Epilogue #3
Raye fought down her flinch, because this one wasn’t new either, and was at least partly due to the depth of Gaelfr’s scent upon her, which even she could smell was stronger than Kalfr’s these days.
But she kept her eyes steady on Svein’s face, and shook her head.
“No, I love Papa Kalfr just as much as I love Papa Gael,” she said firmly.
“And we all love you equally, too, and we always will.”
She could see Svein slowly deflating, casting an uneasy glance between Kalfr and Gaelfr, and Raye smiled at him, gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Now, Papa Kalfr and I are late with our morning survey,” she told him. “How do you feel about coming along and helping us?”
Her glance at Kalfr found him smiling and nodding, holding out his hand toward Svein. And after briefly considering it, Svein clasped his hand in return, and soon was skipping beside him as they headed toward the stairs.
Raye exchanged a quick, rueful glance with Gaelfr, and after a quick squeeze to his arm, she headed off downstairs, too. Where she soon found Svein already happily chattering to Kalfr about the forthcoming Bautul Brawl, and listing off all the games he wanted to play with his friends.
Raye smiled as she joined them, and together she and Kalfr led Svein through their now-familiar routine.
Checking each room, doing a quick review of the provisions in the storeroom and root cellar, making sure Skirvir’s axe wasn’t posing any new threats in the muster-room — a situation that admittedly happened less often these days, since Skirvir had finally relented to Fengr’s storage proposal for his axe, and it now hung grandly in its own place of honour on the wall, just at the perfect height for Skirvir to easily grasp it.
However, despite Fengr and Skirvir’s apparent truce, contention still occasionally broke out between them, to the point where Skirvir’s axe had recently mysteriously disappeared for an entire week, leading to a deeply alarming afternoon during which a rampaging Skirvir had torn Fengr’s entire room apart, while Fengr had screamed and thrown plates at his head.
But today, Skirvir’s axe was exactly where it was supposed to be, hung with pride over the neat, organized muster-room, and Raye and Kalfr shared a relieved grin before heading further down the corridor.
Svein had run off ahead now, making a game of checking each room before they could get there, and Raye leaned closer to Kalfr as they walked, her hand clasping his.
“Thanks for that, earlier,” she murmured. “You didn’t — actually mind, did you? About me and Gael?”
It was a question that still sometimes nagged at her, and Svein’s accusation had apparently cut closer than she would have liked — but Kalfr’s glance down toward her was surprised, his head shaking. “Ach, no,” he replied. “Why should I mind?”
Raye shrugged, gave him a complicated-feeling smile. “Well, the two of us doing these things without you,” she said. “And the strength of Gael’s scent on me, too.”
Kalfr shook his head again, and gave her a fond smile in return. “Ach, but you know how he loves this. How much power this grants him. And” — he leaned in, inhaled deep at her hair — “how sweet you scent, with my ástvinur so deep upon you.”
Raye nodded, her own smile deepening, because yes, that was another new thing she’d learned, these past months.
Another thing Kalfr had written to her, in fact, in the letters they’d begun writing back and forth, every week or two.
It wasn’t something either of them had meant to fall into, but Raye had treasured every letter he wrote, every quiet truth he shared, and she’d found herself wanting to write back, and share her own truth, too.
And they’d written for a few weeks about this one — how Kalfr loved Gaelfr’s scent upon her, and how it was another kind of power and safety, all its own.
How with every breath he took, he could scent the vivid proof of their reconciliation, the truth that they were together again. A family.
It had led to more letters about their own families, and their parents, and how they’d spent their years apart.
Raye had ended up writing pages and pages about Svein’s birth and early childhood, sharing as many details as she could, and even asking Kalfr’s advice on various questions and quandaries she’d faced.
And she’d answered all his questions in return, doing her best to make him feel as though he’d still been there, still part of Svein’s life, even during their years apart.
And alongside it, they’d written about lighter things, too.
About projects they wanted to do in the garden, or food they wanted to cook, and Kalfr would ask her questions about Mirkandian food and culture, and Raye would draw him little sketches of tapestry ideas, and ask his opinion.
And sometimes Kalfr would give her teasing tests or challenges, too, and they would play them out in bed together, while Gaelfr urged them on.
It was all more peace, more ever-deepening trust between them, and Raye squeezed Kalfr’s hand as they next headed out to the garden, where Svein gleefully greeted Mr. Stinkles and Mr. Snoofles, and cajoled Eyolf and Iyolf into a lively game of chase around the garden.
Leaving Raye and Kalfr to wander contentedly around together, reviewing their beds and rotations, discussing what should be moved or trimmed or expanded.
“These are looking well, are they not?” Kalfr asked her, nodding toward one of their newest beds — one that was comprised almost entirely of Raye’s own plants from back at her cottage.
Once everything there had died down, and the men had abandoned her cottage’s burnt-out remains for good, Kalfr had taken Eyolf and Iyolf late one night, and they’d dug out everything they could — and luckily, most of her plants had been far enough from the cottage that they’d survived the fire unscathed.
And now, they were all growing here instead, including her precious Mirkandian herbs and spices, and her plants for dyeing colours, too.
The coreopsis, the black hollyhock, the saffron crocuses she and Kalfr had once spent an entire morning harvesting together.
And just the month before, Raye had finally begun some proper dyeing — and at Kalfr’s knowing nudge, she next headed further west through the garden, toward the nearby creek.
Toward where there now stood a brand-new, well-ventilated dye shed, complete with a sturdy worktable, multiple large cauldrons, a firepit, and all the dyeing tools she might need.
It had been a proper mating-gift from Gaelfr, built by the band in secret over many weeks, and the sight of it still caught Raye’s breath, and made her send a silent thanks to the goddess.
A dye shed was a luxury she’d never once imagined possessing, but now it was here, hers, along with all the rest. Her home. Her family.
“Prayers next?” she murmured toward Kalfr, to which he easily acquiesced, and after a quick check-in with Eyolf and Iyolf and Svein, they headed toward the altar together.
Their prayers together were now one of Raye’s favourite parts of every day, and they were another opportunity for her and Kalfr to reconnect with each other, to be honest with each other and the goddess.
And today, once Raye was kneeling beside Kalfr on the white-covered stone — now without even a trace of that dark red blood upon it — she fervently thanked the goddess for all her great gifts.
For Kalfr, for Gaelfr, for Svein, for the band, for their home. Their family.
Kalfr’s prayer was similar, his voice quiet and steady, at ease again with his goddess, the way he was meant to be.
And as always, he prayed for each one of his band members by name, asking for their health and growth and peace — and then he especially prayed for Raye and Gaelfr, and for Svein, and for their unborn sons.
“I pray you will see my kin, and bless them,” he murmured, his head bowed, his hand over his heart.
“I pray you will guide me to uphold them, and honour them, and raise them high around me. For they have granted me such healing, such peace, and it is my greatest wish to return this gift. To show them only my faith, my hope, and my love.”
The tears stung Raye’s eyes as he spoke, and once he’d finished, she gave him a weepy smile, and squeezed him tight. “You already do, Kalfr,” she whispered. “But thank you.”
Kalfr’s smile back wavered a little too, but as always, they both felt easy again, right again.
And soon they were both back at work, helping with all the preparations for the Brawl.
Grum was currently working on an elaborate meal that included slow-roasting an entire boar in the ground, a process that required the help of multiple orcs, so Raye and Kalfr were on baking duty, making more batches of dumplings and sweetcakes.
While Gaelfr worked with Svein to prepare the training-grounds for the brawl itself, and Othan and Skirvir and Fengr set up the performance space, with plenty of room for dancing and observing.
And finally it was just the setup in the garden, hauling out multiple tables and barrels and plates and mugs, and anything else their clanmates might need.
Their guests began arriving around mid-afternoon, and Raye stood with Kalfr and Gaelfr at the garden’s entrance, welcoming them all to the byrgi.
She knew most of their fellow Bautul by name, now — Ivar, Arne, Magni, Matuk, Thorvald with his handsome human mate Bassey, and multiple Bautul from bands in the south, including a lovely woman named Inga, and her two huge warrior mates.
Raye also gladly greeted a pair of sweet, generous gardeners from the mountain named Ezog and Lydia, who had freely shared their advice and their plants with her multiple times now, and Ezog had recently begun helping Iyolf make plans around gaining some livestock for the byrgi, too.