“Kestrel, I think it’s time.” And the seamstress could hear the distress in Freya’s voice as she leaned against the door. Then the voices began getting closer as the group downstairs came to retrieve their peace offering. Kestrel was wrapping her arms around Freya in a tight hug. The door was opened. Alvyna stood in the doorway adorned with her armor, a menacing scowl on her face.
“They really had the nerve to ask me to take you out there. I’m supposed to lead the party to where the Vargar are camped.” Alvyna’s scowl turned into a morose frown. “They want me to be responsible for handing my dead lovers’ sister to the very ones who killed her! It’s a sick joke if I’ve ever heard one,” the warrior removed her helmet and threw it in the direction of the fireplace where it clanged against the stone wall.
“Raga did what she had to do for her people, and now we will do the same. I don’t want anyone else to die, Alvyna.” Freya picked the winged helm off the floor and gave it back to the Valkyrie. “And now it’s time to go. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Alvyna took her helmet and begrudgingly put it back on.
The day was cool, and Freya was bundled in a dark fur cloak as she was carried to the border where the Vargar encampment was. The flight was long and the group of Adaryn was flying fast with unspoken rule that they wanted to get this ordeal over with. No member of the royal family had been appointed to join and Freya was more than thankful. It hurt to think she’d never see Aurik again, but it was probably for the best.
By midday Freya could make out the line of a distant mountain range. She knew Vargar made their home in those very mountains, on the other side of a deep canyon the Valkyrie patrolled. It was out there where her sister had died.
They landed in a small clearing at dusk not far from the canyon. The trees in this part of Adaryn territory were all types of tall evergreens that were smaller than the trees the colony made their homes in.
“Their encampment is a short walk through the trees. No doubt they would have seen us land. They’re supposed to send a sort of greeter to guide us in through the temporary camp they’ve set up,” Alvyna was telling Freya. Only moments after Freya heard rustling in the underbrush at the edge of the small clearing. Her eyes narrowed in on dark shadows approaching.
Fear blossomed in Freya’s chest as she caught sight of the beastly form of a Vargar for the first time in her life. The illustrations of their kind did them no justice in just how terrifying and large they really were. They were the equivalent of massive wolves that could stand on long hind legs, but so much more. Four of them had emerged from the tree line and stood to look at the envoy of Adaryn’s.
Alvyna held her hand out for Freya, trying to pass along her courage but it didn’t help her trembling like a leaf in the wind. She imagined her legs would collapse underneath her at any moment. When they started walking to the four Vargar sinking back into the line of trees it seemed as though her legs were working under someone else’s command to keep her going, and Freya was glad to have Alvyna’s strong hand to hold her up. Without it she was sure that she would fallen through the ground below her feet.
Freya admired how the Vargar moved easily through the underbrush of the forest while the Adaryn’s had to figure out how to move around the fallen debris and overgrown brush. It was easy to see the beasts ahead were used to the difficulties of forest overgrowth while her people would prefer to be in the air. It would have been simple for the Adaryn to fly directly into the camp. However, the Vargar relayed they’d feel more at ease accompanying the Adaryn into their temporary camp.
She tried to breathe normally, but when they passed through the thickest of the forest at the edge of the canyon they came to another clearing where a few ancient stone columns were crumbling. Freya’s eyes widened as she took in fantastic tents unlike anything she’d ever seen before. They were tactfully crafted together with cream and dark red or green fabrics and a rounded top.
While being led into the camp she noticed the Vargar that didn’t look beastly like the four who had met them in the clearing. Freya was seeing men and woman who looked similar in body to the Adaryn with subtle differences. All the same, the history her people told of them being savage made her spine shiver in fear.
The Vargar were a tall and tanned people wearing furs and soft fabrics adorned with buckles and leather straps. Many of them had their faces painted and little jewels or silver bands woven into their hair. Those not wearing clothing were transformed into their more beastly form. Freya felt dark glowering eyes on her as her party made their way further to the center of the camp where the tents seemed to be spaced further apart.
When they got closer to the center, she saw why they were further apart. At the center of the camp were rows of long makeshift tables where hundreds of Vargar were communing and drinking. At the forefront of the tables was a massive wooden throne-like chair. Freya audibly gasped when she saw the incredible woman sat upon the throne with her deep red hair falling around the layers of black furs she wore. This could be none other than the Wolfmother.
This regal woman didn’t move up from her chair as she barely paid any attention to the Adaryn in their midst. An air of hostility was permeating the air as the age-old enemies stood in each other’s presence. Silence took over the camp as Vargar surrounded the Adaryn with wide, glowing eyes. Freya heard growling and teeth gnashing which led to her shaking uncontrollably in her boots. Alvyna squeezed her hand one last time before ushering her to the front of the group and into the direct line of sight of the Wolfmother. The leader of the Vargar looked Freya over with dark eyes surrounded with black paint going from one temple to the next only adding to the fierce waves of intimidation rolling off of her.
Suddenly a massive man from the gathered crowd of Vargar stepped forward and moved to the side of the intricately carved wooden throne. He was hairy and burly with a face creased in anger and lines from age. Freya noticed his hands were cuffed together and another Vargar was leading him by the leather strap on the cuffs.
“Is this the one? They bring a deformed runt!” He turned to the Wolfmother to gauge her reaction. She didn’t speak, but Freya felt a chill up her spine while the intimidating woman looked her up and down inquisitively.
“How dare you!” Allen Grouse spoke up. “This is the only eligible daughter of a highly esteemed Nobleman. She’s worth much to us and we didn’t come to this decision lightly.” His hand was over his chest as he feigned his upset. Freya knew she was no loss to them.
“Ivar, the decision to keep her is not up to you.” The Wolfmother finally spoke up, leaning forward in her throne as she rolled her eyes at him and placed her elbows on her knees. “We all want peace, brother, surely you agree?” She snarled at him with impressive canines gleaming behind her red lips.
His head whipped to glare at the Wolfmother with similar dark eyes to his own. The pair glared at each other and Freya could hear a low rumbling growl from the man’s chest.
“Yes, sister, let’s see what your son of thinks of the bird’s runt.” Ivar spat at his leader. Freya thought this must not have been the first time they’ve butted heads. She couldn’t blame him. It must be an insult to receive the likes of her.
"You don't get a say in what the Vargar do anymore, Ivar. You go with the Adaryn afterall. May you suffer while they've got you," She snapped. Her dark eyes were empty as she avoided looking at her brother. Freya hadn't been informed of the Adaryn taking a prisoner and she briefly wondered why.
“Hmm,” the Wolfmother’s dark eyes turned to Freya once more studying her intently. “Little bird, come closer.” And she held her hand out for Freya to approach.
Freya had to swallow her fear as she begged her feet to move her forward and take the outstretched hand. Alvyna nudged her from the side to encourage Freya to start walking. The Vargar hand was warm, and far gentler than Freya could have ever imagined it to be. Fingers gripped Freya’s and pulled her closer for a closer examination. The Wolfmother tilted her head several times as she let her eyes roa
m over Freya’s face and down her petite frame.
“I am Vistra Fargrim, little bird, Alpha and Wolfmother to the Vargar. If he takes you, I suppose I’ll be mother to you as well.” There was a friendly twinkle in her eyes but the intention behind her words just made Freya’s chest clench in fear. There was a chance the Wolfmother’s heir would refuse her? Perhaps he wasn’t being coerced into this arrangement the same way that she was, Freya thought.
She had been instructed briefly on the rituals of the Vargar when it came to the choosing of their mates. One would make an offering to their intended, and if the offering was accepted that was the end of it. They went on the rest of their lives together. Much simpler than the ceremonies the Adaryn had.
The Council had agreed to allow the Vargar their way of offerings if they could still have their ceremony. Although if Freya accepted the offering the ceremony wouldn’t take place until the Blue Winter Moon.
To the Vargar she would already be one of them at the end of the day if all went according to plan. The anger at the Adaryn for bringing her as the bride was apparent and she didn’t fault them. A society of strong and savage warriors wouldn’t want the ‘runt’ as she’d been called. Freya trembled again feeling as if all eyes were on her.
“He’s coming,” Vistra stated and turned her head in the direction of the line of trees behind her throne. Freya could see a tense smile on the Wolfmother’s face as the moment was coming closer. Her heir could make an offering to Freya and start an era of peace, or he could throw her to the side and start a war.
Freya was thankful for the navy cloak she wore to help hide how her body shook in fear and trepidation at this moment to come. When she saw the slumped figure emerge from the tree line and a carcass slung across his shoulders there was a moment where Freya thought she was going to fall over and all of the air in the camp went still. She could no longer breath and for a moment Freya believed her trembling was rattling her bones.
The approaching man was taller than she’d ever seen before even with the weight of the carcass across his back. He had wide shoulders, perfectly toned muscles, and long dark hair. He was covered in deep cuts and smeared blood. There was no telling where his blood began and the blood of the animal across his shoulders ended. No Adaryn man would have had the strength to carry a dead Nightboar on his own. If she hadn’t been so afraid, Freya might have been impressed.
Freya had been made aware that the offerings were usually similar to this. It was a way for the Vargar to show their potential mate their prowess in providing and protecting. As the man approached, she noticed it was an alpha nightboar slung across his shoulders, and she audibly gasped. Two of its six tusks were missing, and fresh claw marks had nearly destroyed the rest of the creature’s prickly hide.
The man got closer with his kill and the crowd of Vargar parted to let him through. His head lifted, and Freya met dark eyes with glints of a deep red like wine. Blood covered the lower half of his face and was starting to dry in the scruff along his chin. Freya held her breath as they just stood in place staring at one another. She couldn’t breathe as she waited to see what his next move would be.
His emotions were unreadable as he shifted to look her over from head to toe. Again, she was thankful for the cloak to hide under as she wrapped her arms around herself to keep herself from breaking a part. It felt like the longest moment of her life waiting for his next move.
Slowly, he bent over and dropped the Nightboar carcass at Freya’s feet with a sickening thump. The Heir was giving her the offering and showing he would take her. Freya couldn’t breath as she merely stood there looking across the carcass into the blank stare of dark eyes.
In this moment they were setting aside hundreds of years of animosity. As she had been instructed to do so, Freya crouched down to briefly to show she was inspecting the offering, as if there was any way she would refuse it. No matter what he had given her Freya knew she had to take it. There was no going back to her colony no matter what happened.
After a moment she lowered her head with eyes closed to show her acceptance of the offering presented to her even though her stomach was doing somersaults and she wanted to hurl up what she’d had for breakfast.
Freya heard him grunt and then he stood to his full massive height towering over her. The Vargar and accompanying Adaryn cheered. Surely this was a sight to see and those who witnessed this moment would never forget it. Any animosity moments ago apparently dissipated into the air for the time being.
And then the music began in the background. The Vargar were immediately drinking and dancing to celebrate the new union. Freya was still surrounded by her stiff guard. She knew they wouldn’t celebrate like the Vargar, even at the castle party they didn’t behave in the way the Vargar were now.
“Will you join me at the head of the table? Tonight, we will feast,” Wolfmother asked Freya gently placing her hand against her lower back. Alvyna was obviously uncomfortable as she closely followed behind to protect at a moment’s notice. Freya sat with Vistra, ready to drink as much of the sweet-smelling mead they offered as she could.
Plates and mountainous heaps of smoky smelling meats were placed in front of Freya and the overwhelming smell was more off putting than she would imagine it to be. Her family rarely ate meat, it wasn’t the Adaryn way when they had fields full of fresh vegetables and fruits tended to year-round. Now she didn’t see a single green thing in front of her.
As the sun set and the Vargar continued to party Freya tried to drink as much as she could, but the new alcohol of the beasts was stronger than any of the sweet drinks the Adaryn made. She’d managed to eat a few bites of a gamey meat and a brown roll. Most of her dinner was drink, and she was happy for the way it aided her to ease her shoulders.
The tension Freya felt was caused by the bloodied man a table away staring hole into her. As much as she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t. Even in the long moments he was occupied in conversation with other men she knew he was still keeping an eye on her.
“Don’t worry about him. You look like you’re afraid he’s going to eat you,” Vistra leaned over and whispered to Freya. At this statement Freya sat back in her chair, head tilted in Vistra’s direction but too intimidated to make eye contact. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him eating her, but the way he was scowling and covered in blood she wondered. It was ingrained in every nestling’s brain that they were vicious enough to do so.
“I apologize, I don’t mean any disrespect-” Freya started. The Wolfmother placed her hand on Freya’s shoulder and leaned in close after chuckling.
“Dear girl, don’t apologize. There was much debate going into this peace and I wasn’t too thrilled either. Someone had to make amends for what my brother did,” and Vistra scowled in the direction of Ivar who was bound and sitting alone with another Vargar watching him.
This confession made Freya pause. The leader of the Vargar hadn’t been behind the attack moons ago? There was so much behind what happened that she didn’t know. From what she was seeing now it seemed that maybe Ivar had been the one…
“My son, Cain, he is a good man and he will honor this agreement. I know you’re afraid, but he will not hurt you. I’ll hang him by his toes if he even thinks about it,” and Vistra chuckled to herself with a warm and motherly smile on her face. It helped Freya to feel even at more at ease. She never thought in her life she’d be sitting with the Vargar Wolfmother and actually feel relaxed.
As if he knew he was being talked about Cain got up from the table after downing the rest of his drink and slamming the cup onto the table. A few heads turned in his direction where he stared at the head table. Instead of walking in their direction like Freya initially believed he would he turned abruptly and left the celebrations completely. She couldn’t pull her eyes away as she watched him stalk off into the darkness of the approaching night.
Around the same time the still uncomfortable Adaryn decided it was time for them to make their way back to the colony. A
llen Grouse had a very smug look on his face as he glanced at Freya sat beside Vistra.
“We’ll be taking our leave now. If you need anything until the ceremony you can contact a soldier at the outpost nearby. Our commander here,” he gestured at Alvyna who was glaring up into the black sky, “will be stationed there for the duration. The prisoner will be held there as well.”
“Enjoy your night, Grouse. Thank you for bringing the little bird to us,” Vistra replied with a formidable air of authority, only giving a second glance to Ivar being led away. Freya was starting to admire this woman already even if she terrified her, and the new name wasn’t her favorite. Little bird.
Alvyna quickly walked to Freya and leaned down opposite Vistra to whisper, “If anything happens at all come find me at the outpost that I pointed out to you on the way here,” with a final and somber look from Alvyna the Adaryn departed. The Vargar only began to get louder from that moment on into the night. Eerie howls rang into the night sky at the lost new moon.
Freya settled into her chair with Vistra smiling over at her. No one was paying her any mind at this point and she was able to finally relax in the light of massive bonfires and warm mead in her belly.
After hours of drinking mead comfortably Freya was having a hard time keeping her head up at the table. The warmth and lull of the music was leading her to sleep. Her more conscious mind might have been afraid of how easily it would have been for her to fall asleep surrounded by her age-old enemy. Yet this was the best she’d felt since before her sister’s death, although she was sure that was the alcohol in her brain trying to convince her.
Would Raga be happy or anguished over what was happening? Freya was the chosen sacrifice, an easy pawn to get rid of. Her thoughts tried to tell her something, but she was too tired and swayed by the drinks to think too hard on how she ended up here.
The Bird and The Wolf Page 7