Affinity, p.15
Affinity, page 15
It was one thing to discuss such matters around a tavern fire. It was quite another to hear them from a Rider’s mouth. In a flash, I thought back to all those slaves I’d seen unloaded after the raids, stumbling in iron fetters down the docks. Had any of them a choice? No, only our scorn.
It was quiet a moment, then Sage squeezed his fingers—patting the air again.
“I have two sisters,” he replied, needing no translation. “When I left last spring for the ride, both were still very small.”
I nodded quietly, and tried to control myself, but I was suddenly a fount of questions. All my life I’d heard rumors of such people. Never once did I imagine I’d meet one of them in the flesh. A wisp of clouds passed over the sun, and we continued along the rocks, easing our way gradually upwards. It was more difficult with his leg, and I slowed my pace to match.
“Was it difficult for your mother?” I asked quietly, flashing a look at his face to make sure I hadn’t gone too far. “Raising another man’s son? There are many in my own village who’ve done the same,” I added quickly, thinking this might help.
It was an outright lie. Where I came from, blood was blood.
I’d worried about offense, but Hadrian merely gentled with a smile, shaking his head as the woman’s face flitted through his mind. “I was her son as well. A mother loves her child. But it was difficult for her new husband,” he added, swinging his leg over a rock. “I don’t think he liked the sight of me, walking around the house. Her children with him were all fair—locks like Erik’s. I take after my father, or so I’ve been told.” He fell silent a while, moving gingerly up the trail. “I left with the Riders as soon as I was tall enough to mount a horse. Been riding with them ever since. That is my family now.” He caught himself, glancing into the distance. “That was my family.”
I nodded again, trying my best to absorb this.
Parts of it felt too big for my imagination, yet there were others that struck painfully close to home. In terms of his parentage, and the stigma that followed, I could understand completely; born to a legacy over which he had no control. In a way, it was not so different than witchcraft. At least, not in the eyes of those who’d be sharpening their stakes. But about the Riders themselves, there was not a hint of bitterness. He didn’t blame them for leaving. It was simply their way.
“Have you any other questions?” he asked a bit sharply. “Perhaps we could discuss my nightmares, or the coming winter, or other cheerful things.”
Erik smiled to himself, casting a look over his shoulder. “Do not tempt her,” he warned.
The rocks broke in a wide circle, and we spilled into an open plain—random outcroppings dotting the heavy grass. It was easy to see from such height, how far we’d actually climbed. A good deal further than I might have guessed, though there was still a great ways to go.
And these are only the hills. Wait until we reach the peaks.
“Shall we stop for lunch?” Erik suggested, glancing around the rocky slope and shielding his eyes from the sun. “There is still some of the rabbit—”
He went abruptly quiet, as a shadow drifted overhead. We lifted our eyes to see the great body of a hawk, circling almost lazily above us. Even from so far away, I could see the dark lines on its tawny feathers. Its head cocked, and I imagined myself caught in the gaze of that great yellow eye.
Hadrian reached behind him, tracing the line of it with his bow. “Have you ever eaten hawk—”
I grabbed his arm without thinking, stopping the arrow a second before it could fly. He turned to me in surprise, as Erik and Sage froze abruptly behind him. My cheeks flamed, as my hand drifted slowly back to my side. “Actually, there are some things I should tell you as well...”
Chapter 12
PERHAPS SPURRED BY the sight of new storm clouds gathering above, the four of us hiked longer than we’d anticipated, not placing our stones for a fire until nearly dusk. As Sage and I gathered moss and pieces of kindling, Hadrian made a sweep of the perimeter and Erik began chopping logs.
It was the kind of thing I could have watched for hours, lulling myself into a trance. There was something strangely meditative about it: the clean stroke, and sharp crack. The swish of air as he pulled back for another swing.
“You’re doing it again.”
My eyes jerked up and I realized he was watching me in return, his eyes twinkling with a little smile. How long he’d been staring was another question, but I suddenly didn’t want to find out.
“I was searching for a critique,” I said lightly, “then I got bored.”
He laughed to himself, setting down the axe. With both arms, he carried the pieces he’d cut to the circle, tossing a few of them towards the stones, just as Hadrian swept out of the woods.
“There were some tracks a ways back,” he said by way of announcing himself, “but they angled down to the river and I couldn’t find them after that. They were small, anyhow.” He lashed the bow to his shoulder and settled beside the fire. No matter where he was, or what he happened to be doing, that slender crescent never left his back. “Did you catch any fish?”
Erik shook his head, settling across from him. “It’s too dark now, and the river’s already swollen its banks. I think you might have been right about the curse,” he added, half-teasing, “you’d think it was early spring, and last year’s melt.”
Hadrian nodded absently, warming his hands. “Well, there’s still the venison from a few days ago.” I rummaged around to find it. “We smoked it well, so it should still be good. Granted, we may break our teeth before the end.”
Sage pushed to her feet, grabbing one of her baskets. Her dark hair curled in a long ponytail, tumbling down the length of her back. She made a few quick motions, stepping towards the woods.
Some berries, she wanted to gather. I was startled when Erik leapt to his feet.
“Keep away from the trees,” he said sharply, “and do not turn your back. Stop.”
Sage stopped, not sure what to do.
Erik continued in a sharp tone, “I want you to forget the basket and start moving very slowly. Ease back towards us; that’s right, just like that.”
The girl went pale as a sheet, but obeyed without question. Hadrian was already standing at the ready, those dark eyes piecing the shadows. The skin prickled on the back of my neck, as I rose to my feet as well. It took me a moment to find what had caught their attention. Once I did, I was suddenly five-years-old again, listening to spooky tales of animals that prowled in the dark.
A wildcat.
There weren’t many as far south as my village, but the few we’d seen had managed to make a mark. I saw now that it had been approaching us for some time, slinking through the ferns like a second shadow, its yellow eyes fixed upon the tiny girl venturing into the trees.
It made sense, it would choose her.
The cats were fearsome predators, but often enough, they didn’t want the fight. They would seek out the smallest, the easiest. I remembered the story of a child who’d been caught in the woods not far from my cottage. Her parents had run the trails for hours, before finally giving up the chase.
A growl echoed in the silence. The beast knew it had been caught. With movements smooth as silk, Hadrian reached behind him, taking the slender bow from his back.
“Do not fire,” Erik breathed, afraid to speak any louder. “It’s only a short leap away, and faster than you.”
The Rider ignored him, lifting an arrow to his chin.
By now, Sage had stopped moving. Every time she tried, the beast would take a step to counter, keeping them always at the same length. Perhaps she was afraid to lead it back into camp, or perhaps she was merely trembling. The basket slipped from her fingers, landing in the grass.
“Do not shoot,” Erik said again, through gritted teeth. “You will not scare it away.”
But Hadrian had no intention of scaring the beast.
Things had moved well past that.
There was a quality to the air that was quite hard to describe, a kind of otherworldly stillness as the forest and everything in it, seemed to be holding its breath. The cat and the Rider locked eyes like it was just the two of us them. A quiet tension was building, just waiting to snap.
Hells!
The cat sprang first, as Erik predicted, springing like a demon from the shadows, its sharp claws reaching for Sage’s neck. There was enough time to feel a jolt of terror, a sudden lurching of the stomach, before an arrow sliced the air between them, burying deep in the beast’s neck.
It was a kill-shot, as the soldiers call it. There was a terrible sound as the cat died. Yet before it could echo into silence, Hadrian was already striding forward, wrapping a strong arm around the girl’s chest and gently drawing her back.
“Sage!” I cried, rushing towards them.
My hands came up to her cheeks, checking for damage and drying her eyes. Far as I could tell, she appeared to be fine. Shaken, but fine. Hadrian released her, slipping the bow onto his back.
“It would not have stopped,” he said bluntly, throwing Erik a sideways glance.
Not quite an apology, merely an explanation. Either way, it was clear the man wouldn’t be asking permission for anything. Erik stared after him, before rushing to Sage as well.
WE ATE WILDCAT THAT night.
While the moon rose in a slow circle above us, we passed pieces back and forth, slicing off little bits with the knife, and roasting them over the fire. With food in our bellies and a fire crackling at our feet, it was almost easy to forget what had happened. It was only a scare, wasn’t it? Another story to frighten the children on a faraway night. It was only the look on Sage’s face that helped me remember. That and the sight of my own shaking hands.
She was sitting close to Hadrian, she had been all night. The firelight danced in her face, making her luminous eyes seem even larger than normal. Every now and again, he would offer her another cut. She would rarely take it. By the end, she was leaning quietly against his arm.
“That was an amazing shot,” Erik finally broke the silence, feeling the aftershocks of the moment himself. “It would have gotten you first cut back at home. Granted, that’s just a guess,” he admitted with a touch of humor. “I don’t think anyone’s ever shot a wildcat before.”
Because it’s impossible. Because they’re too fast.
I expected Hadrian to blush, or wave it off like nothing, but he leaned forward with a touch of interest. “What did you call it?” he asked curiously.
There was a pause.
“A wildcat,” Erik repeated, haltingly. “What do you call it?”
“A mountain lion.”
...what?
“It looks nothing like a lion,” Erik said indignantly.
“And how would you know?” Hadrian asked. “Have you ever seen one?”
The Viking set his jaw, refusing to answer.
In stories. In pictures.
“Have you ever seen one?” I prompted.
Hadrian let us hang a moment, then nodded with a smile. “When I was young. The Roman legion brought a pair with them for entertainment when they crossed the Great Sea. A mother and cub. They were not so different than your wildcat.”
He meant only to be teasing, but I was entranced.
“What happened?”
We were talking about the Romans. I should have known better than to ask.
“They died shortly after landing,” Hadrian replied, “didn’t last the week. The soldiers have a taste for games,” he added a littler quieter. “They like playing with things that can’t fight back.”
WE FINISHED THE MEAL in relative silence, then tossed another few logs on the fire. All night, I knew Erik would stay awake tending it. The sight of the cat had spooked him, whatever it was called.
“You don’t have to do that alone,” I said quietly, some hours later. The moon had risen high above us, and the others were already asleep. “I could wake Sage—set her to work.”
He glanced up in surprise, having believed me to be asleep as well, before chuckling quietly as he followed my gaze. “No, I don’t think you could. The girl’s sleeping like the dead, she had a great shock.” He glanced back at me, still grinning. “But it was nice of you to volunteer.”
“Volunteer her,” I clarified, sitting up and fastening the clasp on my cloak. “I would like very much to go back to sleep.”
“Well, you had a great shock as well,” he said with false sympathy. “I saw you nearly choke on that bone earlier. The wildcat nearly claimed a victim after all.”
I pushed to my feet, and joined him by the fire. “The mountain lion,” I corrected with a little smile.
He smiled in return, shaking his head. “I’m not calling it that.”
It was quiet for a while, as we stood there looking at the flames, looking at the stars, looking at the woods. Looking anywhere except at each other. The canopy of branches parted in a perfect circle around us, like the heavens had opened to show us that exact part.
“Do you think they can really see us?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head to the sky. “The people who’ve gone before. My father told me once, they were watching from Valhalla.”
I stiffened beside him, pressed against the side of his arm.
“I don’t know,” I answered bluntly. “I’d supposed they have better things to do.”
He turned to me, perhaps thinking he shouldn’t have mentioned his father, perhaps thinking something else entirely. A gentle breeze stirred the air around us, scented with heather and pine.
“You know,” he began softly, “every night you were in that tower, I sat watching from my window. Every night the king was delayed, I was praying for a storm.”
My throat clenched, and I stared back at him. It felt as though my insides had been stripped; a thousand things I wanted to answer, yet there was suddenly nothing to say.
I searched his eyes, like a beacon to guide me. “In the cabin, that soldier asked you a question. A crown and a kingdom you had been offered...all traded for me. He asked if it was worth it.” I paused a moment. “What did you say?”
He looked me over slowly, his eyes giving away nothing. For a long time, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he reached up suddenly, tucking a lock of hair away from my face.
“A hundred times,” he said roughly. “A hundred times and more.”
Without another word, he pressed his lips to mine, kissing until all the air had rushed from my chest. Then he drew a sharp breath, and paced into the trees. I stared after him for a long time.
A hand pressed to my mouth. Silent tears pouring down my cheeks.
DAWN CAME EARLY THE next morning, but in truth, I hadn’t really slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the image would come back again. His face pressed sweetly to mine, the warmth of his lips.
And the sudden cold when he pulled away.
“Good morning,” Hadrian said brightly, shaking lose his cloak.
I startled to attention, then flashed a quick smile, remembering too late to say it in reply. A golden spill of sunshine was pouring in from the eastern sky, burnishing the trees, and making the nighttime hours feel like a dream. I saw only then, why the Rider was so cheerful.
“Did you make those?” I asked in surprise, looking at the furs on his knees.
He held them up with a touch of pride, just the faintest glow in his eyes. All night long, he must have been scraping and cleaning the hide, weaving the coarse strands he cut together.
I worried suddenly that he’d seen us.
Then I realized, there was nothing to see.
“They’re a little small for you,” I added, laughing as he danced them around. “Are they meant to slip round your arms?”
“Your legs,” he corrected, glancing to the side as Sage blinked slowly awake. “And they’re not for me. I think they might be the perfect size.”
The girl was utterly delighted. In her entire life, I don’t think she’d ever had anything new. I watched as she slipped them on and twirled around, letting out a chiming burst of laughter.
I was not the only one watching. A second later, I saw Erik standing in the trees.
“Shall we be dancing up the mountain, then?” he asked, but he was smiling. It would have been impossible not to, given the look on her face. His eyes met mine briefly before glancing swiftly the opposite direction. “We should get moving, if we hope to reach the river by sundown. There’s a bend halfway up that turns towards the east. The bridge is not far from there. And Brita,” he added.
I dropped my eyes to the ground, feeling like they were weighted lead.
For the next few hours, we climbed and leveled, climbed and leveled. There seemed no end to it. We could hear the river, but were unable to see it. Not until we crawled our way through a clutch of huckleberries, did we stumble into a shore on the other side.
It’s huge, I thought in alarm. And half-frozen.
I’d thought the men had been exaggerating, but it was truly a sight to behold. The churning waves were frothing white, and flying past at impossible speeds. A big enough problem as it was, but the river itself was nearly twice its usual width, overwhelming its frozen banks.
There was no way to cross, that much was obvious. We’d need to wait for the bridge. As if sensing my dismay, Erik waved us calmly forward, strolling along the pebbly shore.
“It won’t be long now, and there’s plenty to eat in the meanwhile.” As he spoke, he stopped beside a crop of glossy red berries, considering them a moment, before lifting one to his mouth.
Sage flew out of nowhere, slapping it from his hand.
He blinked in shock, staring at the rest. “Are these not the same ones as before?”
She shook her head, smacking a palm to her forehead with an exasperated smile. He laughed aloud, and was about to make some joke, when the four of us realized something obvious, the kind of thing that, if we hadn’t spent the morning trekking up a mountain, we’d have noticed before.
