Freyas Saga Ch. 04

After this appeared on the site I realised I'd submitted completely the wrong version of it! This is the full version - the earlier one was way shorter and got almost nowhere with the story. Very sorry, and huge thanks to the literotica team for fixing my mistake. Keeping track of my various different versions of this saga is proving tricky but I'm getting on it. I hope you'll be patient.

*

After they had eaten, the sun had passed the roof of the sky. Freya had been careful to eat sparingly but even so, she felt ill and weak. She lay down again.

"You get some rest," said Five. "I'll keep watch. Do you want to get on the road soon, or later?"

She did not reply. He went over and saw that her eyes were shut and, alarmed, he knelt down and opened one eyelid. She opened the other one and glared back at him irritably.

"Sorry," he said. "I wasn't sure you were asleep."

She sighed and rolled herself up in her blankets and went back to sleep.

Five waited for night to fall. The moon shone brightly on the plain, sloping gently away from the mountains down to the broad, flat coastal plain that led to the sea.

Well, this is an adventure, any road, Five thought. I never reckoned I'd ever be blood brother to the greatest warrior of the age.

Better not fuck it up.

***

Five was shaken awake and looked up to see Freya looking down at him.

It was a quarter moon night. She was lit by the fire. Her face was patient but not exactly smiling.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

She clicked her tongue. A pan of water was boiling on the fire. He got up hurriedly.

"I'm meant to do all that," he muttered.

"Hmmm," she agreed, and coughed slightly.

He toasted stale bread and smeared it with bacon fat from the jar he kept, and they ate that and some rather old apples he had, and then he set about making tea. Once the water was boiled she inclined her head and he looked at her; she signalled with her hands that she'd like to do the ceremony.

"Of course," he said, handing over the kettle and tin cups and the little cloth bag of tea. She steeped the leaves in the hot water and silently mouthed the prayers over it. He was pleased to see that her form with the tea ceremony was the very best. She had perfect decorum, and knew exactly what gestures to make, and when to make them, and even though she didn't say the prayers out loud, he could read her lips and tell that she knew them, word perfect. You'd expect it, her being a lady and all.

She served him his tea, and poured her own, and they clinked tin cups. He sipped it. It was perfect. The best tea he'd ever had.

He raised his cup in acknowledgement, to the proper level, and inclined his head to hers, and she bowed her own head slightly in thanks, and they each drank, appreciatively.

It's funny, he thought, how much better tea tastes when you do it with all the ceremony, and do it properly. Because it's not like it tastes all that bloody wonderful without it. He'd drunk tea brewed in haste under a canvas by blokes who were more concerned about not getting skewered by arrows, and it had hardly had the power at all. Whereas, when Freya bloody Aelfrethe made you tea, you saw the point of the whole thing.

"I think that rabbit will be good to eat in a couple of days," he said. She glanced at him, and nodded.

"They take a couple of days to get nice," he said. "Wild rabbits, any road."

It was cold in the night, and he tightened his blanket around his shoulders. She was still in her shirt and breeches.

"Are you not cold, lady?" he asked. She glanced at him and shook her head. Feeling like he was being tested, he dropped the blanket. He immediately regretted it because the wind cut through his tunic, but he knew he needed toughening up.

She sipped her tea and stood up, looking around.

"So," he said. It was the middle of the night; they were wide awake; he assumed they weren't just going to sing songs until they fell asleep again. She warmed her hands around her tea -- ha, he thought, I bloody knew you felt the cold -- and looked down at him.

"I assume you want to go somewhere," he said. She nodded thoughtfully. He waited for her to tell him where.

After a long moment she gave him a look, like: What? Well? What have you to say for yourself?

"What, lady?" he said. "I don't know where you want to go."

She looked exasperated, drained her tea and tossed the cup accurately on top of his pack.

She pointed to the ground where she stood. He nodded. She pointed off in an indeterminate direction, in that she kept moving where her finger pointed. He nodded, doubtfully, not sure he knew what she meant.

She pointed to the ground again and held up her hands, helpless.

He was baffled.

"What?" he said weakly.

Freya grimaced, and actually stamped on the ground with her foot in frustration. She fixed him with her gaze.

"Where are we?" she croaked.

"Don't you know?" he said. She glared at him. She mouthed at him.

You. Are. A. Soldier.

"Yes," he said, wanting the ground to swallow him up, "but I never really got the hang of that stuff."

He saw her swallow her rage and actually count to herself, then she looked up at him. She stared at him for a long moment.

Then she stepped away from him and looked up at the stars.

Oh fuck, Five thought. She expects me to do astral ranging. At night.

She looked down at him expectantly. He looked around. Away off to the west the stars were hidden by cloud, but where they were he could see fine.

"Well ..." he said hopefully, and trailed off. She rolled her eyes, came over, grasped his wrist and dragged him to his feet.

***

They walked along, Freya ahead, the squire behind. It was a good night for walking; clouds scudding across the wind-torn sky, the grass underfoot, the ground sloping gently away from the mountains they were leaving behind.

My doom, she thought. But not so.

I should have perished in that thing's innards. Even if my body had not died, who I have been, and who I might be, has perished. I would have become a walking womb for those scum.

And now I am delivered. To do what? To live in my disgrace? The humiliation of knowing that my men saw me trussed and blind and naked, being ravaged by that creature. Their great leader, stripped and fucked senseless by a beast.

The memory of it made her grimace, and she lowered her head to hide it from the squire.

My chastity: gone. Now I am as any woman who has been known by a man. Except that I have never known a man. Or woman.

That thing made me feel sensations I had only felt in battle, or alone. Are those the things that men and women feel, when they come to one another in bed? And do they feel so burned, afterwards? I feel blasted inside; dry and scorched.

There is so much to learn. I met my match, and unlike most who do so, I survived. But at the price of my pride and dignity.

And so, I will accept silence. All my fine words meant nothing. You will pay. I will have vengeance -- what mockery.

I will learn humility: not to talk so big unless I can fulfil what I say on the instant.

The next words I say will be true.

And that, as the boy would say, could take a while.

So be it. Until my word is once more my bond, I will remain silent. My silence will stand in bond for the little dignity I have left.

In the meantime, I am a parody of a woman; no longer a virgin, but one who has never known another's body. If I am no more a shieldmaiden, I do not wish to be nothing but an ex-shieldmaiden. I must become a woman.

I must be healed.

So we will go to the House of Healing.

They walked onwards, and as they descended into the plain, the sky to their left began to lighten.

***

They walked and walked and walked.

Five had never known such tiredness. He was lumbered with more gear than her, and he was less fit than her, and she was going where she was going because she was drawn there, wherever it was, whereas he was going where she was going because he was now apparently her blood brother, or something, and had to do what she wanted. It didn't seem to work in the opposite direction; if Five wanted to stop for a break, she would scowl and stand there seething with impatience while he sat, sweating, on a rock, and got his breath back.

They did stop, though. For the first couple of days she had to take more than the usual number of breaks to duck behind a rock and void her bowels. She would return from these red in the face, angry and embarrassed, and Five knew better than to behave as if it was in any way out of the ordinary. Then, her system seemed to right itself and they were off again.

They were walking out of the mountains and it was a hell of a stride. Five had never been the most soldier-y of the soldiers in his company, but as he looked at his bleeding feet on the fifth day, he had to admit that he was beginning to get used to it. The relative lack of food meant that his ever-present flabbiness was finally beginning to melt off, although he had given up hoping that he'd ever be able to outgrow those embarrassing man-boobs on his chest. But then, Five was eternally ashamed of his own stupid body. It just wasn't right. It wasn't what women looked for. Five didn't know what women looked for, exactly, just knew that it wasn't him.

For her part, Freya inspected his bleeding feet and nodded and silently indicated to him to use whatever ointment he needed, and each morning she and he inspected their food stores to see what they were short of, and if it was meat she'd go off and shoot a rabbit or a bird -- he saw her bring down a wild goose in low light, and they feasted that night, and Five saved the grease for cooking -- and if it was herbs or grain they'd quietly sneak into a field and steal what they wanted. She taught him, without ever speaking, how to move silently, and how to be invisible, and how to hide if someone was coming down the road. She did not want to be met on the road, or so it seemed. She wished to make the journey to wherever they were going in silence and in darkness. If they encountered someone, or if they saw someone far off in the distance, she would steal into the undergrowth and wait with him until the stranger passed, and then some, rather than meet anyone. He saw the fear in her eyes as they hid, and he didn't question it.

At their rests, or over their meals, he'd talk, and she'd listen. He'd tell her about growing up an orphan, leaving out one or two details he didn't want to burden her with. He'd tell her stories he'd heard. He'd sing a song now and again. She seemed to be listening, anyway. From time to time she'd throw him a look and a half-smile, but mostly her eyes seemed to be on the darkness that surrounded them, or, if it was day, on the hills they were passing through.

It took a long time to come out of the hills and reach the plain that stretched to the sea, and Five had lost count of the days they'd been walking. His feet were hard as rocks, he was leaner, he was constantly hungry, he was burned by the sun. All he wanted was a soft, cool bed and a cold beer.

***

Slowly, over the next few days, they came down out of the mountains and struck across the plain towards the city of Memike, a place Five had heard all sorts of stories about but had never visited.

It was a port; a glamorously shabby, polyglot place with a warm climate and lots of places that a man might find a good time. It was close enough to the North that they were able to keep their beer cool in cellars; it was close enough to the South that the typical citizen was not blonde and pale but dark-haired and olive-skinned. Memike had been the ruin of many a weak man, and the making of many a strong one.

When they finally entered the city, Five was relieved. As far as he was concerned, it meant that somebody else could take over the burden of worrying about Freya's ordeal and how she dealt with it.

They walked far into the city before finally stopping outside a house with a discreet but beautifully decorated sign. Five read it as 'HOUSE OF HEALING'. Great! he thought. I can finally get someone to fix my feet.

But when they went in, it was clear that it wasn't that sort of house at all. It was too nice, for a start. There were curtains everywhere, and nice smells, and lots of good-looking young women wearing very few clothes, and quite a few good-looking young men wearing very few clothes, too.

Freya walked into the main hallway, and stood there, looking around with a faint frown on her face, as if she knew the place all too well, and wasn't too pleased to find herself back again. Five saw one of the girls look at Freya briefly, and then peer harder, and then run out of the room. Five was sure, now, that this wasn't some kind of hospital.

Then a voice sounded through the length of the hall; a warm, slightly amused, strongly northern-accented voice, a bit husky.

"Freya Aelfrethe!" said the voice. "It's been a long while since you graced my house with your presence. May the moon smile on you."

Freya turned around and looked into the darkness at the other end of the hall, and from the darkness emerged a figure that was about the opposite of what Five expected from a bawdy-house in a coastal city.

He'd expected a man, but it was a woman in her late thirties; and not dark, like most of the girls, but blonde-haired and fair-skinned, with a handsome, ruddy, Nordic face with blue eyes and a broad smile. She was wearing a flowing sky-blue robe marked out in gold which quietly emphasised her figure, which Five had to admit was gorgeous. Somehow, the woman's robe let you see what she looked like without actually revealing her body. She radiated energy and warmth; her presence filled the room as soon as she entered it.

The blonde woman walked easily and confidently down the hall and up to Freya and Five.

"You don't have a hello for your old friend?" said the woman.

Freya smiled faintly, but did not speak.

"She's taken a vow of silence," Five explained.

"A vow of silence?" repeated the woman, smiling broadly. "If it'll stop her from telling me that my house saps the precious bodily fluids of her men, I'm all for it. What, she's not talking at all?"

Freya shook her head no.

"Very well," said the woman, and turned to Five, beaming. "Then she will not be able to tell you that I am Sophy Bunafashazir, patroness of this establishment. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Five was unused to this level of attention from anyone, blushed deeply and mumbled something.

"What's your name, child?" said Sophy.

"Five."

"You have five names?"

"My name's Five," said Five. "It's a long story, ma'am."

"Is it a good one?" said Sophy, much amused.

"Not particularly, no," said Five.

"Then tell it now and get it over with."

"I was a squire of Sir Snorri," said Five. "He always numbered his squires 'cos he could never remember their names. I was number five. I didn't have a name before 'cos I'm an orphan, so that's what everyone calls me."

"I see," said Sophy. "You were right, it's not a very good story. But you're young. You'll get more." She chucked Five cheerfully under his chin, winked at him and turned to Freya.

"So what brings Freya Aelfrethe from the field of battle to my house?" she said. "For eight years you've been prising my custom away, saying it's sapping the morale of your men, or something. And now you come here with one little chick in tow, and you won't talk. Where are all your men? Are you just here to break this one in?"

Five looked nervously at Freya, but Freya, who was calm and impassive, simply shook her head. Sophy grinned.

"Oh," she said. "Interesting. You're here for you."

Freya scowled, but nodded. Sophy looked gleeful. She turned to Five.

"Little one," she said, "stay here, please, while I attend to your lady."

"She's not my lady," said Five obstinately.

"Well, your chief, then," said Sophy, "all right? If you want anything, just ask."


"All right," said Five, and sat on a bench.

Sophy turned to Freya, who was still standing there in her plain shirt and breeches, stiff-necked, tense but impassive.

"Then come, lady," said Sophy, and there was something in her voice that would have moved a stone to follow her.

Five watched as Freya followed Sophy down the hall and up the stairs at the end.

***

Sophy ushered Freya into her rooms.

Freya entered, looking around her, and when Sophy ushered her to sit down on the bed, Freya sat at the table. Sophy smiled.

"Will you have a drink?"

Freya shook her head no.

"You should," said Sophy. "Drink loosens the limbs, Aelfrethe. It makes the intolerable tolerable, and the barely endurable positively pleasant. I know you're holding your tongue, but if you want me to serve you, you will have to be forthcoming, and a glass or two will help. So. Drink?"

Freya smiled briefly, to acknowledge Sophy's words, but shook her head no.

"Shieldmaiden," said Sophy coolly, "you are paying me for my time, and my time is precious to me. For years you've been coming in here and dragging this or that young man, and some not so young, out my doors, saying that they were needed elsewhere. All those times, I couldn't help thinking that of all them, the only one who really needed my services was you. And now you're here, finally, of your own accord, and I offer you my help, and you won't take it. So, for your sake and mine, I pray you. Take a fucking drink."

Freya sat still, stone-faced, and finally nodded. Sophy took a brazen goblet from the side table and poured it almost full of crimson wine. Then she poured one for herself, and handed the first one to Freya.

"To your health, shieldmaiden," she said, and her curiosity was aroused by Freya's almost imperceptible wince. They drank.

"Well," said Sophy, walking to the window, "so for once you come here not to pull a man from my arms, but to see me. From this, I can only assume that the great shieldmaiden has fallen, or is about to fall, from her tower of purity, and has landed in the gutter of fuck, with the rest of us."

Freya stared, stony-faced, ahead of her.

"From your silence," Sophy said, "I see I'm not wrong. So? Who was it? Do tell, sister. Some hunky footsoldier? Or that handsome Ulf, who you've been paired with? Or was I right all along about you, and it was a serving wench, or a southern princess? Not, I think, that gosling sitting in my hallway mooning over you. Who enticed you? Tell me all. I want details."

She smiled mockingly at Freya, who took a gulp of wine and sat still, and then twitched, slightly, making a small noise in the back of her throat.


Sophy's smile faded, and she put her goblet down and sat on the bed and looked closely at Freya, and then straightened up.

"No," she said, in a different tone, sober and contrite. "No. Forgive me, Aelfrethe. I was wrong to mock you, wasn't I? You didn't come down from that tower by yourself."

Freya, tight-lipped, stared into her wine goblet.

"You were thrown out," said Sophy quietly.

Freya nodded.

"Yes," said Sophy. "See? I grow old and cynical. I was too quick to gloat that you'd give yourself up so easily. I am sorry, truly."

Freya went on staring into her wine goblet. Sophy noticed that the young woman was clutching it so tight that her knuckles were white, and the goblet's stem was slowly bending in her grip.

"Of all the news you could bring me," Sophy said, "that's the most ill. Has this to do with the fact that you bring no other of your men with you?"

Freya nodded very slightly.

"This was not the doing of your men?" said Sophy with shock. Freya looked up and shook her head no, fiercely, but the memory made her flinch; the memory of Five telling her that Ulf had done nothing to stop it.

It was the doing of many men. And women. And children, and the Pantocrator. And, yes, and Ulf too. Freya felt her emotion passing over her face and making her grimace. She felt ill.