Freyas Saga Ch. 24

"What is it," she said. "Who do you think I am?"

He heaved in a huge breath, and a little colour came back into his face.

"You're not him," he gasped. "Oh god. You're not. I thought you were his ghost."

"Whose ghost?" she said, advancing on him, and he stepped back, fearful.

"Wait," he said.

"Whose ghost do you think I am," she said, angry, but inside it was dawning on her, and it made her feel cold, because he knew, and she knew he knew.

He held up a hand to ask her for silence. They stood facing each other.

"Siegfa of Hargest," he said, and hearing his name spoken out loud hit her like a lance to the heart. She was breathless, and after a long moment, she had to make herself breathe deeply.

They were silent. They stared at each other.

"My eyesight is bad," he said, sounding tired. "Yes, Carfryn of Hargest, it's the drink. If you want to know why I drink, it's to forget what I've done."

"What did you do."

"I have a weakness," he said. "I have never been drawn to the pleasures of love with a woman. I simply prefer the bodies of men. I was approached by someone and told to...to see if your brother was the same way. Something in his manner told me he was. So, I had him meet me and we spoke."

The ache was crushing her chest. She felt dizzy. She leaned against the wall and got on her knees, and sat back on her heels, her hands in her lap. He looked down at her for a moment and stiffly lowered himself until he sat before her.

"And," he said, "my guess was right. Your brother was like me. And what I tell you is nothing but the truth, Carfryn. I did not harm him. I only spoke to him, and we were in concord, and he, he responded to me, and we..."

"You what."

Say it to my face. Tell me what you did.

"We made love," he said.

"You and he," she said, her stomach churning. "You mean to tell me you..."

It was too hard to say. She didn't want to look at it.

It was why he never spoke of other women, never responded to her when they lay in bed, never wished, as she had, that the wall between beloved one and lover could be torn down.

All our lives, he was unawakened, until he met this man. I hadn't the power to do it. Even if we hadn't been of one flesh, even if we had met as strangers, I would never have been his.

Never.

"I know I did not harm him," Harasteorra said. "I swear to you, on his memory, he liked his time with me, brief as it was. For we were then...interrupted. And he was exposed. And men took him and beat him. I do not know how else they used him, for then a serving girl came, and one of the men and I had to make sure she would not talk."

Oh god.

"What did you do," she said, staring at the patch of dirt that lay between them.

"Siegfa was...well, he and I had been together, and so..."

"He was naked, I know. I found him like that," she said. "Then the girl came, and you had to make it look like she had been found with him."

"You are quick."

"And you killed her."

"I did not. The other man did. I am as guilty as if I did, though."

"Who was she."

"What? I don't know. She was a serving girl."

"There were eight in our house," she said, still staring at the ground, her voice oddly calm. "I knew them all. I gave them board and I paid their wages, and at festival times we ate together and they told me stories about their men and their families."

"They all look the same to me," he muttered.

"Describe her," she said.

"She had red hair. Pale. I can't remember."

"That could be half of them," she said.

"I'm sorry I didn't get her name," he said. "I did not have a chance."

"What did he do to her."

"The man who killed her? Carfryn, do you want to know all the details?"

"I owe it to her."

"Well," he said, "I helped to catch her, but he, well, he had to make it look like she had been with Siegfa, so..."

"I understand," she said, nodding. "He did what he had to do. And then."

"Then he drowned her in the cesspit."

Her gorge rose and she put her hand over her mouth and swallowed it with difficulty.

"I am sorry," he said.

"You," she said. "You and those others. You did that to him. You killed the girl. And you blamed me. And now I am known in Hargest as a pervert and a murderer."

"They only took the rumours about you and spoke them out loud," he said.

"When I found him, he refused my help. Do you know what he did, sooner than take help from me?"

"What."

"He cut his own throat."

"So," he said quietly, "the rumours were true, then?"

She felt herself losing control , reached up and wiped a single tear from one eye with her little finger. She took a deep breath.

"Yes," he said, "I thought so. Because then you were gone, and he was found dead."

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Funny, she thought. The clouds pass overhead. The birds cheep. The worms move in the earth. And I learn the truth. And it changes nothing.

"I swear to you," he said quietly, "I did no harm to him. He was...beautiful, Carfryn, just as you are. All I did was show him what he wanted. And I am sorry, truly I am. For you have been most evilly wronged in this. But I did not hurt your brother."

She was silent.

"Who was it," she said at last, looking up at him inquiringly.

"Who was who?"

"Who was it approached you, to see if my brother was...like you?"

"I cannot say."

"I think you can."

"Carfryn, I cannot."

"You will tell me," she said, standing up. He rose too.

"You will not make me," he said, drawing himself up to his full height, and staring down at her. "I am sorry for what happened, but you cannot threaten me."

"It's not a threat," she said. "You will give me a name, or I will geld you."

He noticed suddenly that she had a knife in one hand. He hadn't even seen her take it out.

"If that's the way you want it," he said, and reached down for his sword.

She dropped the knife in the dirt, reached up, pulled herself to him and kneed him in the stomach. He doubled over, winded and groaning, and then there was a crushing blow on the back of his neck. He fell in the mud, stunned, and then an arm folded itself around his throat and he was pulled up until he was lying back, half on her, trying to free himself from her arm. But she had her right arm blocking his windpipe and her left arm holding it in place. He choked.

"Tell me," she whispered in his ear.

"No," he gasped in return.

"Who are you scared of."

"No one."

"Then tell me."

He felt his air running out and the strength was going from his fingers. He pointed to his mouth. She relaxed the pressure a little and he was able to breathe in another lungful of air before she tightened her grip once more.

"You won't tell me?"

"I cannot."

"You have too much faith in people," she said. "Whoever did it, there's nothing he could do to you that I wouldn't do."

He gagged, turning blue, and then she released him, and he rolled away, choking and staring at her, astonished.

"What happened to you?" he gasped. "You were his sister. You kept his house. You didn't know how to fight."

"Not true," she said with a calmness that he found disturbing. "We used to fence."

"Fencing and fighting are not the same thing."

"I know that now," she said. "I learned it the hard way. Along with a lot of other things. So, there is nothing I can do to induce you to tell me who put you up to this."

"Nothing."

"Hm," she said, and gave him a sidelong look. "I can see that I haven't made my point."

"What point," he said, and then recoiled as she flung a handful of dirt in his face. Then he felt the blow to the chest, and he fell back, and she was sitting astride him and he choked as her thumb pressed down into the front of his throat.

"If you won't tell me," she said, staring down at him, "I will find out another way. But there's still the matter of punishment."

"I swear to you, I did not harm him," Harasteorra gasped, his eyes bulging.

Good.

"Not for my brother," she said. "For the girl."

And she poised her two fingers above his cloudy left eyeball.

"No," he begged. "Please. I could die. Something else. Anything."

She hesitated, and then caught herself, but he didn't try to throw her off. She glanced quickly around the yard and her eye was caught by something near the backdoor.

"You can write?" she said.

"Of course."

"What hand do you write with?"

"The right."

"Is it the same hand you pleasure yourself with?" she said, getting off him and with an effort hauling him to his feet. "The same hand that you touched my brother with?"

"Y-yes, but..."

She dragged him over to the woodpile and threw him on his knees and placed his right hand on the chopping block.

"No!" he moaned.

"Stop whining," she said. "I'm not going to cut it off."

"You fucking bitch," he said, trying to wrestle out of her grasp, but she picked up the hatchet, turned it so that the cutting edge faced upwards, and slammed the metal boss of it down on his hand. He screamed. She smashed his hand two more times and then let go of him. He fell over, clutching his ruined hand. She turned and ran for the wall and jumped up, scrambling over it and running around to the side of the inn. She heard shouts from the yard and Harasteorra bellowing with pain.

She quickly untied her horse, reined it around and headed for the road. Then she was off, the wind on her face, riding north.

It was only after riding for some time that she tasted her own salt and felt the ache in her throat, and realised that she had been weeping.