Chapter 15
SHAW
The urge to kill Bjorn is strong as I haul his unconscious body over my shoulder and down the stairs.
The courtyard is full of Vikings. Joanna is in the forefront of the group with Katrine.
Her strength is admirable, though it kills me to know I did nothing while the horrors of last night unfolded.
Ingrid huddles under Enora’s arm as other women come to her aid, and the rest of the clans pile in to seek vengeance.
“Who is it, Shaw?” Leif, the woodworker from the archery competition, asks.
“Bjorn. He held two women from the feast against their will in his room with his friends. Go see the chains and the blood for yourself. He fought against me. Demand for a vote,” I grunt through my explanation as I walk through the courtyard toward the medicine room.
“Where are you taking him?” The shouts of Vikings from all four clans cascade over me. Giving Leif an urgent look, I see him walk behind me to tell the crowd.
“He’s taking him to see Siggy to get stitched up.
Calm yourselves.” I hear shouting back and forth.
A riot during Yule or any gathering of cold and frightened Vikings is not far-fetched, but there is no way I’ll leave Rasha here alone for that type of battle.
I don’t know what she has experienced in her life to know about men like Bjorn.
The horrific thought that someone could have done to her what he did to the women sends me into a blind rage.
“Siggy!” I yell, but the little woman is already at her doorway.
“Come, come. What mess have you brought me?” she asks, standing back to allow me to toss Bjorn’s limp body on her work table.
“I stabbed him.”
She looks over his body, quickly gathering her bottles and jars of herbs while I tie his wrists to the table legs.
“What did he do to warrant you beating him within an inch of his life?”
“He kept two women chained in his room. Multiple men were there all night, Siggy. This is unacceptable behavior from a clan.” I pour hot water into a clean wooden bowl, and she closes the medicine room door.
“You broke his jaw, and his side is swollen like you ruptured an organ,” she mutters, waving me toward the hearth. “Bjorn is a troublemaker. I’ve already given treatment to a few women who came down here after being with him.”
“Will you speak that truth to Harald?” I ask, knowing I am asking a lot for an elderly woman who relies on this stronghold to keep her safe.
“And your new friend, Rasha? Is she hurt?” Siggy slides a glance my way while she keeps working on Bjorn’s leg.
“She isn’t unscathed.” I clean my bloody hands, scrubbing away all remnants of the piece of shit lying helplessly on the table.
“I saw things in my runes last night.” She keeps her voice low, leaving Bjorn’s open leg for a moment to come across the table.
“We all did.”
“Isn’t it time for you to remember who you are? Rasha is the most capable virgin in the last thousand years. Don’t falter now that you’ve let your cock take over.”
I bite back a laugh at the old woman who knows me through and through.
“Just keep him from dying so he can stand trial. I promise there will be rolling hills of flowers for you on the other side of the Vanheim when you meet your end, my old friend.” I kiss her cheek and leave her to patch up Bjorn.
The courtyard is congested with people waiting for me to face Harald. Someone must have woken him because he clearly looks disheveled. Wearing none of the finery we’re accustomed to seeing him in, Harald parts the crowd for me to walk directly to him.
“Shaw!” he yells, thinking if he is the loudest, then he will be believed.
I do the unthinkable and slightly bow to the Jarl to appease whatever cost I am to bear for today.
“Where the fuck is Bjorn, and why is everyone here questioning my men?” Harald seethes, invading my space, so I back up.
“Ingrid from your village and Katrine of the Beaivi Clan never returned to the longhouse last night. The women asked for help, and I found them chained up in Bjorn’s room. Is that the type of Yule you’re practicing here, Jarl Harald?”
The women have already spread the story around, leaving Rasha out of it. I have no need for games and have no intention of acting like these men.
Harald gets in my face again. “Where is Rasha?”
“Why would I know that?” I stare at Harald who is not processing what is happening.
Leif breaks into our stare down to say, “There are others, Jarl. Other women who have come forward. He needs to stand trial, or the gods will abandon us!”
“Where are they? Where are these women?” Harald asks, waving his arms around like a chicken.
“We are here,” Enora speaks this time, standing in front of Ingrid, who shows plenty of visible signs of a struggle.
Five others come out from the crowd, and my blood vibrates against my bones at the severity of what I’ve allowed to happen while staying here.
The guilt that I could have stopped this makes me sick.
“Can you point out the men?” Harald asks, his true weakness showing.
“We will have justice for the defilement of our women!” another Viking yells, drawing his sword.
Harald leans to me as if we are in an alliance and asks, “What am I to do?”
Crossing my arms over my thumping heart, I give him the only correct answer. “Morals are not hard to live by when you strip your ego and desire from what is right and wrong.”
“Trial! Trial!” the crowd chants, banging the walls and ground around us in a methodical chorus.
The higher ranking men from the other two clans close in on Harald, and I have half a mind to throw him to the wolves. Jorvik won’t speak against him, even though Katrine’s his responsibility. How he will look her father in the eye when he returns to the Beaivi Clan? I have no idea.
“You will compensate us for their virtue, and we will see those men punished before the Hunt. Our women will not participate unless we all agree on the eligible men.”
An angry mob faces Harald, ready to put him on trial with his own men, but where would that leave us with the King? The King poses the greatest threat to our way of life, so it might be best to leave Harald in place for now.
“Agree, Harald,” I instruct, giving him the nudge he needs. “What would the King think of this when he asked you to act with chaste humility, did he not? What about Rasha?” I ask, and Harald glances at me with panic lacing his narrow eyes.
“We will set this right by sundown,” he announces and pushes through the crowd to the staircase leading to Rasha’s room. My knuckles clench, missing the feeling of the iron bars that come in handy when I need to crush bone.
Walking out of the courtyard, I hear Enora thanking me, but I keep going. I have spent too much time laying low and going with the flow. Siggy is right. Fuck, Aslaug was right when she brought Rasha to the tomb. It is time to start the ritual I have put out of my mind for far too long.
After I collect my coat and stock the kiln for later, I follow the same path along the wall that Rasha and I took before and wedge my sore shoulders through the broken slat.
With all the clans here, I would think someone would have fixed this, but I thank fate that no one has noticed.
Harald’s gate guard would be the first to accuse me of leaving and being guilty of beating Bjorn for my own purpose if I stroll out the main gate.
The overcast, lavender sky means snow is on the way. I pray it snows until the Wild Hunt, the women receive a respite from the feasts, and I have time to eavesdrop on the grumblings around the village.
Aslaug bounds through the deep snow toward me, and I kneel in a true genuflection for her.
“How are you?” I softly ask, stroking her clean fur. Feeling her stomach, I can tell she healed well, and fur is already growing over the scars. She arches her back and rubs my legs with her strong body.
“I am sorry, Aslaug. I wasn’t ready. Bring me to the tomb?
” She purrs. Deep rumbling emits from her square head and broad, furry chest. I don’t care that the sun won’t set for another few hours.
There is no one that will dare venture out on the ice, and the village will be preoccupied with the trial.
My boots crunch in the snow as the massive cat nimbly trots through the untouched, white powder. The reflection of the mountain range on the icy fjord is the piece of the puzzle Aslaug wasn’t able to explain to Rasha.
The Immortal Realm sits equal to the realm of men, but in between lies the Vanheim. In that limbo, Skadi’s tomb exists because she existed in both realms. The soul of a mortal cannot pass through the Vanheim, even though I am learning that maybe the soul of a mortal can find the doorway.
I have waited so long to be able to return home.
I need Skadi’s bow to cross through since it is the relic that cast me out.
Without honoring my penance, the scales are tipped against me, and I have never been willing to bring a partner into my problems. Maybe it has been my own foolishness that caused me to withdraw myself from the clan for all these years.
Rasha is different; she is more than I could have ever asked for.
I can only pray she will not hate me for the ritual I am about to begin.
Finding where she spilled her own precious blood is easy.
The ice suspended her offering, waiting for me to return.
Aslaug slides on her padded paws over to me with a mouthful of kindling, and I light a small fire to heat the edges of my seax knife.
“It is nice to have you next to me,” I murmur to the cat while we wait for the fire to grow hot enough. Scratching her head, I peer down into the bottom of the fjord with Aslaug where the top of the stone tomb has lain untouched for a thousand years.
Heating the edges of the knife, I cut the ice around where Rasha’s blood is encased and take out the empty amulet. I handmade the smaller, more intricate piece to hold what I thought would be my blood one day. Sliding the filigree cover off, I lay it down and put the blood-filled ice over top.
Aslaug and I sit while I stoke the fire until the sun is barely visible over the tall trees, and the heavy clouds start to release fat snowflakes.
Sitting with the great lynx reminds me of our struggles in the first weeks of being cast out.
There were many cold nights in a body I didn’t know was so fragile and many hungry days when I lost my way in the Sacred Forest, but Aslaug never left me.
“I am sorry for the pain I have caused you. For the loneliness I brought to you when it was only me to blame,” I whisper against her thick, insulated fur. She leans her body against my legs, and I feel the journey coming to an end. But what will become of me when Rasha gains the bow?
A spark skates across the ice, and I sit up, watching the ice dissolve into water.
Rasha’s thick blood fills the well in the amulet.
Between the bracelet I gave her with my hidden chain inside and the amulet now containing the blood of the virgin chosen by her people, she should have what she needs to claim Skadi’s bow.
I still have the bone runes in my pocket. Taking the one out that Rasha didn’t see last night, I turn it over in my hand.
Rebirth.
Aslaug’s amber eyes stare up at me, and I grind my jaw, knowing exactly what she’s thinking.
“I can’t tell her. That defeats the ritual.
” Taking the rest of the bone runes out of the pouch, I smash them to powder with the end of the seax knife against the ice.
Like I am adding root vegetables to stew, I scoop up the shaky dust and add the bits to her blood, swirling it till it mixes inside the small amulet.
“That should coagulate things so this works. If it doesn’t, we will both die, and I don’t know what that would mean for you,” I say to the cat. She sticks close as I smother the fire.
Gazing at the trees, I ponder leaving Rasha the amulet and heading back to my cabin, knowing that either way, I will eventually hear what took place. But I asked her to wait for me at the Wild Hunt, and I still need my map.
The thought of her aroused and running towards me, when we both know my restraint hangs by a frayed thread, causes my cock to twitch.
In a mask, I will be able to let out a fraction of who I am, but some urges are too primal to be quelled.
She will need to stay a virgin longer than she thinks.
Once she learns my true purpose, will I run the risk of damning the relationship I hope we have?