Curse Of Blood: Gods & Monsters

Chapter XI - Aila

An effulgent moon glared across the sea this night, but every so often Aila watched as the dark rifts blotted the silver giant from view. She loved these evenings when the wind was wont to calm its breath so that she might listen to the night birds and insects sing across the countryside.

When the harsh din of boisterous laughter suddenly reached her where she stood at the cliffs, thereby spoiling the night song, she grimaced and turned her back to the ocean. It was time she went back inside; she had stayed away far too long. Latterly, Harald had contrived any excuse not to be alone with his wife, and tonight was no exception for he had resolved to enjoy a sennight of feasting in celebration of his brother's nuptials.

Most everyone had by now arrived and the ale barrel was nigh empty when Aila passed it, so she summoned two slaves to have it filled from the store room, but was instantly distracted when Brynja entered the hall. She nodded her greeting at Aila, who reciprocated by inclining her head imperceptibly, an austere coolness masking her features as the tall woman passed her by.

Aila watched the statuesque blond glide fluidly across the great hall, attracting appreciative stares as she moved towards Harald. By and by Harald espied the late arrival and started visibly as he glanced nervously between Brynja and his wife. How odd that the chieftain should act so strangely toward a woman he had met socially more times than Aila could count.

When the slaves had refilled the barrel, Aila submerged her tankard and sipped at the libation quietly the while she observed the two. Harald, unwilling to meet either of the women's eyes, busied himself by banking the fire in an abstracted manner that only fueled Aila's growing concern. Brynja, meanwhile, seemed as composed and cool as she ever had, twisting around to laugh her silvery laugh at some or other bawdy jest that Aila had no patience or inclination to attend to.

The possibility of Harald's being unfaithful had crossed her mind ere now, but she had not given it much thought, or sought to confront him. But seeing him with Brynja, watching this fierce warrior reduced to queer uneasiness and furtive glances — looking everywhere save his wife and Brynja — awakened Aila's suspicions anew.

It then dawned on her that there might never be a rapprochement betwixt herself and her husband, for the aperture that separated them had been wrought by his own hand. Granted, there were indeed extenuating circumstances that existed: he knew not how to deal with the pain and disappointment of his childless state. Although she understood this suffering all to well, she could not forgive his senseless behavior — he had been the one to push her away. It therefore stood to reason that he had no one to blame by himself.

But to whom had he entrusted his pain? Where had he consoled himself? Between whose legs has he found succor?

Aila could feel the bile and ire broiling in her empty belly, the causation of which was, however, not what she might have expected; what disturbed her most was not the likelihood of his philandering, but the hollowness within her breast. It was her pride that hurt more than anything. She should be distraught and heaping furious execrations on his deceitful head, if indeed he was rutting between Brynja's thighs, yet all she felt was mild disgust. Should not she feel more? Where was the intense rage and anguish?

Aila snorted derisively and wandered from the hall. It was far too stifling within her home and she required the balm of fresh, cleansing air to soothe her. In truth, no one would miss her. She might expect the odd drunk to stumble from the hall in search of a spot to relive an ale-filled bladder, but if she kept to the shadows, she would remain invisible.

There was no breeze tonight, so the stirring of the long grass at her back tore her attention abruptly from the vast, broody Istyrr. She might have identified the large, dark shape by the moonlight were it not for the cloud that sheathed its glow.