the abandoned shrine and petitioned Freyja. “We can’t let them do this! It’s too cruel!” The Lady didn’t speak, but just being there settled me.
Fighting the Patriarch had taught me caution, so I closed my eyes and calmed myself by petting Saga. Her fur is super soft, and the happy way she nosed me gave me courage.
“Let’s think, Saga.” I tugged her ear, reducing her to liquid rumbles of pleasure.
“He’s a Beast and the duke’s enemy. If I interfere, I could lose everything. I should go home and see to my herbs.”
Saga licked my hand and rolled onto her back. She closed her eyes, and when I stroked the soft fur on her tummy, she sighed and relaxed, her paws akimbo and her head flopping sideways. When she does that, she looks like a fur rug instead of a living, breathing wolf.
That’s how I got the idea. I stood up and dipped to the goddess. “Thank you, Freyja! I understand your message.” I wasn’t going to let them burn a man to death.
Chapter Four: Siv
They stood around me, giving me a good kicking.
“Die, Beast!”
I felt one of my ribs go.
“Kill him!”
Another went.
“Let me at him!”
Whoever it was, he was enthusiastic because I passed out. When I came to, I was locked up in a cage. Right, just like an animal. It was made of metal bars an inch thick. Old and rusted in places but solid. Lifting my head, I could see a large key hanging on the opposite wall. It was well out of reach. There was also the matter of the hog tie.
My arms were aching, my legs were screaming, and my trashed ribs meant every breath was liquid fire. I could still feel the skin on my wrists and ankles burning with the pull of the rope, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d go numb with pain. Once that happened, I would be deader than last week’s catch.
I was alone. They feared me so little that they’d not bothered to post a guard. Clearly they thought the rope and the cage would hold me. I’d show them they were wrong. I’d get out, kill every last hrafnasueltir and burn the place down. But how?
Looking at the rusted bars gave me an idea. Rust is soft, but it leaves rough metal underneath. If I could wear down the rope on my wrists, I’d be free of the hog tie. The cage was small, and there was a rusty bar right next to me, so I only had to force myself onto my side. Once I was free, I’d use the rope to lasso the key.
Right. The words were simple, but carrying out the plan was hell. I rocked up and down, forcing myself onto my broken side. Then I started sawing the cord around my wrists on the rusted bar.
It was agony. Every muscle in my body was strained to screaming point, and my ribs were on fire. But I kept at it. I thought it was sweat running down my face and into my eyes; it turns out it was blood. It dripped all over the place, pooling underneath the bars laid on the stone floor.
“I want a word with the Beast.” The Patriarch’s voice came floating through. “He may have information about that settlement up north.”
He came in, carrying a bucket of hot coals. He set it down, closed the door and growled, “You cursed Beasts cost me a fortune!”
You see, last year when we burnt down Brighthelme, we also emptied the armoury and raided the smiths’ guild. Their craftsmen are famous for their new invention, the musket, and we found out later that the Patriarch had invested heavily in their venture.
By the look of him, he was still furious at his loss. The Patriarch rolled up his sleeves, picked up tongs and selected a coal. It flared red in the draft of the window. “You’re going to pay!”
So much for wanting to talk to me. He didn’t even ask me what our defences were. He just went for it, touching the coal to my shoulder. It burnt white hot, searing me to the bone, making me snap like a fish on the line. As one, all the smashed ribs seized as I gasped. I bit my lips till they bled but when he did it again, I couldn’t be silent; I screamed.
“Feel Ullr’s wrath!” the Patriarch roared.
The coal touched me again. And again. And again. I knew I had to stay conscious. I had to move through the pain. Then, when the rassragr left, I’d get out of the hog tie. Once I was free, I’d kill him first, and slowly.
More agonising pain.
“Repent, Beast!”
“Go suck Odin’s spear!”
I think I said it, or maybe it was just a thought. I fought him but I couldn’t breathe. As the world went black, my last thought was that I’d failed. Again.
“Fucking bastard! Poxy whoreson!”
I opened my eyes. The room swam around me. I blinked, an effort of pure will, and it settled. The cage was open. The window was wide, too, allowing in a blast of cold air. I could smell the sea. Freedom was so close but I’d never reach it. The thought made me furious.
“May the Lady shove her wand up his arse!”
It was her. The ice-haired wolf maiden. Except she swore like a drunken Llanfaes mercenary. She didn’t like me much by the sound of it. Still, being a whoreson and a bastard is better than being called an animal.
I thought the treacherous bitch had come to gloat, but then she was kneeling next to me. “May Ullr the glorious one give him boils!” She was spitting mad, but not at me. “He’s made a right mess out of you, hasn’t he?”
So she was raging at the Patriarch. But why was she here?
She was examining me, the blue eyes glowing as they looked into mine. She touched me, just a hand in my hair, and then I was floating.
I rubbed the rope against the rusted bars beneath me, used it as a lasso to pluck the key off the wall, and then I was out.
The vision flickered and died. I was gazing into those swirling eyes again. She smelled of the forest, clean, cool, and fresh, delicious but without warmth.
“Freyja’s sweet will be done,” she whispered. “You are a tough son of a bitch, aren’t you?” She took out a little bottle and then stilled. Her eyes were locked on mine, wild as the summer skies. I was floating, lost in them, but then she sighed, bumping me back to earth. “So much for best plans. I’m getting you out of here.”
A rescue? So she wasn’t a traitor after all! I tried to speak, but I was beyond words.
She put the bottle at my lips. “This should help. Just a tiny sip, though.”
It smelled of fields, and it tasted like piss. Sharp and sour, it ran down my throat. Before I could protest, I’d swallowed.
“There.” She tucked the bottle into her skirts. “You’ll feel better soon.”
I couldn’t feel my body. There was no pain, no sensation at all.
She pulled out a knife, the blade shining sharply. It swept out of my sight, over my back. “I’ve cut the rope,” she said. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
She was clearly delirious. There’s no way a woman can lift a full-grown man.
“It’s going to hurt, but you must keep quiet. Your life depends on it.”
I don’t know how she did it, but one second I was lying on the rusted bars and the next I was rising in the air. She’d hauled me up over her shoulder. I was dangling uselessly, looking down at her arse. It looked pretty good. Firm yet rich.
I must have growled appreciatively because she shushed me, adding, “Quiet now, Beast.”
The bitch! Calling me a Beast! I was fuming, but at that moment a ripple of fire ran through me. After hours of the hog tie, my tortured muscles were knotting. It was like being burned all over again. I wanted to scream like a weak-willed girl. Instead, I buried my face in her hair. It was soft, silky, and smelled of flowers. It was comforting, but it was also damn infuriating. Being powerless was killing me.
“Come on. We’re almost home free.”
We were out of the cage, and then she was lowering me out the window and into a small cart. “Wait a moment.”
As if I could do anything else. I was as useless as a barren mare. Even twitching a finger raised waves of agony.
As I bit my lip, I heard small sounds coming from inside. A door closing. A lock scraping. Then she was climbing out the window and closing it.
“I locked the cage and put the key back. That should fix them.” She took one look at me and frowned. “Poor Beast. You’re a sorry sight, aren’t you?”
She patted me on the head, as if I were a damn animal, and before I could tell her to stop it, we were on the move. We trundled past a snoring guard and through the village. Not a soul stirred. It was as if there were a spell on the place
.
The wolf appeared out of the shadows, padding silently beside us. It was so unreal that I wondered if I were seeing things, the way I had when I was floating in the ocean. Except that had been comforting, while this was filled with pain. The feeling was flooding back in agonising waves. I didn’t let a sound escape me, but she knew.
“Have another sip.”
More of the foul stuff went down my throat. It hit my guts, burning briefly in foulness. I wanted to protest, but then the foulness dissolved into a warm glow. It suffused me, wiping out the pain.
The blue eyes were gazing into mine. “Good. It’s working.” She put a gentle hand through my hair again. “Let it do its stuff, Beast. In a few minutes, you’ll feel better.”
I was sinking into a cloud of warmth, so delicious that it softened even the insult. She was Eid, the Valkyrie famed for her healing skill.
As we moved on again, I faded into a half dream, watching the village houses go by, dissolving into a country lane, then fields. We went through them, into the velvet night and into the forest beyond. There was no path but she went straight through the trees. I was in and out of it, finally coming to as the wood opened up into a meadow. In the light of the moon, I saw a hunting lodge and stables. I could hear a brook babbling nearby.
“Home.” She didn’t seem too pleased about it. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
She dumped me on the grass, sweet and fresh smelling, stripped off my leathers, stiff with salt where they weren’t ripped, and then she poured bucket after bucket of water over me. She was right, all the muck of the sea and that cursed village was washed clean away. I was feeling better just being clean again.
“Up and inside now.”
She gripped me by the upper arm, and then I was up on my feet. Kind of. Truth be, she carried me into the house. She had some evil habits, but this was a strong woman. While I resented her for it, I was secretly grateful.
The house was as unusual as the ice maiden. From the outside, it looked like a hunting lodge like the ones owned by Prydain nobles, but it was furnished like a farmhouse. There was a plain wooden table, big sofas marked by clumps of wolf fur, and the walls were lined with shelves crammed with glass jars and bottles. Herbs hung from the rafters in bunches, and there was a cauldron hanging over a low fire.