With considerable effort, she looked away. “I was upset,” she whispered. “You – rise – so quickly. So unpredictable. Why are you angry?”
She thought his smile malevolent and shrank back. “No, child. I am endlessly predictable. And I rise, predictably, to your own vulnerability. Fear arouses me. Weakness arouses me. Your absurdly piteous feelings for your hideous brother arouse me.” And he snatched her hand and forced it down between his legs, and held it there against the steel hardness of his groin. “Yes, I rise. I could take you, standing here now. But we are not alone which would embarrass and distress you – another of your human absurdities. You do not even – truly – understand what I’m telling you.”
“You frighten me,” she whispered. “I’ve learned to trust you completely. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone before. But then you’re suddenly more bear than man and I don’t trust you at all.”
“Trust? What use is trust,” he said, “without understanding? Now it’s bear lust you’re arousing, not man’s desire. If you arouse the bear, then the bear reacts. I’ve tried to warn you. I’ve tried to explain what I am. But if I took you now, I’d make you bleed. That’s not what I want. Whatever else, the man in me rules. And you aren’t aroused, so it would be rape, which is not my vice. You’ve no idea, my sweet, how much control I’m exercising now, bear and man both. As for whipping my wife, I had no wife. I had a she-wolf, a bitch who swived with half the community when she thought I slept, aligning and scheming, plotting endless intrigues and conspiracies. I tired of it. I dragged her out from under a wolf’s legs with his prick still inside her, and I whipped her myself.”
Skarga shivered. “And that would arouse you too.”
“Indeed,” he smiled. “I watched her skin peel away. She bled like a squashed fruit, and then I dragged her to bed. But she was sticky inside from another man, so I threw her out. She disgusted me with her tireless treacheries and her capricious perversity. Why do you repeatedly speak of her? Why challenge me?”
She had so rarely defied anyone and didn’t know why she now persisted. “Because I think of the future. I’m not sure what to expect of you. You’re so - dangerous. I think of how lost and alone I’d be if you throw me out. I’ve always been lost and alone, except for Egil and now he’s not mine anymore. I’m frightened one day I’ll have to run away from you. But I don’t think I could do it, or face it, or even live with it.”
“Then put up with me,” he whispered. He bent suddenly, all shadows, and she shrank back, expecting violence. But he kissed her as gently as feathers in the breeze, his tongue slipping between her teeth, his breath caressing her throat. His fingers moved from their remorseless grip on her arms and became tantalising, brushing her nipples into erection beneath her clothes.
She gulped. “You just think I’m vulnerable – and – ridiculously – human.”
“Yes, I think you’re human. Should I not?” He smiled. “And though clearly lacking any advantage, humans relentlessly admire their own humanity, even whilst remaining adamantly vulnerable. So I shall resist the temptation to drag you into the hall and fuck you in front of the fire without a damn for who’s watching.” He sighed with open regret. “I shall do something quite different.”
She held her breath and squinted up at him. “What?”
He took her hand and led her back into the hall as placidly as if he had never raised his voice to her, sitting her on a stool where she blushed faintly, looking down at her lap. The great cave was crowded and the men, intensely and carefully casual, moved around her and continued with their business just as if they had heard precisely nothing of both her thoughts and Thoddun’s for the past most interesting hour.
Thoddun immediately strode off to speak to Karr and she watched him, irritated with herself and cross with him. Eventually he came back to her and refilled her wine bowl. For some time she had sat patiently on the stool where he’d put her. Now he squatted down on his heels next to her stool, and grinned at her. “Guilt,” he said, “is a singularly human waste of time.”
She drank rather too quickly from the overflowing cup and hiccupped. “I’m not feeling guilty. I’ve nothing to feel guilty about.”
He continued grinning. “Yes you are and yes you have. And it is, after all, singularly pointless lying to someone who can read your thoughts as clearly as if you shouted them aloud. You are wishing you had never annoyed me, which is annoying you even more. All part of this elusive business of the pointless human conscience.”
“So I was feeling sorry for humanity. Sorry for myself.” She sniffed. “It wasn’t sensible. But it was me feeling terribly uncomfortable. I don’t see why you got angry.”
He did not stop grinning. “Then I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you drink up like a good little tadpole and listen to what I’m actually saying instead of what you expect me to say.” She drank and stifled her hiccups. “Because your brother and the other humans were treated as enemies,” he said, “you identified with the enemy too. Absurd. Those people have nothing in common with you except your humanity, and you dislike them as much as I do. They were your enemies before you ever met me. But pity for them led to pity for yourself. You imagined me seeing you as simply another human. As baggage. You decided everything I feel for you must simply mean wanting to bed you. You have a perverse determination to be vulnerable, when you know full well how vulnerability arouses me.”
“I asked for reassurance. And I got bad tempered.”
“True,” he said. “My fault. But instead of indulging such ridiculous pangs of guilt, I’d sooner do something practical. Which I am. Drink up.”
“I’m not thirsty,” said Skarga.
“Good wine has nothing to do with thirst,” said Thoddun. “We leave early tomorrow. There’ll be little but water after that. I’ve a flask of ale on the sled, but that’s for any messenger that arrives with ice on his wings. So drink up, eat up, and forget conscience and my bad temper both.” Then Karr wandered over to ask a question and Thoddun stood and went with him.
The magical transanima fire, coppery bright, had been built high from a scatter of damp guano, each flame now thrusting to the cave roof. The intense heat made Skarga dizzy. She had felt this way at the transanima feasts on the Sheep Islands. She wondered if the wine was stronger than it tasted and knew that if the men started chanting, she would fall. They did not chant and there was no music but the fire was bursting against her face. She got up, toppled slightly, and dragged her stool further from the hearth.
Thoddun reappeared. He brought a small cup of something that smelled both sharp and sweet. He held it out to her. She shook her head. “I’m too hot and too sleepy.”
He bent down beside her again, took her empty bowl and thrust his proffered cup into her hand. “Resist a little longer, child. I have to arrange the last werewolf executions. Then I’ll take you to bed.”
The bedding she had used before lay bundled against the rock face, within the rosy shadows of the flames behind her. “I can’t sleep here. The fire’s so hot.”
“And tomorrow you’ll be too cold.” He knelt, watching her intently, his hand on her lap. “Now drink. It’s something different. Try it.”
She sipped obediently. It burned. She coughed, shaking her head. “What is it?”
He pushed the cup back between her fingers. “Fermented crowberries, honey and distilled radish.”
Skarga eyed it with dislike. “Why do I have to drink it?”
“Because I tell you to.” She no longer had the energy for arguments. Once convinced she was drinking, Thoddun collapsed cross legged on the cold ground beside her stool, hand tight to her knee, and grinned up at her. “I like you hot,” he said. “There’s sweat down in the hollow of your neck, trickling inside your shift. It’ll collect between your breasts. When your tunic’s damp, then every movement of your body shows through the silk. I like looking where I know your nipples are, to see when they rise. For a slim girl with narrow hips, you’ve interestingly heavy breasts.
”
“Don’t,” Skarga blushed. “Everyone will hear our thoughts.”
Thoddun adopted an expression of sublime innocence. “Certainly not,” he said. “They’re far too busy.”
She drained the cup. “I feel tipsy,” she whispered. The liquor tingled behind her teeth and rasped her throat.
Thoddun’s smile appeared fixed. He said. “I’ve a few more instructions for Karr. Then I’ll take you to bed.”
“It’s right here,” she said. “I can go on my own. Or do you think I might fall over before then?”
“If you do, then I’ll carry you.” The eternal smile drifted into the scarlet heat haze, so that Thoddun and the glow from the fire united. “Wait for me.”
Waiting for him was inevitable. She could not have stood if she tried. It seemed a long time later when Thoddun came back again, by which time she was hanging onto the stool with both hands. Thoddun regarded her. He was holding two more cups. “The stool,” he remarked, “is most unlikely to run away.”
Skarga looked up and swayed slightly. “If that cups for me, I don’t want it.”
He drank from one, tipping it up to drain it, looking down at Skarga over the brim. He handed her the other. “It’s water,” he said. “You’ll feel better if you drink.”
She did as she was told. The water was pleasant but tingled and she wondered if that was the cold, or if some liquor had been added. Thoddun took both empty cups, passed them to one of his men, bent suddenly and swept Skarga up into his arms. Her mind was so far removed from reality that she thought she flew, and clung to Thoddun’s neck, resting her head against his chest. She heard the enormous thump of his heart beat and the deep expansion of his lungs moving beneath her cheek. His hands around her felt unusually powerful. She traced the throbbing pulse in the hollow below his neck, smoothing her fingers around its width. His voice was just a little breeze over the top of her hair. “If you’re thinking of strangling me,” he murmured, “I should warn you that your hands are far too small.”
She giggled. His hands beneath her legs had adjusted, clasping her buttocks, holding her tighter. He strode into the darkness beyond the hall, and the men stood aside for him. She closed her eyes, relieved as the impossible heat of the fire was extinguished.
When he set her gently down so she sat beside him on the rocky floor, she saw nothing in the dark. The chill now felt clammy and she shivered, reaching for his warmth. When he leaned away, she gripped him closer. She mumbled, “Is this our bed? But it’s so cold.” He said nothing but she saw his smile in the white of his teeth. Then she felt a new heat rising suddenly within her own body. It came not from his hands or his nearness, but from something inside that she did not recognise at all. It swarmed like bees, settling in her breath and her stomach and her groin.
Thoddun breathed directly into her ear, and his voice seemed part of the fire. “Let it take you,” he said. “I have you. You are perfectly safe. Let the flames lead you.”
“The ground’s too cold,” she whispered. “And I’m too hot.”
He chuckled and putting his hands under her arms, lifted her back to her feet. He held her up for a moment as she found her balance, leaning her against the rock wall. She was breathless and muddled, but one thought grew and spread and remained clear. For reasons which escaped her, Thoddun, for once, was not reading or reacting to her need. She gazed up at him. His face looking down on her was deeply shadowed, the eyes unusually bright, his expression calmly patient. He said, “Tell me. Say it. And show me.”
He neither caressed nor embraced her. He simply held her firm and upright. She sighed, needing so much more, and reached for him, fingers crawling tentatively beneath the rough border of his tunic, searching the overlapping of his britches. She had worn britches herself a long time ago and knew how to unfasten them, but hers had been soft linen. These were different. The ties crossed twice around his waist and she could not find any part to open. She fumbled, inept within the folded leather straps. Then his fingers took hers, guiding their direction. His hands led her to the buckle and clipped it open, helping her inside. Her knees barely supported her. “If I fall,” she murmured, “will you hold me up?”
His chuckle was very soft against her ear. “I’m already holding you up. And since you’re so small, I shall have to hold you a little higher. Can you stand on tiptoe?”
She doubted it. “I can’t stand at all.”
“But the ground’s too cold,” he said, “so we shall manage this way, even though I’m too tall for you. But you’re doing very well. Don’t stop. And tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want you.” She couldn’t remember other words. His hands, having helped her to him, now moved to the hem of her own clothes. His pressure scorched, his fingers abruptly increasing her need. She arched her back. The unreality became intensely sensual. She clung to Thoddun like a floating feather to a stream. He waited. “But I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
“Vulnerability again?” he laughed. “No my love, you need no more directions. Discover yourself. Discover your needs. Discover me. Use me.”
She abandoned timidity, risking exploration. Then, when she felt she could wait no longer, he bent, adjusted his stance and guiding her hand to guide him, slowly entered her, then straightened, pushing deep. His fingers crept, tantalising. Every movement seemed languorously slow. She gasped, “Faster,” and he laughed.
“No, beloved, not yet. My pace is my own.”
She wrapped one leg tight around the back of his thighs. His legs thrust strong and deep. He quickened, bringing his other hand tight around her buttocks. As she cried out, his teeth clamped momentarily over her collar bone and the curve of her neck, biting, tongue hot, holding her close.
For some time afterwards he stayed quite still and hard within her until she breathed evenly and became calm. Finally he released her, tucked her skirts back down, and pulled her fully into his arms. Slowly he sat, cradling her on his lap, rocking her a little and whispering to her ear. She stayed wrapped in his warmth and leaned against him. His voice tickled. “So now, my beloved,” he murmured. “I hope we’ve established what sort of baggage you are, and who wants what of whom, and what using means.” She felt very small, as if he might enclose her in the palm of his hand. She sighed. “And by the way,” he continued, “since your mind seems to think I haven’t said it properly yet, and I have to say it since you can’t read my mind, - yes, little cub, I love you. I’m in love with you. Whichever you like best. They’re both true.” Cocooned on his lap, she felt the solid strength of his legs beneath her and the pressure of his hands. “And I will never throw you out,” he murmured, his voice crooning against her ear like the transanima chant, except that this time she could understand all his words perfectly well, “nor allow you ever to escape me. I enjoy you smooth snuggled against me in bed. Without you there, I doubt I’d know now what to do with such empty arms. Or my legs. Or my prick. So forget about me being dangerous, little one. I am as gentle as one of your barnyard cats, or the lemmings they chase. And I am, very much, all yours.”
She reached for one of his hands and entwined her fingers with his. His palms were a little damp and she liked it that he was sweat slick too, and smiled into his chest. “Have you,” she asked without rancour, sounding extremely slurred, “drugged me?”
“No, little one,” he said. “That’s something I swear I shall never do. I have however,” and lifted their clasped hands and kissed her curled knuckles, each one in turn, “taken wicked advantage of your innocent compliance by getting you thoroughly piss-sotten. A calculated mix of strong drinks. I thought it worked rather well.”
“I don’t mind,” she whispered, since in that moment she would not have minded anything at all. “It’s like – flying.”
“There are many ways of flying, and love is the best,” he murmured. “And I don’t love you in spite of your being human. Nor do I love you because you’re human. I just love you. I have no explanation. And as much as
I adore your body and your sex, I love your company as much. And far from despising you, I admire your courage, and your kindness, and your inexplicable feelings for me. And I shall try very hard, in future, to accept, if not to admire - your vulnerability.”
CHAPTER SIX
She woke in her own place, the silken furs by the great hearth. The furnace that had so troubled her the night before was now a weary scramble of ashes and a desultory spark. Thoddun was beside her and it was his body that gave her comfort. He was wide awake, leaning on one elbow and watching her. As her eyes blinked open and focused, she gazed up at him.
At once he said, “There’s a break-fast of sorts waiting for us. How do you feel?”
“Crumpled. Sore.”
“Crumpled doesn’t matter,” he smiled. “Sore is my fault. I imagine your arms are bruised too.”
“Nice memories,” she said, “make everything else worthwhile.”
They left by sled, the dogs howling with impatience, scrabbling and slipping back down the glacier while the sun rose small and bright behind them. Before them their own shadow stripes distorted, elongated into arrows, pointing towards their direction and the distant coast. The light, after so long in winter’s dark, seemed unnatural. A pastel glare, part clouded, was a light more green than gold. The dogs had been long rested, were eager, panting amongst the ice spray and the floss of their own breath.
Thoddun wore, as always, the rough flax and linen of his usual clothes beneath the great volume of the bearskin, but Skarga had changed her clothes and felt grand. The equipment they carried in the back of the sled included a small chest of her own. She had wanted to bring clothes, now she owned some again, in which she might eventually impress her family. Thoddun, complaining about additional weight, had laughed at her as usual. “I suppose you think your brothers will judge you. All weak minded aggression under a bombast of silly creased grandeur, those men have the intellect of hammerhead shark pups. Is that who you want to impress?”
Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy Page 62