Low on the piled furs, Skarga could not stand without an arm for brace. She waited until Erik came back with the wine. Orm’s hand clasped her shoulder. She wriggled away. Orm’s hand followed her. This time it clenched, fingers damp, sweaty around the back of her neck. At once she said, “I don’t want to be touched that way. Please remove your hand.”
And Orm chuckled and said, “Not yet, my girl. I’ve a mind to claim you first.”
She stared at him. “Claim? What claim?” She knew she was shouting. Her head hurt. Orm maintained his grasp. Both Egil and Erik had returned and were staring, unsure. Egil looked pink. Erik gripped the wine cup, wavering. “Get off me,” Skarga said, wrenching sharply away. “Lord Thoddun gave word I’d be safe. And you’re here to protect me in his place.”
“In his place? I’ve no objection to that,” Orm grinned, hand creeping tight again around her neck. “Let’s see this place then, and I’ll fill it, quick as you like.” As she moved forwards his arm caught her, stretching and lengthening to his need. “Protection takes many forms, and you’ll not be some brute bear’s dinner on my watch.” He laughed. “But reckon we all know better uses a female has.”
His grip was suddenly so urgent that Skarga tumbled backwards, clasped immediately to his expanse of sweat infused chest and a tunic thick stained with grease and wine. She struggled. Orm’s breath, still laughing, was hot in her face. He peered down at her and one hand quickly found her breast. “Bastard,” Skarga swore at him. “Fuck off.” She reached up and punched.
Orm dodged and sniggered. “Just what I had in mind as it happens. Lean back, my dear, and enjoy it. I can give you a better fucking than most, and will show you the Shift too if you’re a good girl and come easy.” His hand left her breast and began to tug at her skirts. “There’s not a man will interfere, I can promise. Part of the entertainment for all.”
Skarga grabbed the handle of her wooden crutch and swung it hard across Orm’s face. It smashed against his nose. He blinked. A trickle of pale watery blood oozed over his upper lip. He stretched out his tongue and licked it away. His hold did not loosen. She looked around for the two boys amongst the blur of smoke, flame and heaving bodies. She saw them muttering to each other. “Help me up,” she commanded them. “Now. Just one hand –”
Egil leapt forwards. Skarga pulled from Orm’s grasp and reached for Egil. At once Orm’s arm stretched again, longer than before, as if had elongated its bones. His fingers gripped her waist, bringing her down, squashed back against him, Egil on top.
The chanting had begun. As Skarga scrambled forwards again, other hands clutched at Egil and someone hurled him bodily across the hall. He tumbled groaning against a barrel with a gush of red wine. Another had caught Erik under his arms, so that he was held aloft, kicking and gasping for breath. Other men moved quickly closer, circling, milling, intent, staring. Skarga was struggling against a forest of boots, faces looming above, staring down at her. Orm’s long fingers slid inside Skarga’s tunic, searching for the opening of her shift.
The chanting was louder, the rhythm compelling. As he grappled with her, Orm was chanting too. Skarga was dizzy, as if the music spun her and pulled her in, she was drunk but not only from wine. She kicked against the magic and against Orm. The wide shouldered man who had thrown Egil, gazed down at her. His expression remained stern, watchfully interested, neither prurient nor avid. Skarga gasped, “Help. Won’t you help?”
The man frowned. “Help? Help who? This is a valid claim, lady.”
“It’s legal,” a man beside her said. “We’ll not interfere. Get on with it.”
A voice from someone unseen interrupted, “She’s a human. She doesn’t understand. That’s uneven ground.”
Amongst the watching faces, one peered closer. “True,” said the elderly Ragnar who had once introduced himself to her. He stared down as Skarga continued to struggle, Orm’s endless fingers now beneath her skirts. She felt his elbow on her injured ankle and cried out. “You’ve no lawful complaint,” frowned the man. “Did the lord not explain? With us, lady, the dominant male mates the dominant female. But the next in line can take advantage and make his claim when the leader’s away, gone sailing, or sick or wounded.”
Erik was yelling and the man holding him cuffed him hard. “Two ways to claim dominance,” said the man. “Challenge the leader direct. Or take his female.”
Someone shouted, “If the challenger cows the female and manages to take her, then his claim’s half won. So take her, and take her quick, and we’ll decide affiliations once dominance is decided.”
The lord won’t like it. The lord won’t stand for it.”
Sniggering, “Let him sit then. Orm’s big enough to sit on top and squash him flat.”
“Lord Thoddun’s never been bettered and won’t now.”
“Orm will have to fight Lord Thoddun on return, but with you tight under his covers, he’ll split the pack. He’ll have backers, and more than half a chance of taking over.”
Orm looked up with a grin and enough breath to talk. His nose was still trickling blood. “So, Ragnar, you’ll back me then?”
“I’m seeing the law upheld, is all,” Ragnar said. “And who I back is my business till the lord comes home.”
“Get on with it and fuck the bitch,” another voice. “We want to see.”
“Not a bitch though, is she! Humans don’t count.”
“She’s Thoddun’s bitch. So she counts.”
Skarga’s knife was left behind in the bedchamber but wrestling, each unarmed, had long been her practise and she’d beaten her brothers more than once. She could twist, bite, feint, duck and twist again. She understood the crowd would stand motionless, taking no sides, simply watching, while she was raped in front of them. Transanima law meant Egil and Erik forced away, leaving the female to face only the claimant, neither aided nor hindered.
With the chanting louder, the rhythm faster, more men began to Change. From the corner of her desperate vision she saw them bend, becoming vague, skin to shadow to fur, the sudden carnality of avid eyes over open mouths, glistening teeth and hot eager tongues. Aroused both by the music and her struggles, many were Shifting. They pushed forwards, more confident as animal than as man. Skarga clawed at Orm’s face with a bitter, frightened fury. She aimed for his eyes. Her nail ripped his lower eyelid. She brought her hand back and punched. Orm shook her off, sending her reeling. His fingers were still up her skirts and forced between her legs, but his other hand darted to his bleeding eye socket, releasing her. Ducking beneath his armpit she found the broken shaft of her crutch and speared it directly into Orm’s open mouth. It jarred uselessly against his teeth but stabbed splinters right through his lip. He had been patient. He had been cheerfully relentless. It was a claim for leadership, not lust. But now he was hurt. He responded to pain with anger. He hissed. The chanting was thunderous. The men, excited, increased the pace.
Orm began to Change. But before he could complete the Shift, which would finish her entirely, Skarga brought her knee up as hard as she could into his man’s groin. Orm swore, grabbing her neck. His fingers were as long as eels. This time her neck, encircled, choked and shrank. She stopped breathing.
“None of that,” said the man Ragnar, striding in and pointing at Orm, “that’s not permitted. Fucking not slaughter is all the claim allows.” He reached over Skarga’s desperation and grappled Orm’s arms.
Skarga found air and rolled to her side, retching and heaving. A young wolf stood before her, soft golden eyes, shaking the ruff of its neck. It sniffed, smelling her injuries. It was, she thought, sympathetic, and she saw the man behind the eyes. Then Erik was on his knees beside her. Someone else’s voice said, high pitched, “The claim’s denied. The female gained both first blood and second blood. Throw the serpent out.”
Another voice, “No need to throw him out. He made a claim and failed. It’s normal procedure. Demote him, that’s all, at least until the lord comes back.”
“No,” said the first voice. “T
he challenger tried to kill. That’s not permissible.”
Then Erik yelled, “Get away. Quick.”
Skarga looked up and saw the snake’s head, huge as Jormundgandr and pale as yellow slime. Two coils of its gigantic tail looped her legs. The blunt snout, darting forwards, bled slightly from both nostrils. The forked tongue flicked out, sliding black across her lips. It tasted her. It opened its splintered mouth. The two upper fangs jutted forward as the jaw clicked to a vaster stretch. The exposed gums were putrid, yawning into wet, muscle bound scarlet. Colourless droplets seeped from each fang and a stench of decay fouled its breath. Skarga stared up into its gaping throat. Then Erik grabbed her and rolled her away, three times over so that her ankle hurt like Hel and her hair blinded her and there was straw in her mouth. Then she heard an eagle screech.
“No,” someone shouted. The noise of furious argument and the chanting faded back to a wordless hum. Erik had disappeared and Skarga rolled again and sat, the fire scorching her back. There was blood at her feet and the air was filled with feathers.
Three huge birds, wings beating mid-air, primaries outstretched, talons spread wide and clawing. The serpent reared. Slashed already many times, it bled thick crimson globules through rips of primrose scales. Sinews oozed blood, reflecting light. A scattering of rainbow skin, glimmering from shadow to flame. The birds drove directly at the serpent’s head, claws slashing into the underbelly. It lunged, writhing in pallid flames, blinded by the confusion of wings. Three hooked beaks gouging and then away, darting close, soaring up from the gaping fangs. The pounding of the great flapping wings drowned out the last murmurs of the chant, split again by the screech of the eagle, rich russet feathers and golden glaring eyes. The raven answered. Black and purple iridescence catching the sheen of the firelight and a deep caw of fury. The snowy owl, as downy as the snow covered tundra, steady mid air, its wings battering against the rising warmth, head back, claws outstretched.
The crowd pushed in. The great worm contorted, muscles clenched, throwing out agonised coils. Its serpentine length contracted in spasms, coiling over and over. Each time it squeezed emptiness and sank before flailing in furious futility. As it tumbled into massive knots, unravelling a hundred coils into the seepage of its own blood, Skarga crawled away. Her hands were sticky with slime and her groin was throbbing and sore. She collapsed, curling helplessly on the straw.
The white owl landed beside her, its talons scraping boards. The raven stood in front, guarding her, daring attack. Then the great golden eagle came to rest gently on her shoulder and rubbed its lowered beak against her cheek. The feathered head caressed her, and it crooned, just a warm vibration against her ear. The strength of its claws on her shoulder and the weight of its body seemed beautiful and utterly reassuring.
The men moved around them all, shielding the serpent, so that when she looked, and it had gone, she was no longer sure how it had departed. But the three great proud birds stayed close, and warned off all the others.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The boys were simply boys again and the raven was surprisingly small as just a man, with his lustrous blue-black feathers turned dull and grizzled around the ears. “I won’t come in lady,” Safn shook his head. “I won’t be entering the lord’s quarters, not even at your invitation.”
Skarga balanced, once arm on Egil’s shoulder. “Thank you. It, it was –”
“It was a bloody disgrace,” said the raven. “And I’ll tell the lord so, when he’s back. He’d made it clear and most of them understood, if they’d wanted to admit it.”
She refused to faint until at least understanding. “Admit what? Please?”
“Well, it’s not my business, lady, and I’m not an elder,” said Safn. “But Lord Thoddun made it plain as a tail feather, right from the beginning. You were under his protection. But not as his mate. You had his quarters, and that’s top honour. It’s forbidden to pass there, unless asked. But you stayed there alone and he slept with us in the general heap, as seen by all. You were simply a guest, he said. And a human. You’re not open to any claim at all.”
“Orm was supposed to protect you,” scowled Egil, pacing the corridor. “He was trusted.”
“Yes but trusted as second in command,” said Erik. “And it’s only the second in command can make a claim.”
“Make the claim on the leader’s mate,” Safn pointed out. “Not on his guest. Claim the dominant female, not a human visitor. If the lord wants Orm whipped into exile, I’ll back him.”
“Lord Thoddun’ll fight Orm,” nodded Erik. “And everyone’ll back Thoddun. They wouldn’t dare do anything else.”
“Some might,” Safn said softly. “I’d like to know where the bitch Mandegga went, and why.”
“Long gone,” Egil shook his head.
“Gone, but coming back,” Erik said. “One of her jarls still sits on that big locked chest of hers, like a spider in the web.”
“But there’s something else, and I’d better say it now, and be done,” Safn said. “If Orm’s claim is upheld and the huskarls call it just, though I say they’d be mad to judge it lawful for it clearly wasn’t, but if they do, it’s us in trouble. Both you boys, and me the most. We’ll be called to stand wergild. And if Orm dies, it’ll be blood, not silver.”
“But that’s man’s justice,” Skarga said. “Does your Althing make such judgements too?”
“We do,” nodded the raven. “It’s both the law of the pack and the law of man, for that’s what we are, lady, and it’s both as applies. So if the elders say Orm’s claim was a fair one, then the three of us go before court for attacking a man in the doing of his rightful business, and against Ragnar’s orders.”
Egil scowled. “I protected my lady. Orm had Changed. He attacked before we did. He had no right to Change.”
Erik shook his head. “Egil, you don’t know all the rules. There was the chanting. He was entitled to Shift. And once he’d Shifted, he was entitled to attack. You can’t blame any creature for following its nature.”
“I followed my nature by attacking Orm,” Egil objected, “and if I don’t know all the rules, they can’t hold me accountable.”
“But I’m your tutor,” Safn said, “and the Lord Thoddun before me, so the responsibility is ours, and will be judged for it. I sit as an Althing junior, but Ragnar is an Althing elder and he ordered an even ground, which we disobeyed. But this is no time to argue the law. When the lord returns, then we’ll see.”
“Ragnar may be an elder, but he’s just another wolf after all,” muttered Egil.
Safn folded his arms and shook his head. “A claim doesn’t permit damage done to the female, only a quick mount to bring her into heat. Begging your pardon,” he said, with a blink aside at Skarga, who was blushing and staring at her toes. “Whoever started the chanting was instigating trouble too, since there was no need for it, with enough excitement and argument in the crowd without encouraging a general Shift.” He glared at both boys. “But the claim was unauthorised, that’s my main complaint, and the reason I interfered. Before leaving, Lord Thoddun said as clear as a wing to the thermals, this isn’t the dominant female, nor his mate, nor open to interpretation. The lady is a human and a guest and to be left alone.”
Erik tapped one foot, glowering. “Will Orm die?”
“He’s badly hurt,” said Safn with a sudden short smile. “The serpent has few weapons against the birds, especially out of water, and it’s fear he relies on, lest he injects venom to finish a victim. Orm won’t be belching from that fat gut of his for a few days.”
“I’m sorry,” Skarga murmured, “but I must lie down before I fall,” and the raven bustled off while Egil and Erik helped her inside and across to her bed. “I think I want to be sick,” she said, flat on her back and staring up at them. “But you both make the most beautiful, beautiful birds. You should never be shy about it.”
Erik was flushed. “Do you think so?”
“I do,” Skarga’s voice was fading out. “Suc
h a majestic silver owl, and my beloved golden eagle. But there’s a basin, if you wouldn’t mind –”
He didn’t mind. “You won’t think so,” Erik muttered as if half ashamed, “but it’s exciting too. I mean – with the transanima – here all together and all of us so different – well, it’s not a peaceful life. Never.”
“It wasn’t in my father’s halls either. But not like –”
“It couldn’t be, could it. Changing. Shifting. The excitement.”
There was nothing she had found exciting.
Once they left her the darkness was complete and the tumbling water at the far end of the chamber echoed endlessly amongst the shadows. Skarga screwed up her knees to her ribs and heaved until her stomach was empty again. Then she lay quiet, shuddering. Her mouth tasted acrid and she spat bile. It was much later when she hobbled from the bed and tipped the contents of the bowl out into the waterfall. She scrambled down and sat on the rock edge, reaching out to wash her hands and face, bringing water to sip from her fingers. The ice cold felt as cleansing s the water, and she spread her fingers, palms flat, and thrust them into the fall until her flesh stung, and then throbbed, was painful, and finally numb. She felt very dirty and very sad. Eventually she clambered back to the warmth of the bed and she slept, damp and bloodstained, utterly exhausted and dreaming of worming things that crawled inside her.
She did not sleep long. She woke to the clanging of cymbals. Skarga sat up in startled and sudden amazement. Her mouth tasted of vomit and her eyes burned. She saw Mandegga first.
The woman, resplendent in gold, fronted her ten jarls. One stood with the cymbals. Another climbed on a wooden chest, his head up into the beams and their dusty streamers, clapping his hands for attention. Three carried burning torches. Other transanima clustered at the arched entrance, some eager, some nervously tentative, pulling back the fur hangings to peer within.
Sitting immediately, breathless and shocked, Skarga shouted, “None of you has any right to enter here.”
Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy Page 41