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Post by Jenny on Jul 10, 2014 21:32:47 GMT -5
After the silence had passed, he goaded her again. “’Twas a pleasure to see your kinsman dead, barbaric as it was for you to murder him. How does it make you feel that he will never have peace, body torn apart and burned. I have been told that none of your kinsmen remain alive. No more will weep for you when I take your own head, and any that I shall see even shed a tear I will suspect them of assisting you though they knew ‘twas dangerous to do so. They will be punished and severely. Do you think that you have anywhere to run to? How long will you escape my arrow, I wonder?” He stopped speaking, moving to another tree, circling the grove slowly and silently as his eyes roamed for her.
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Post by KD on Jul 10, 2014 21:42:39 GMT -5
If Asger had burned her father's head, it meant his spirit was no longer with her and she was truly alone. But it also meant his soul was free to follow her mother and siblings into the lands beyond, which was somewhat of a comfort. Eira sat down quietly against the tree trunk, her eyes shimmering with tears she refused to let fall, wounded by his words though she fought not to be. Enough. She wouldn't play this game any longer. She settled the bow and quiver across her lap, back against the tree trunk. She could hear him, merely turning her head to follow his sounds. Living or dead...what did it matter anymore?
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Post by Jenny on Jul 10, 2014 21:53:59 GMT -5
When he found her out, seeing the bow across her lap, he knew that she no longer wished to live. He was annoyed, for she had given up too easily. His words had given her nothing left to lose, but rather than going out in honor and glory, she decided instead to allow herself to be slaughtered like an animal. He no longer had to hide, but approached her warily. When drawing the bow again full force, he heard a ripping in the side of his chest. Despite the fact that his eyes were coming in and out of focus, his body shaking from the pain, he gritted his teeth and let the arrow fly, aiming for her heart. At that same moment, his body simply collapsed from under him. He hit his head against a flat stone and everything went black.
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Post by KD on Jul 10, 2014 22:13:54 GMT -5
Ironically, his arrow plowed a furrow into the shoulder that was already wounded, tearing flesh and nicking the bone. She gritted her teeth, the pain clearing her head, clapping a hand to the gushing wound. It took her a moment to realize what had happened and she sighed, an exasperated sound. His stitches had torn, the fool.
She tore the remains of her skirt and bound her own wound before rising and moving to the fallen Viking. To top it all off, he'd hit his head. For a long time, she stood staring down at the Jarl's son, the haze of despair oddly lifted from her. Surely this was a sign from the goddess she wasn't meant to die yet? She pondered that for a moment. She considered simply slitting his throat while he lay there but despite what she said before, Eira was not a Viking and she couldn't simply view someone else as an animal. No matter how much she wanted otherwise, he was a person to her, though he didn't return the courtesy.
It was instinct, that's what she told herself later. She always followed her instinct even when it made no logical sense, like it didn't now. Or maybe it was simply that at heart, Eira was a healer. She lifted his head, using a piece of cloth soaked with rainwater to press to the knot there. He hadn't cracked his skull, which was something of a miracle...but then again his head did seem to be made of solid rock. Certainly there was no brain inside to be damaged.
She knelt and drew his shirt up, exposing the wound. It, too, wasn't as bad as it could have been. Not all the stitches had torn. She tightened the remaining ones, helping to draw the wound closed again, cleaned out the blood, and then laid her hand on it, breathing out a low humming sound, a prayer. She couldn't heal it completely but she took some of the pain away and helped close the wound where the stitches weren't able to.
Eira used the rest of her skirt to bind his wound. No fool, she took his bow, his sword, and his arrows along with her own as she staggered out of the grove, the last of her energy swiftly fading. In the dim light of dawn, she found a low tree with thick branches some ways away from the grove. Grateful, she hauled herself up to the lowest branch and curled up in the fork of the tree, supported between the trunk and another branch, stowing the weapons in a hollow in the trunk above her head. She leaned her head against the bark and sank into an exhausted sleep.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 10, 2014 22:31:03 GMT -5
It was some time later that Ulfr regained consciousness. Bearily, he lifted his head, which pounded as if he had taken too much drink. But the rock had had a strange softness to it. Confused, his thoughts muddled and disjointed, he knit his brow and looked down at the neat square of cloth, still somewhat moist. He unwisely rolled to sit up, and cursed when pain greeted him all too gleefully. He looked sharply to where the Celtic slave had been and saw blood, a broken arrow where she had pulled it out, and bits of torn cloth. No weapons, none to be found, even the dagger in his boot was missing! He let out a growl of frustration. Then he took stock of his own health, raised his hand to the side of his ribs, raising the other arm to look at the bindings that were now wrapped around his chest. The torn bandage with which it had been previously bound lay in ribbons where someone had removed it. He carefully unbound the wrapping to look at the wound. The stitching was still there, half of it, but strangely enough the flesh had knit, though the scar was ragged and red. He blinked in confusion, looking around for any sign of the healer, but saw no one about. He rewrapped the wound, tying it securely and pulled back on his shirt and jerkin, tugging it down as he stood up, albeit wobbly, and breathed in and out slowly.
The cloth that had been used as a bandage was not the white of the linen that a doctor had used, nor did anyone frequent this place enough to know that he had been here. Gods… could it be? Surely not the witch woman he had hunted. He spun about, looking for any sign of her, but the rains, though they had ceased, had churned the ground to mud and hid even his footprints. He didn’t know just what to think and started back towards his horse, his mind reeling, unable to fully grasp just why she had done this. To him, of all people.
The horse remained where Ulfr had left it, bound by the bridle to a tree, and though it’s course hair was wet it did not look the worse for wear. It happily nipped at the underbrush, content to stay where it was. Ulfr untied it and mounted the horse, then turned it about towards the manor. He gave one more uneasy glance around him and then rode through the trees, kicking the horse into a canter when it was safe to do so. He headed home, eager to find out the state of Asger, and hoped to gods that he was not yet dead. He would be ashamed to not have brought back the woman’s head as promised, and he was not sure what more to do, in light of what she had done for him.
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Post by KD on Jul 10, 2014 22:41:51 GMT -5
When Eira thought about it, she'd admit that had been a large part of why she had done it, rather than selflessness. If anything, if he hunted her down she'd hoped he would feel guilt at killing her after she'd helped heal his wounds when she could have easily killed him. Or have it eat away at him that the rest of his life he had only because she'd allowed it.
That was perhaps over exaggerating but she felt she had the right to.
Eira came awake with a start to find the storm had passed and the sun shining through the trees. She went still, half expecting to find herself in chains again, and looked around cautiously. No sign of the Viking, he was either still unconscious or he couldn't find her. She swung her legs over the branch, sitting on it, and blinked slowly as she looked down.
There was a bear sleeping at the base of her tree.
The creature was a small one, not a cub but not quite fully grown either. Eira sat still and sent a glance around for any sign that it was still with its mother, in which case she was probably in trouble. There was no sign of such a thing, however, and even as she thought it, the bear stirred. It blinked up at her uninterestedly, yawned, and lumbered to its feet, padding off into the woods to feed on the still plentiful nuts and berries. Eira watched it go in wonder. The bear wasn't one of her goddess' known animals but she couldn't help but wonder if she'd sent it to guard her. If so, she was grateful, if it had simply been the bear had found the spot comfortable, than may the gods bless him and keep him and let him grow big and fat and die of old age in his cave.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 10, 2014 23:09:43 GMT -5
If Eira wanted her freedom, she would do well to stay away from the port. Any Nord settlements, even farmsteads, would likely turn her away being who she was. If one were to look upon her face they may also shrink back with revulsion, or eye her tattoos with uneasiness. Her luck there would only be if she were to stumble across a slave who had a rare sense of loyalty for their masters, and if the Nord were to see that she was assisted, they would reprimand the slave and likely throw insults, or stones, to chase her off. The mountains would have not been an unlikely option to traverse, if it were not so late in the year. Her best bet would be to stay in the woods, out of sight of civilization, for her tattered clothes and chaffed skin from the bonds she had been freed from marked her as a escaped slave.
The sun warmed Ulfr’s back but did nothing to ease his soreness. The sky was blue and clear, the clouds having mostly dispersed after the storm had moved on. He judged it to be about mid-day. He traveled up the pass to the Jarl’s homestead and dismounted. The servants looked upon him warily and he in turn did so, for it had not escaped his mind last day’s lesson of fleeting loyalty. He walked through the door, his wound stiff but happily less pained, and walked up the stairs to seek out word of Asger’s condition, assuming that he would have been moved to more comfortable quarters. The doctor was in the hall, closing a door quietly behind him. When he saw Ulfr, his gaze lowered.
“What of Asger?” Ulfr strode up to him swiftly, wanting the doctor to look at him, wanting a word of good news.
“He passed in the night due to fever. I tried to make him as comfortable as I could.” He dared a peek at Ulfr’s face, which darkened with anger. “Lad, we did all that was in our power to save him, but the venom spread and caused necrosis in the limb. Even if I removed it, it would have been unlikely that he would survive. I am sorry for your loss.” The doctor was truly sorrowful, for he had liked Asger.
“Where does his body lay?” Ulfr’s anger ebbed.
The doctor motioned to the door behind him. “I was about to make my report to the Jarl. Preparations will be made to move his body for burial.” He raised a hand and placed it on Ulfr’s shoulder in a comforting gesture then moved on.
Ulfr opened the door slowly, walking quietly, his eyes moving to the bed where Asger’s body lay, covered by a shroud. He closed the door quietly and moved to the bedside, raising the shroud to look upon Asger’s face.
“I am sorry my friend,” he murmured aloud. “I failed to keep my oath…” Ulfr slid into a chair as the sadness took him. He folded his hands on his belly and stared at Asger’s face. It did not look to be at peace as a dead man’s should, he died with pain and suffering. And he did not fall in the glory of battle. Ulfr closed his eyes and turned his face up skyward, murmuring a prayer in hopes that the Valkyries may take pity upon him and take his past glories into account and bring his soul up to Valhalla.
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Post by KD on Jul 10, 2014 23:19:19 GMT -5
Eira had no intention of leaving the woods. She had no idea if the Jarl's son would come back to hunt her down, but she had weapons, she had her freedom for the moment and despite her wounds, she felt better than she had since she'd first been pinned to the ground and clapped in chains. She would have to get down to business of finding a proper place to dig out an existence but for the moment she wandered the woods, eating berries and nuts and drinking from clear streams, soaking in the solitude of nothing but her and nature. When she caught the glimpse of what she thought might be a white stag, it filled her with the kind of joy she'd only felt when meditating in the woods back at home.
Brittney and the other slaves were careful to steer clear of Ulfr as best they could and not show any emotion. However, the fact he had come back without Eira...or her head...filled them with hope. The servants and the household mourned Asger's passing but it meant little to the thralls. Asger hadn't been particularly cruel, but he hadn't been kind to them either.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 10, 2014 23:46:48 GMT -5
Ulfr stayed beside Asger’s body, having moved to pull the shroud back over his face and sitting down in the same chair as he had before.
“You never finished that tale of your time in the orient, my old friend,” Ulfr continued, smiling softly as he spoke to the body as if it could hear him. He had a great sadness about him and was unwilling to admit to himself that Asger was truly gone. Perhaps an hour passed as Ulfr murmured aloud his ruminations before the door was opened and the Jarl himself walked in, who observed Asger’s bear of a body stretched out on the bed. He sighed deeply, and long, sitting down in the chair opposite his son’s, pulling it from its place to the bedside.
“Oh, my friend… The Valkries themselves cry tears for you passing.”
Ulfr raised his eyes to his father. “How could this have happened? I thought the man would outlive even I, so strong was his spirit.”
“Drank you under the table nearly every night,” the old man chuckled. “I am going to miss him.”
“Aye, as will I.” Ulfr bobbed his head.
The Jarl looked at him sharply, suddenly, with a hawk-like gaze. “I was told you had given an oath to bring back that thrall’s head. Where is it?”
Ulfr’s stomach turned sour, lurching. He could not deal with this and his father’s wrath. “I was not able to kill her.”
“What?” The Jarl snapped, indignant. “You stayed your hand for that witch?”
“Nay, father,” Ulfr sighed, shifted in his seat so he was sitting upright, and clasped his hands together. “My arrow was true, I thought I had slain her…”
The Jarl Halldorr looked baffled, knitting his brow. “Then why is she not dead?”
Ulfr chuckled abashedly. “I was unwise to track her down while my own wound was young that eve. For all my strength, my legs would not hold me even as I tried to take her life. I struck my head upon a stone.”
This was unexpected. Ulfr was a fine hunter… “Do you have proof that she lives still?”
“Nay, my arrow was broken upon the ground. I saw no other sign of her today.”
The Jarl frowned deeply. “How fare you?” He looked up again, true concern on his face for his son’s health. One he loved had been lost, if his own son left him too… gods help him.
Ulfr reflexively moved his hand up to the side of his chest. “I am well, father. My wound has healed quickly…” There was a marked uneasiness in his voice, not lost to his father. He quickly changed the subject, not wishing to speak of healing or of the woman. “Have the burial arrangements have been made?”
“Aye,” the Jarl was distracted from further train of thought. “He will be buried tomorrow next. His kinsmen will not have far to travel, having come for the festival.”
“Are we to continue the games?”
“Nay, the games will be halted. Loki must have a hand in this mischief.”
“Luck does not seem to be on our side,” Ulfr remarked dryly. “This does not bode well.”
The Jarl shook his head. “Talk is beginning to spread that the harvest may be soured… our own people are struck with fear.”
Ulfr’s body stiffened in alarm. “This cannot be so, what with the winter at our heels!”
“It is just talk,” the Jarl admitted, waving off the thought.
Both father and son lapsed into silence, each to their own thoughts.
Ulfr could not help but allow his mind to think upon the woman. Why would she have reason to heal him? The fact that he had been so vulnerable unnerved him. He looked up to his father, meeting a thoughtful gaze. It was all that he could do to keep himself from writhing about beneath it. He quickly stood to his feet. “Excuse me, father, I will give you time alone with our fallen friend. I will see to having this wound cleaned properly.”
“Go then, my son,” the Jarl’s voice began to tremble again with grief. Ulfr left him quickly, wishing to put distance between himself and those keen eyes.
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Post by KD on Jul 11, 2014 3:32:04 GMT -5
Eira remembered Ulfr's accusation and had pondered over it off and on as she explored the woods during the day. She wanted to find a spot far enough away from the grove as possible. Eventually she found a tree growing oddly against the face of another sheer cliff, its roots coiling among the rock. It was big enough she could settle into it, and it gave her a view of the woods sloping down.
She wondered if Asger had survived. She didn't know what kind of snake had bitten him so she had no idea how deadly the poison might have been. If he had, he might be looking to finish the job. If he hadn't...Eira couldn't find it in her to mourn him. She didn't know if her goddess had sent that snake to bite him but she wouldn't mourn him either way.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 11, 2014 21:14:23 GMT -5
Ulfr closed the door behind him, breathing in and out deeply. His body slumped as he tried to come to terms that Asger was really dead. No more would his bawdy laugh fill these halls. Ulfr felt as if he would never tip the cups again, not without the challenge of beating Asger. It was tradition, when both of them happened to be in port. Asger may have left port on his ship after the festival, sailing off to warmer lands, even though it was rare. He wondered what would happen to Asger’s ship now that he was gone, or his home, or his servants. Perhaps to his oldest living son, Segrid, who already had a home in a different settlement, or a distant relative.
He made his way to the doctor, because he truly needed to have his wound looked at, for despite the fact that the witch had healed him it may not be well enough. The doctor was expecting him, opening his satchel immediately when Ulfr tapped on the door. The doctor was surprised at the state of the wound, but Ulfr was not willing to say what had happened, so the doctor shrugged and simply did his duty, instructing Ulfr to pull off his jerkin and shirt so he could take the bindings off completely.
He did not feel the sting of disinfectant, or the neatening of the stitching. He lifted his arms as a new bandage was wound around his middle, doing so reflexively rather than consciously. His thoughts were many and he could not concentrate very well on one. His mind went between Asger and the Celtic woman… he had never found out her name.
Why did she not slit my throat and be done with it? He knit his brow, feeling vexed. He would have taken her life but she spared his. But why?
He would owe her his life. But this was not the way things were done. She was not his equal. He cursed aloud and the doctor apologized, not knowing his thoughts.
“You may put your clothes back on again, I have finished.”
Ulfr looked at him as if roused from a dream. “Aye,” he nodded and did so. The pulling of the fixed stitching was stiff, but he did not feel in a great amount of pain. “Thank you.”
The doctor bobbed his head and smiled, waving him off and rearranging his things. Ulfr closed the door and walked down the hall, finding his feet taking him down the stairs. He went outside, his eyes trailing across the manor grounds and in the direction of a port. He twisted around into the open door and called to a servant. “Get me a horse.”
He mounted the horse when it was brought to him. He took up the reigns and leaded the mount to descend into the port town. He dismounted as he got to the docks, running the reigns around a post and looking up at Asger’s ship. Ulfr heaved in and out a great sigh.
“To be killed by a snake…” he shook his head and began to laugh and others eyed him because of it. “Damn, you old fool…”
Now that the festival had been called off, the port was bustling again. What slaves remained alive were being bartered off by Audun. He turned his head in his direction and narrowed his eyes, stalking towards the old man.
“Audun! A word…”
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Post by KD on Jul 12, 2014 0:39:55 GMT -5
The servants and thralls seemed to be split neatly down the middle. Plenty of the thralls seemed despondent, it could be attributed to the general sadness that permeated the house, but many of them in truth were unhappy they'd probably never see Eira again. The other half were fearful, spreading rumors along with the guards that the girl had called snakes to avenge herself on Asger and what would she do to this household? Asger's head servant would put a stop to this whenever she heard it, actually walloping a slave impatiently when she over heard it. She found it perfectly ridiculous. She hadn't liked the little bitch, had believed her to be strange indeed, but the idea she had called a snake to kill Asger was absolutely ridiculous and gave her far too much credit. Humorously, she used the same logic Eira had when Ulfr had accused her of it: "If the little savage could call snakes to her, she would have done it when Asger was killing off the rest of those Celtic pigs and clapping her in chains. Or when she was brought here. Or a dozen other times she could have used it to her advantage."
Audun was writing studiously in a heavy ledger, keeping his meticulous notes of who and what was going where with who. He glanced up when Ulfr came up to him, his expression uncharacteristically solemn rather than it's usual ironic humor. "Greetings, Jarl's son. I heard Asger passed on. I'm sorry to hear it, he was always up for a good argument." It was unlikely Asger found the same kind of enjoyment as Audun did in said arguments but he truly was sorry the old boor had passed on. But not surprised. He didn't pretend to be grief stricken. Audun saw as much death...possibly more...than a warrior did. Death didn't bother him, nor was he close enough to anyone to mourn anything. His gaze flickered to Ulfr's side, taking in the easy way he was moving despite the wound he'd received the day before. Well, well...wasn't that interesting?
Eira knew if she was going to head higher up into the mountains, she needed to start making herself better clothes and she also needed to start gathering food immediately. For the moment, she was content to stay in the tree, but when she settled, she would build a tiny little hut of stone so she could dry and smoke meat that would last for a long while.
The stag was following her.
She caught a glimpse of his white coat more than once. She was content to simply watch him for the moment, not sure if he had been sent to her. He was not an animal of her goddess, but her tribe had been the people of the white stag. Not as fierce as the people of the boar or bear, but they maintained a connection between two realms that was stronger than most. Druids, waking dreamers...
She wondered idly as she worked throughout the day, killing and skinning a few plump hares with brisk efficiency, if the Vikings had once had the same bond with animals as her people did. She hadn't seen any sign of it. Then again, it was dying out in her people too.
Eira frowned, remembering her father's quiet words, telling her that the world was slowly changing, that the Vikings would be some of the last of the Earth's old children to reign supreme. Already more and more people were creating hearth and home instead of roaming the woods. Already in the time she was born there was less warring among the tribes and more forming alliances. Already there was talk of the lands beyond the sea. And even more than the Vikings, the talk of that noxious religion seemed to spread more and more each year, the legacy of that king in the south that had conquered the Saxons and the Lombards in the name of his One Holy God.
The world always changed but whenever Eira heard news of the outside from her father, it seemed to be changing far too fast.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 12, 2014 20:10:41 GMT -5
Ulfr stopped before Audun, glancing down at the ledger that he kept. Many pages had already been filled with notations, and the columns were neat and tidy, with symbols indicating what or who had been sold, traded, and what master now held the goods. There were even small notations from what ship the goods had come from and where the goods, or slaves, had been procured, even those regarding the region or country of origin. If he were not so cross with Audun, he may even compliment him.
“Yes, the loss of Asger grieves us all,” Ulfr replied, watching Augun’s pen continue to scratch across the pages. He cleared his throat, glaring at him until the slave master put down his pen and looked up at him for more than a moment.
“Your wound does not seem to be given you much pain,” Audun said pointedly.
Ulfr raised his hand and placed it over the stitching. “It is healing quite quickly.”
“Oh, I wonder how that could be…” he said slyly. “Perhaps a healer’s touch I wager?”
“Something like that,” Ulfr frowned then shook his head. “I shall be blunt and not keep you from your business. My slave was loosed from her bonds just yesterday. Do you know how this happened?”
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Post by KD on Jul 12, 2014 23:51:51 GMT -5
"Certainly, I do. I let her loose after they carried Asger off," Audun replied quite calmly. "A healer's touch indeed, he might have been saved if he hadn't just scarred the one person in the world that could have easily stopped the venom. I'm told the only reason he survived as long as he did was that Celtic concoction his woman servant kept pouring down his throat to battle the venom. I wanted to see what she would do, she's far more interesting than I thought she would be at first." Audun sighed. "It's a pity a healer's touch is all anyone here will get. Old as I am, I'd have attempted to get her into bed if I thought she'd have me."
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Post by Jenny on Jul 13, 2014 19:50:36 GMT -5
A dark look of anger crossed Ulfr’s face as Audun admitted to his crime, and grew in intensity as he went on. If Audun had any sense at all he would find it well to hold his tongue.
“You let her loose? Without my permission?” He replied stiffly. He shook his head fervently, suppressing a growl of rage.
“And, you find her interesting… interesting? As if she is some entertainment?” Ulfr scoffed. He decided to ignore his last comment, for if he spoke of it he would certainly do something deliciously violent to the old man. He shook visibly and clenched and unclenched his fists, wishing to wring his scrawny neck.
“Do you know what you have done, allowing her to go free? Don’t you know the winter is soon approaching? The slave will have no chance out there! And what if she attacks one of our people. She’s a savage! She was better here.” He gestured to the ground to accentuate his point.
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