Blood & Fire

Chapter Fourteen | Shameless

Rorik took steel to flint. After a few scrapes the slender, black stone finally pitched a tiny spark into the pile of moss at Rorik's knees. He stooped to the ground, his cheek resting on moist, dense soil. Then, gently he blew on the fragile flames, fanning the fire. Gradually, the orange and yellow flames spread, consuming the moss. With a decaying piece of fallen bark, he lifted the tinder and placed it carefully on a stack of fallen, dry branches.

The sun was dwindling behind the horizon and the daylight fading along with it. The fire illuminated the shadows closing in around their camp. Nocturnal creatures began to sing their night song, filling the forest with an eerie melody. The band had traveled South on foot for two days, discreetly withdrawing from Oppland territory.

They kept to the forest that bordered Oppland and Westfold, making camp underneath the stars and a thick canopy of trees every night. The forest was ripe with game and edible plants and berries. Possessing tremendous stamina, they stopped only long enough during the day to obtain the sustenance they required to complete their journey. It was only when the sun melted away and the sky darkened that they rested.

"We'll reach Alfheim tomorrow," Vidar informed the band of hardened warriors. A blonde-haired warrior grunted in response.

"That means Westfold is a half days journey from here," Rorik surmised.

Vidar shook his head, his thick braid swaying against his bareback. He locked eyes with his brother through the cackling red blaze. Now that the fire was lit one man stood from where he sat encircling the campfire and retrieved his weapons. Another man, slightly shorter in stature, followed his lead. The pair wordlessly headed for the camp's perimeter for the first shift of watch.

"There's nothing for us in Westfold except grieving women and children. Alfheim has what we need to avenge our fallen clansmen- to avenge father."

Rorik scoffed at Vidar.

"Alliances with Alfheim have wavered in the past. We could be wasting time."

Rorik plucked a piece of grass at his foot and flicked it into the fire.

"It's our only option at this point," Brant interjected.

Rorik sprawled out onto his side, still keeping close to the fire. Then, he flipped over onto his back and slipped both hands underneath his neck to support his head. He could spot the twinkling silver glow of a few stars through the dense cover of leaves and branches. He wished that the answers to the uncertainty he faced were somehow written in the cerulean sky.

"I know," Rorik whispered under his breath, so softly that no one heard his reply. "Doesn't mean I like it."

The wise enough warriors, who had had the good sense to stay out of the conversation between the three brothers, began to chatter among themselves. Vidar eagerly joined in as the conversation turned bawdy. Brant, on the other hand, who was more reserved than the others, kept quiet but listened to their rantings good-heartedly. Meanwhile, Rorik began to drift to sleep, their talk of daring exploits, wanton women and drinking eventually fading from his consciousness.

~*~*~*~*~

Nightmares invaded Meryna's sleep. Flashes of terror rampaged through her subconscious. Her heart galloped in her chest. She moaned and her face contorted into a tight grimace.

"Rorik!"

She bolted upright from her cot. The taste of his name lingered on her tongue. She pressed a hand over her heart willing it's erratic beating to slow. Simultaneously, Meryna drank in the air around her, gulping in huge breaths. Sweat drenched from her forehead and pooled on the surface of her chest.

For a few moments as her consciousness sharpened into focus, she was disoriented and unsure of where she was. Her eyes carefully took in her surroundings. The room was empty. Meryna was grateful there was no one present to witness her in this state. She combed a hand through her tangled mass of curls, forcing the fiery tendrils out of her face. Outside the door of the slaves' quarters, the longhouse buzzed with activity.

Meryna curled up where she sat on her cot, resting the tip of her chin on the tops of her knees. A few moments later the door creaked open. Ingrid slipped into the room. In her hand, she carried a trencher topped with goat cheese and a type of animal meat Meryna couldn't identify.

"I know you don't want to go out there. So, I brought you something to eat," Ingrid said, setting the trencher in front of Meryna's cot.

"You haven't dressed yet?"

Meryna's eyes shot up in confusion. She followed Ingrid's gaze to the neatly folded garments at the foot of her bed. Meryna's mind had been too preoccupied to notice it before. Ingrid must have placed it there while she slept, trusting that Meryna would see it when she awoke.

"I'll leave you to eat and dress. I'll return to you in a little while. Then I'll take you to Eadric... He's summoned for you, Meryna."

Meryna's stomach dropped, her throat constricted, and her heart lurched in her chest all at once. She knew he would eventually beckon her to him, of course. It was only a matter of when. If she were being honest with herself, she expected him to call for her days ago. Why had he waited this long? Meryna suspected it was all to taunt her and plague her mind with disquieting anticipation.

Ingrid did as she said and returned a little while later. She found the trencher still brimming with untouched food. Her gaze quickly found Meryna, whose generously endowed bosom was heavily exposed by the sheer straps that begrudgingly fanned over her breasts. Her nipples poked through the material and the pale, supple skin spilled out of the edges of the straps.

She was utterly exposed. If her mother were here now, she wondered if she would weep at the sight of her. Her face turned the same shade as her hair. At that moment she looked nothing like the high born daughter of a prominent laird. Meryna resembled a shameless Scottish whore.

"He will be pleased," Ingrid offered encouragingly. She gave Meryna a tight-lipped smile full of sympathy. Then, Ingrid spun in the direction of the door and reached it swiftly with poised strides. Meryna followed silently at Ingrid's heels.

The main hallway was devoid of surly, hideous men that had been in abundance when Meryna awoke here. Instead, there were slaves, of varying ages, hard at work completing banal tasks. As the pair roamed through the longhouse, Meryna fidgeted with the soft material of her skirts between her fingertips.

She took in the interior of the longhouse, inwardly comparing it to the one in Westfold. Structurally they were almost identical. Bright sunlight illuminated the home, filtering in through the windows and main door. She jerked her head to the side, searching for another closer and more discreet exit. A smile pried her lips into a curve when she finally spotted the servants' entrance at the back of the house.

Ingrid halted her footsteps abruptly, and Meryna collided into her skeletal back. lurched backward, her former trail of thoughts obliterating. Ingrid glanced over her shoulder at Meryna, her face blank. In front of them was a large intricately carved door that was stained and sanded until light glistened off its surface. Ingrid reached out to it with a bony wrist.

She rapped on the wood softly. The door whined heavily, from its massive weight as it opened. Ingrid slipped inside the room unhesitating. Meryna sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth, then forced the air out through her nostrils. She tried to suppress the fear that fluttered across her chest and swarmed her belly. Meryna tilted her chin up and rolled her shoulders back. Then, she entered Eadric's chambers.