Chapter 63 #2
And Raye needed to keep trusting herself, too. Needed to keep trying. To be brave. To do her best. And what else could they do, in this moment? How could they reach Svein sooner? How could they possibly find a way through this?
“There must be some way we can help Skirvir’s leg, and move faster,” she said, on a deep breath. “Can we try bandaging it? Or cleaning it? Or is there anything you could do with your magic, Fengr? Something?”
There was silence from both Fengr and Skirvir in return, though Fengr’s shoulders hunched, his arms down stiff and straight at his sides. “I am not a healer,” he countered. “I can only feel people, not fix them. But —”
Raye waited, her heartbeat skipping, until Fengr loudly groaned, and stalked back toward them. “Oh, fine,” he snapped, with surprising menace in his voice. “Sit down, you stupid pillock. And not one touch, or one word.”
Raye blinked between them, bewildered, but it seemed that Skirvir had understood, sinking heavily down onto a nearby log with a pained grunt.
And when he yanked up his trouser leg, revealing the bloody, angry gash down the front of his calf, Fengr stalked over, and sank onto his knees before him.
And after a baleful glare up at Skirvir’s watching face, he bent down, and began — licking.
Stroking his black tongue at the bloody wound, again and again.
As if — he was helping to heal it. Just like Kalfr and Gaelfr had done to Raye, whenever they’d bitten her.
And clearly it was helping, based on the way Skirvir let out a slow, unsteady exhale, his head tilting back, his eyes fluttering closed.
But to his credit, he didn’t speak, or make any move to touch Fengr, either.
Instead, he gripped both hands together on his lap, and kept his eyes tightly closed, until Fengr leaned back again, his mouth pursed.
“Enough?” he asked, clipped. “Or does it yet ache?”
Skirvir looked a little dazed as he blinked his eyes open again, and glanced down to where the wound indeed appeared to be distinctly improved, its edges fully knitted together again, the blood entirely gone.
And once Skirvir had stretched and flexed the leg, he briefly put weight on it, before hopping up onto both feet.
“No, this is much better,” he said, husky.
“I greatly thank you, Fengr. Are you sure you do not bear any healing magic, in this?”
Fengr blinked, as a flicker of surprise, or even gratification, flared across his face — but then he shrugged and spun away again, hoisting Grum’s pack on his back, and swiping for Skirvir’s giant axe, too.
“Mount him, then, woman,” he ordered, but there was a trace of warmth in his voice. “And we will run.”
They would run. It was another flicker of light, of hope, and Raye clambered up onto Skirvir’s massive back, clinging to his shoulders while he hooked his arms beneath her knees, just like how she’d often carried Svein when he was small.
And with a jolt and a kick, they were running again, Fengr leading the way with long, graceful strides, while Skirvir huffed and galloped along behind.
And as Raye clutched to Skirvir’s back, jolting with every footfall, she kept fighting for that light, that hope. They were doing this. Trusting each other. She could be brave, and do her best. She would.
Time began to slip away after that, blurring into a ceaseless stream of trees and urgency.
Raye’s arms and shoulders had begun aching, her body stiff and shaky, but she knew Skirvir couldn’t be feeling any better, and he’d gradually begun favouring his good leg again, too.
And when they stopped for a short rest and a bite to eat from Grum’s pack, Fengr knelt and licked Skirvir’s leg without prompting this time, before waving them up again.
“Are we getting close, at least?” Raye asked, as she again clambered up on Skirvir’s back. “Can you tell where Svein is yet? Or how he’s doing?”
The image of Svein alone and suffering still hovered far too close and painful behind her eyes, but she forced herself to focus on Fengr’s face, the stiff set of his shoulders as he glanced back toward the west. “I ken he has almost reached your cottage,” he replied carefully. “But…”
But. Raye stared at him, her arms seizing against Skirvir’s shoulders. “But what?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”
Fengr grimaced, and again glanced toward the west. “We are not alone, in chasing him,” he said heavily. “Humans are coming closer, also. A small band. For a while now.”
Humans, coming closer. For a while now. No. No…
“And they are coming,” Fengr continued, “from where this army would have been travelling toward us, on the humans’ road south. And this road…”
No. A whimper escaped Raye’s mouth, because why hadn’t she thought of that?
The main road south through the province didn’t go past the byrgi, but past the village near Raye’s cottage.
Which meant it was a direct route straight from where Sybil’s army would have been. A route that was closer, and faster…
“Then run!” Raye gasped, kicking at Skirvir as though he were a horse. “Faster! Please!”
Fengr didn’t reply, just spun around and kicked off again, darting through the trees, with Skirvir lumbering along behind, Raye clinging to his back. They had to do this. Had to trust each other, do their best, save Svein, please, goddess, please…
Raye had been purposefully avoiding thoughts of the goddess in all this, perhaps because the memory of that dream last night — and what had come after — was still too powerful, too painful.
And if the goddess was above them, she was hiding behind all the grey clouds still covering the sky, and maybe it meant she wasn’t seeing this, wasn’t helping them…
But no. If Raye was trusting herself, trusting Kalfr and Gaelfr, trusting her kin — she wanted to trust the goddess, too. She wanted to believe she was here, watching over them. Watching over Svein, even when Raye couldn’t.
“Please, goddess,” she whispered, and she didn’t care if Skirvir heard.
“Please, help us. Please keep Svein safe. Please give us your strength and wisdom as we face our enemies. And please” — she clung tighter to Skirvir’s back — “give Skirvir all your healing, all your speed and power. All your greatest blessings.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, Skirvir straightened, gaining an extra burst of speed, so she kept praying for him, and for Fengr, too. And for Kalfr and Gaelfr, and all the rest of the band, and for Svein. For his safety, his bravery, his trust.
“Almost there,” Fengr gasped, between heavy breaths, as he reeled up and thrust both his clawed hands against a large oak tree. “But our pursuers are close, also. And more men are up ahead, near to your cottage.”
Damn it, damn it. And Raye could even hear a faint echoing bark in the distance, followed by the distinct shout of a man’s voice. “And Svein?” she croaked. “Where is he?”
Fengr closed his eyes, pressed both hands to the tree’s bark. “I can feel he has — reached your cottage,” he rasped back. “And he — ran straight inside it.”
Svein ran straight inside. Meaning that any watching men would have seen him, would be pursuing him, no, no, no.
And as Raye slid down off Skirvir’s back, she desperately fought to think, to trust, to force her way through the shouting dizzying fear.
Svein knew how to get into the cottage’s front door, even when it was barred.
And he knew how to bar it again from the inside, too, and with the bars on the windows too, there was no other obvious way in.
And if Svein refused to open the door — surely he would refuse to open the door — the men would need to break it.
Or, more likely, set it on fire. Set the entire cottage on fire, just like they’d threatened last time, but now with Svein trapped inside it.
The horror and dread flared again, but Raye again shoved her way through it, groped for her sword hilt, for the light, the bravery.
Svein was inside. He was safe, for this moment, thanks to all Raye’s previous plans and efforts and preparations.
She’d done the right thing, she could trust herself in this, could trust —
Gaelfr.
“The tunnel,” she gasped, as her heartbeat kicked into her throat. “The tunnel! I completely forgot — but Gaelfr hired orcs to dig a hidden tunnel beneath the cottage, going up inside. And if there’s any way we could find the entrance, could we —”
She couldn’t say it, her voice badly wavering, but Fengr’s nostrils flared, and he again pressed both hands to the tree, and closed his eyes. His breaths dragging in hard now, his forehead furrowed with concentration, while Raye sent up another silent, pleading prayer. Please, goddess, please…
“There,” Fengr breathed, pointing a shaky hand toward the south — and without hesitation, Skirvir swept Raye into his arms and ran, while Fengr sprinted off too, swiftly passing them, heading toward a nearby rocky ravine.
A place Raye vaguely recognized now, and yes, it would be a good place to disguise a tunnel’s exit.
And Fengr was racing straight toward what looked to be an old tangle of roots and brush, and when he yanked it up, there was indeed a hole. A tunnel.
“The thing is,” Fengr gasped, even as he furiously waved Raye and Skirvir toward it, “once they start looking — they’ll still be able to follow our scents straight here. We won’t have much time. And there’s not a second exit, so —”
He wrung his hands, looking around with increasing panic in his eyes, but Skirvir clapped him on the shoulder.
“Then you and I shall both need to stand guard, whilst our sister goes in,” he said firmly.
“If the men come close, you shall run and fetch her and Svein, whilst I seek to distract them, and keep the exit open for you.”
Raye’s heart dropped — was Skirvir offering to sacrifice himself for them? But his eyes were flinty, his mouth set, and he gently nudged Raye toward the tunnel. “Now go, woman,” he said. “Fulfill the goddess’ will, and save your son.”
Fulfill the goddess’ will. The gratitude heaved in Raye’s chest, and she fervently nodded, and clutched her hand to her heart. “Thank you, my brothers,” she choked, already backing down the tunnel. “Goddess be with you.”
And with that, she spun around, and ran.