Freyas Saga Ch. 16

"I did see her fight a couple o' times," said Five. "We both did. The lady more than I."

Freya nodded in agreement. The son of the family, a lad of about eleven, stared at them with reverence.

"You saw Freya fight?" said the farmer.

Freya nodded.

"You must have fought with her," he said.

Freya smiled.

"Did you know her well?"

Freya paused, and shook her head no.

"What was she like to see?" asked the boy.

Freya considered and looked at Five, who looked at the lad.

"What did you hear she was like?" Five said.

"I heard she could dance on the wind and kill the enemy with her voice," he said.

"Dunno about dancing on the wind," said Five, "but I heard her give her war cry once."

The boy's eyes were huge and round.

"What was it like?" he asked.

"I was never more scared in me life," said Five, "and even though we were on the same side, I ran away and kept on runnin'."

She glanced at Freya, who kept her stone face and didn't betray a thing.

Five said to herself, if I'm ever tempted to play cards with her, memory, just bring up this moment.

"Brilliant," said the boy.

"I came back in the end," Five added. "'Ad to face the music and take me punishment. But, yes. Maybe not everything you've heard is true, but most of it."

"Brilliant," said the boy.

"Well, it's a sad end to the war, anyway," said the farmer.

"Indeed," said Five. "We're reduced to roaming the lands and looking for worms to slay."

"Worms, you say?" said the farmer.

"Aye," said Five.

"You slay them?"

"The lady does," said Five. "She's got the battle prowess. I'm her companion and I do the talking Ôcause she's taken a vow of silence. It's a penitence she's undertaking."

"Funny you should say," said the farmer. "You know Venceborn, a week to the north of here?"

Five had never been there, but Freya nodded.

"Well," said the farmer, "they've had a worm for a while now. Great big fat thing, so they say. Not as vicious as some, reasonabler than most, but subtle, you know? Got brains."

Freya sat forward and gestured: tell more.

"It can talk, they say," said the farmer, "and it's installed itself in the chamber of the elders, and it's arranged so that as long as they feed it a juicy hog or sheep or the good meat of a cow every day, it won't burn the city. But they thought it might last a week at most, yet it's still there a month on, and it's bleeding dry the farms round about. I tell you, at the moment they're only tithing the farms ten, fifteen miles out, but they say they'll start taxing us. They're always making the circle bigger. I can't afford to start sending animals to Venceborn. I've a hard enough time dealing with a fox, thanks to this bloody leg."

He indicated his lame leg. He'd been savaged by a wolf in a hard winter three years previous.

Freya and Five glanced at each other, and Freya smiled.

"I'll tell you what," said Five. "We'll go and have a look at this worm and see if we can't come to some arrangement."

"You?" said the farmer dubiously.

"My lady's a bit of an expert on worms," said Five. "You heard about the one in Torina."

"I heard that there was one," said the farmer. "Haven't heard much lately."

"That's cause she slew it," said Five.

The farmer gave them an appraising look.

"Did you now," he said.

"It's the truth," said Five.

"If so," said the farmer, "it was bravely done."

"It's so," said Five.

There was a pause.

"Forgive me," said the farmer, "you seem honest folk, and you're our guests, and you took care of our fox, so for that, we thank you. But the news says that no-one will go against the worm of Venceborn because it's so huge and glutton-like. I'd like to wish you well, but big talk costs nothing when it can't be weighed against truth. I don't even know your names."

Five glanced at Freya and Freya glanced back, giving no sign of how she wanted the conversation to go.

"I'll tell you what," said Five. "The next time you meet travellers from Torina, ask them who slew their worm. If they say it was a woman, ask them if she escaped unscathed, or took a wound for her trouble. If they say she was wounded, ask them where. If they say the face, you will know that they and we spoke truth, and that your excellent hospitality has not been wasted on shameful liars."

The farmer and his family looked at Freya with wonder, and the snake tattoo on Freya's face gleamed softly in the candelight.

The farmer's wife got up and approached Freya and hesitated.

"May I?" she asked. Freya nodded, and presented her face.

The farmer's wife examined the tattoo and the scar that it limned, and she started back, wincing.

"That is a cruel wound," she said. "Husband, we must treat it with salve."

"There is no need," said Five. "We have salves of our own. But we thank you."

When it became clear that it was time to turn in, Freya and Five stood up.

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Five. "We will go to the barn, and take our rest."

"But you cannot sleep in the barn, with the animals," said the farmer's wife.

"Of course not," said the farmer.

"No," said Five, and Freya shook her head firmly. "You have been more than generous, but we will take our bedrolls. We must be on our way early."

"This is a farm," said the woman. "We are all up early."

"Now," said the farmer, holding up a warning hand, only half-joking, "be careful how you answer. You must take the guest bed, and we will not be denied."

Five glanced at Freya, who shook her head.

"No," said Five, "it is so generous of you to offer, but truly, we would not put you out."

"We cannot let you sleep in the barn," said the woman, firmly.

Five hesitated, and looked helplessly at Freya, who considered.

"Speak the truth," said the farmer slyly, "when was the last time either of you slept in a bed?"

Five tried to fight off the idea, but she glanced at Freya, and saw that Freya was weighing up the responsibility to not inconvenience them with the command that one had to accept hospitality. Freya raised an eyebrow.

"In truth, sir," Five admitted, "it's been some years."

"Then in god's name, friends, take the bed," said the woman, holding up her hands. "Let us give you this. You have saved us a deal of trouble. Let us help you."

They all looked at Freya, who after a moment, inclined her head in polite gratitude.

They were shown to the room. The bed wasn't very large, but to Five it looked like a giant soft hand that wanted to carry her off to a good night's sleep. It was a warm night. Five went out to the courtyard to wash at the pump, then she came back and Freya took her turn, and Five was wearily taking off her boots when Freya returned, her hideous patchy hair and clothes damp.

"We will set off as early as we can," Freya said, peeling off her shirt.

"We'll get to eat something, no?" said Five hopefully.

Freya slid her breeches down over her hips, glanced up at Five, nodded and got into bed. She turned onto one side. Five finished undressing. Freya's breathing become steady and regular. Five got into bed next to Freya, blew out the candle and turned to face away from her.

Freya turned over and threw an arm around Five, and Five was startled to find Freya's tall, damp, warm body pressed against her own bare back and bottom and thighs, skin against skin, Freya's bare feet tucking themselves between her own.

She was so tired, though. She lay there, drowsy, not entirely certain where she ended and Freya began, feeling just a warm and companionable entanglement of bodies and limbs, and then the lumpy mattress and stiff pillow were ushering her off into the land of sleep.

***

Freya awoke to see the light in the room; after dawn. The room was cold and she wrapped herself around Five's body to warm herself. Five made a small, sleepy, comforted noise in the back of her throat, and then resumed the breathing of sleep.

Freya glanced at the girl's head, her short hair, the scabbed-over cuts on her bare shoulders and on the side of her face. The marks of whatever struggle she had had with whatever beast she had met.

This is what Bunafashazir rightly said I have never had, she thought. A bedfellow. One from whom I could hide nothing, because we shared everything.

Freya closed her eyes and fought back the wave of emotion that thinking about it brought on her.

I do not know if I can ever love another in the way that most people do. In the way that she must surely long to do. I, too, I long for it. But the thought of the act brings me nothing but pain. I cannot do it, not yet.

She opened her eyes again, and looked at the back of the girl's head.

I think love must bring pain. If not pain in the body, then another kind. O, Sophy, you were right, you were right. I am not yet healed, and perhaps never will be. What will happen, then, if she finds one who would freely be hers? Who could give more than I can give? I said our bond was stronger than love. That has yet to be proven.

In the meantime, what a joy to have a warm body to hold.

Freya closed her eyes and held Five tighter and felt herself drifting back to sleep.

Then Five stirred, and Freya opened her eyes. Five turned onto her back, then turned around to face Freya, rising up on one arm and looking down at her.

Freya smiled at her, and then noticed that Five was staring at her scalp with a thoughtful look.

"You know what we've got to do," she said. "Cut your fucking hair."

***

First there were chores.

Freya and Five helped with feeding the animals, carrying the bales of hay easily enough. The farmer's wife had already milked the cows. Then there was mucking out, which Five was interested to see Freya threw herself into; if she can do that, she thought, she can wash a pan now and again. Then they washed themselves, and then when one of the children came out to announce that breakfast was ready, Five held up a hand.

"Before we do that," she said, "we've to attend to something. Do you think, sir, I could trouble you for your razor?"

A little later, Freya was sitting on a stool by the pump, patient, while Five stood over her, scraping the razor over her ragged, tufted haircut.

"Bloody hell," Five grumbled, "you've got scars on here I didn't know you had."

"Luck," Freya murmured.

"Can't promise it'll be as smooth as a Memikan barber would do," said Five, "but it'll be better than what you've got."

She scraped and scratched with great care, until after a good time had passed and their stomachs were rumbling with hunger, she sluiced Freya's bald scalp with water and Freya closed her eyes and let it run down herself before running a hand over her own head with pleasure. Then she looked up at Five and took the razor from her and raised an eyebrow.

For a moment, Five thought: well, why not, but then she thought of a reason.

"One thing," she said, "do you think it would make me look more or less girly than I already am?"

Freya looked puzzled.

"There's some point to me looking such a way that folk can't make up their mind," Five said. "If I'm to speak for you, it could be useful if, you know, I could pass for a boy. ÔCause there's no chance that you're ever going to pass for one."

Freya smiled, stood up and stretched, and Five couldn't help admiring her new look: tall, strong, as bald as a monk, proud and unafraid. Five quickly trimmed her own hair, by feel more than anything else, just to return it to its original austere crop. Then Freya clapped her on the shoulder. "Food," she croaked.

The family was halfway through breakfast by the time the kitchen door opened and Freya entered, stooping to avoid the low lintel, wiping her bald scalp with a damp cloth. The children looked at her in awe.

"Your poor hair," said the farmer's wife.

Freya shrugged. Five entered behind her. They sat and ate good ham and bread and butter and apples and cheese, and drank bitter but clean-tasting small beer, and then when breakfast was finished they helped wash and dry the crockery before collecting their gear and wishing the family a warm farewell.

By the time they set out on the road, the sun had warmed the air to the point that Freya threw back her hood and let it shine on her head.

Five eyed it. Every chance they got, Freya made herself look less and less like the green-haired shieldmaiden of old. She was changing, all right. The armoured warrior with the helmet and thick plaits of hair was gone. Freya now wore no armour, as if she had lost faith in it, and dressed in plain dark clothes, and her head was naked.

And I've changed too. More so, if anything. From a scared, flabby, breathless sort-of boy, to a lean and hungry mostly-girl. I wasn't completely wrong; going through the fire didn't do anything to her but harm her. But to me, it burned away the useless bits.

Except for the regret. That's stayed. Years wasted telling myself what wasn't true. Years trying to be someone else, covering things up. I'll never get it back.

On the other hand, she thought, if I seen it straight and realised it, if I had just let myself be a girl all along, I would have been out of the army. I would have been packed off to the kitchens and I'd be there now, fat and greasy and miserable and covered in burns and blisters, and choking on the smoke. I'd never have been Snorri's squire. I'd never have been sent to Casman. I'd never have been called over the ridge to bring them water and I'd never have been hit on the head and left there, and I'd never have woken up and seen her and dragged her ten miles over the hills and looked after her and brought her food until she woke up enough to want to get better. She'd be dead.

Is this destiny, then? Do I get to have destiny?

I thought only heroes had that. Fantastic.

She thought of the map in Freya's pack, that they were meant to be filling out the gaps in, so that they could bring it back to Moyra, and which they had barely looked at in weeks, let alone attempted to fill in.

Fuck of a lot of use you were, she thought, and looked ahead to the horizon, on which crouched the haze and smoke and tesselated rooftops of a city that grew nearer and nearer with each step.

Well, then, Venceborn, let's see your worm.

***

For a city troubled by a gluttonous worm, Venceborn seemed curiously at peace with itself. The businesses were open, indeed thriving. Women shopped with small children in tow. People smiled at each other. Freya and Five rode through the streets, finding their way to the city chambers.

A single guard stood at the door, eyeing the two young women as they tied up their horses. One of them was tall, dressed in dark clothes, with a hood over what appeared to be a shaven head; as she glanced up at him, the guard noted that she was a fine-looking woman but with some kind of markings on her face. The other one was shorter, younger and plainer, crop-headed and big-boned, with large dark eyes the only thing worth looking at in her blunt unsmiling face. She wore travelstained soldier's gear that was a size or so too big for her. As they approached, the soldier looked expectantly at the clearly older and more senior one, but it was the younger one that spoke, scowling.

"We Ôeard you've got some trouble with a worm," she said in a strong northern accent.

"You heard wrong," said the guard. "What's a lass like you dressed up as a soldier for?"

"I am a soldier," the girl said, scowling even harder.

"With who?"

"Wait," said the girl, holding up a hand. "I didn't come Ôere to tell you me life story. We Ôeard that this city had some trouble with a worm, and my mistress Ôere just killed the worm in Torina three weeks back. We come Ôere to see if we can do owt. But you say there's no worm?"

"I do say that," the guard replied.

"Then why do folk a few day's ride from Ôere think there is one?"

"Country folk'll believe any old shit," said the guard. "Probably got told it by some travelling quack who wanted to sell them anti-worm medicine. You did what, you killed a worm? You?" he said, addressing the tall one, who stared at him coolly and then nodded, once.

"Yes," said the younger one.

"How'd you do that, then?" said the guard, amused. "Everybody knows that worms can't be harmed with steel."

"They can if you get angry enough," said the younger one. "My mistress got angry enough."

The guard peered at the tall one's face, and saw the snake tattoo, and also the red scar that it outlined.

"Well, you got a lovely cut on your face, I'll say that," he said. "Whether you got it from a worm is another question." He smiled at them, amused by their impertinence.

The younger one paused, and looked at the guard for a moment.

***

For fuck's sake.

***

He returned the girl's look, then glanced at the older one and gave her a humorous raise of the eyebrows, as if to say, well, your young one here's got a bit of a mood on her, hasn't she, and was disconcerted to see that the older one was also staring at him, also unsmiling, motionless.

He looked back at the younger one again, and opened his mouth to say something, and when she didn't react but just kept staring at him, he shut his mouth again. He started to feel a bit hot under his helmet.

Although the girl was far from a looker, her baggy shirt showed a good deal of her neck and shoulders and he couldn't help glancing down to see what her tits were like. She did indeed have the tattoos of a soldier.

And they were faded, in such a way that he could tell they hadn't been drawn on her the previous night with charcoal and spirits. Then he noticed the cuts and bruises and scabs on her hands, arms and head. Whoever this girl was, she'd been in a scrap lately.

He looked at the other one, the taller, better-looking one, and besides the tattoo on her face she had a fearsome picture decorating her chest, that he instinctively looked away from because it made him feel a bit ill.

***

You were right, Freya Aelfrethe, thought Five. I didn't really take it in at the time, but you were right.

I have seen the greatest warrior of the age betrayed, and raped, and left for dead. I have hauled her to safety on my fucking own. I have nursed her back to health, or at least I did a bit of it. I have been beaten up by her, and trained in single combat by her. I have been beaten and robbed and stripped by a thug, and I've had my revenge on the cunt the same night.

I've seen her kill a worm.

I've killed a wolf with my bare hands.

And this bastard don't believe a fucking word I say.

ÔCos I'm a girl.

***

"So," said the younger one eventually, in a voice that disturbed him, because she had stopped being all northern and arrogant and had become very quiet and curious, "sorry, think we've got off on the wrong foot, eh?"