Notes: So so sorry for the wait. School and work have been driving me nuts these past two weeks and I have barely had any time to sit down and focus on my writing.
This chapter is where you find out a little more about Devona's history.
Chapter 4: Hidden Memories
After Bjorn had thoroughly insulted her cooking skills, Devona escaped the house and stomped through the snow to the stables. She bundled herself up in her torn green cloak and did her best to ignore the sickening noises coming from her home. It sounded as if a bear was hurling hurling up its dinner then choking on its own vomit. The only consolation Devona had was he did manage to swallow enough of it for the medicine to take effect. She just hoped that there would not be disgusting mess to clean up once she returned.
Freydis was happily munching on the oates and grain feed bag that Devona had provided for her, eager to ignore and be ignored by the world as she enjoyed her lunch. She heard her mistress's approach and twisted her head around to greet her.
Devona patted the horse's back with a gentle hand, her irritation from that Northerner all but gone. "Hey girl," she greeted, "How are you feeling? I bet you're ready for another ride, huh." The mare shook out her mane and bucked her head in response. "I thought as much. I promise I'll take you out soon. Being stuck in here for so long must be hard." Devona pressed her back against the wall next to Freydis' head and sighed.
"I'm still terrible at talking to people. I may have gone a little overboard with some of the things I said. But then again, he was not being very nice to me either."
Freydis snorted in understanding, recalling some of the foul things she had overheard this morning when her mistress was trying to help him. He definitely needed to learn some manners.
"That man is going to be a thorn in my side for the next month," she muttered to herself again, gaze traveling upward to towards the ceiling, "He cannot move on his own because of the broken leg, and he is an ungrateful cocksucker."
Devona heard her horse huff judgmentally and she swore Freydis was shooting her a disapproving glare at her use of profanity.
"What?" she questioned, raising her hands in defense. "He is! That asshole is in my home right now throwing up that meal I cooked for him. Granted, it did taste like body sweat and piss." Her laugh was mischievous and happy as she recalled the exact look the Northman was wearing after he swallowed the last bite of meat in the bowl. It was a mixture of pure misery and nausea.
"Let's hope that his stomach will toughen up after a few more dinners," she said, petting the horse one more time before leaving her alone.
Devona made her way into the clearing in front of her house, pacing in a zigzag line back and forth through the snow. Her eyes were focused on the surrounding trees, watching the midday sunlight bounce off the icicles. Every branch was weighed down by white powdery snow threatening to tumble to the ground any moment. A frozen breeze swirled through the air but the cold did not bother her at all. In fact, the winter chill was rather pleasant. The way the wind bit at her nose and cheeks, adding a pink flush to her face, it felt good.
But what she loved the most was the silence. Winter was the only time of the year where everything in the woods was quiet and peaceful. Hiding away in their burrows and caves from the season, leaving Devona completely alone with her thoughts.
Her eyes trailed up towards the pale, blue sky and she asked herself, "How can people believe that there is a great hall of the gods up there? Filled with dead warriors where all they do is eat and drink day in and day out. Or worse, a magical garden where souls can frolic and sing 'Hallelujah' for eternity... My dad would hate it there."
The instant she mentioned him, a heavy sigh escaped her and her breath turned to puffs of frost in the air. Her entire face lost its joy.
"Valhalla, Heaven, paradise, none of its real. I know that. But," Devona's voice cracked softly, her finger wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye, "my father deserves an afterlife. I hope he has one."
It had been a long time since she even dared to picture his face but time had not lost its accuracy for the details. She could still recall the exact shape and structure of his facial features perfectly. How her eyes were the perfect replica of his, the dark green and streaks of gold and brown depending on the time of day. How his hair was a fair blonde color and curled at the ends which seemed to enlarge his head a few centimeters. Devona used to tease him about that the most. His bushy locks were never combed properly and half the time he looked like a wild man once he grew in his beard.
Her conscious thought began to fade into a long forgotten memory. One she has refused to look upon ever since he left.
Devona was sitting at her dinner table, back in her old home. It was an ugly table with notches and scratches along the wood from many a brewing accident she had caused.
She was reading an old book on herbal medicines her father had given her a few months ago for her seventh birthday. Each page had fascinated her, she barely put the book down anymore. Re-reading sections on pain relieving herbs and disinfectants. She paid special attention to the chapter on the best cure-all potions made entirely from flowers found in the forests she grew up in. Apparently the poppy plant was the best ingredient for sleeping draughts if you wanted to put a patient out for a couple hours.
Nothing could tear her away from that book. Nothing, except her father Audric.
"Devona," he called to her, his deep, rough voice so familiar and comforting, "have you been reading ever since I left?"
A childish smile lit up her face and she jumped off her chair and charged forward to greet him.
"Papa!" he picked her up and spun her around, they laughed together just for the heck of it. Audric wasn't a tall man. Around five foot nine inches in height, but his loud and commanding presence alone made him the largest person in any room. Especially when he smiled. His face became as bright as the sun but much more charming to look at.
"How is my princess?" he asked, pecking her cheek playfully.
"I'm well. But what about you?" Once she was set back down on her feet, she grasped her father's hand and lead him to the dinner table and his favorite chair. "Did you get hurt again?"
"Of course not!" he scoffed, waving his hand in a carefree gesture. "I am not that-" the instant she rolled up his left shirt sleeve he hissed sharply and turned away from the swollen red slash along his forearm. Devona looked at the injury objectively, not frightened like a seven year old should be when faced with blood.
"This is infected papa," she confirmed, recognizing the signs all too well. He had come home far too many times with similar wounds and this was not the worst one she'd seen.
"Is it? I don't feel a thing," he assured her, his gentle grin forced onto his features. She knew he was trying to be strong, to not let the pain affect him but it was foolish of him to try.
"I'm going to go get some fresh water and herbs. I'll make a poultice for your arm," Devona scurried across the room to the corner where their meager kitchen was set up. It was a cluster of worn cabinets and shelves cluttered with carved metal bowls and utensils. A wash tub sat on the countertop. Crusty, oil glazed plates filled the tub to the brim and threatened to slip from their precarious positions and crash to the floor.
Devona opened two different cupboards near the floor so she could search both. She took an ale mug out of the left door and a mortar bowl out of the right. Then she hustled to the ale cask Audric always had available in the house and she dipped the mug into the contents till the cup was full of the brown liquor.
She handed it to her father and said, "Drink up. It may help numb the pain till I can clean it properly." Without waiting for any response, Devona rushed out of the house and disappeared from his view. Her feet sunk into the muddy ground as she stomped towards the leaning fence about twenty feet north of the house. The fence was protecting a patch of ground that had been overgrown by flowers, vegetable and even one or two species of weeds. Colors of red, purple, yellow, and brightest blue petals always reminded Devona of a rainbow.
Not wasting a breath, she picked a cluster of purple flowers and then trodden through several rows of plants till she was standing in the vegetable section. Devona picked out the garlic cloves from the potatoes and tomato vines. By the time she had gathered enough for her treatment, her hand were caked in damp dirt and the hem of her dress was filthy and black. All details that neither disgusted nor bothered her.
She ran back to her house and bumped the door open with her hip.
"I'm back," she declared. Audric had finished his ale seconds before she returned and his cheeks were slightly flushed for the alcohol.
"You left?"
"Yes papa, you should really pay more attention to your surroundings. You are a hunter after all." Devona placed all her ingredients on the dining table then dragged the bucket of fresh water she always kept in the house over to her father's side.
"I have the eyes of a hawk my dear, I see everything that goes on around me," he boasted with a grin.
"Except when our cow gets loose from her pen and then you have to chase her down the valley," she giggled at the memory. Remembering how easily Brida evaded her father for four hours till she finally decided to come home because she was hungry. Her father was furious with Brida for days after for embarrassing him like that.
"The gate was locked, she must have opened it," he defended himself, putting his arm into his daughter's hands.
With one last laugh, she set to work washing the plant in the water bucket, then chopping it with a small knife she constantly carried on her belt.
"What kind of flower is that sweetie?" He questioned, not recognizing the species.
"Purple Coneflower, or echinacea purpurea. I am going to add garlic as well and make a paste to put on your arm."
"Garlic?"
"The book says that garlic cloves will help as well when fighting internal infections. But I'm gonna need to dilute the juice a bit with some oil," her explanation was flawless and certain. There was no doubt in her mind this treatment would work.
"I thought you used ginger last time?"
"Yes, but the effects took too long to occur. Ginger does have healing properties but its food related. That's why I used it that one time you got sick from Mrs. Beekman's roast chicken." He nodded in understanding even though all these different names for plants and spices confused him. But Devona understood all the scientific jargon and used that knowledge to practice her medicinal skills and experimented a little bit when she thought the outcome would be positive
"You really do enjoy this stuff, don't you?" He asked rhetorically, grinding his teeth together so he wouldn't cry out as she applied the paste. Her medicines always seemed to sting his very bones. She said that was how you know it's working, but that knowledge did not make it any more pleasant.
"What? Herbology?" she clarified.
"Yes."
"Of course I do." That child-like smile returned. One front tooth was missing and the rest of her baby teeth were still present. "If I can help even one person with this knowledge, then I am happy. And besides, if I weren't here you would have been dead already."
"Hey! I am not that helpless," he defended, but they both laughed at the idea anyway.
"Alright papa, whatever you say."
A comfortable silence fell between them as Devona stitched the wound together with careful, precise motions and her father observed her all the while. She could feel her father's warm gaze upon her and knew exactly what he was thinking.
Her father had this uncanny obsession with her appearance, always mentioning how her features was a mirror image to her mother's. How her darker hair was exactly the same shade as her's. A deep tree bark brown with muddy highlights. How her pale skin tone was exactly the same as his Marie's. Down to cheek dimple on her face and the sloping nose. In short, Devona was miniature version of his long lost lover.
She did not like to think of herself as a clone to her mother though. The woman who abandoned her a day after she was born and who left her father with a helpless infant with no way to take care of her. Devona had grown to hate her birth-mother in only seven years of life. Audric had explained countless times to her that Marie had to leave, even though she loved them both very much. Telling her it was a family dispute that drove her away. But such an excuse did not sway Devona's feelings on the subject.
Her face had become a constant reminder of the woman both she and her father had lost. She did not like that.
Several minutes passed before Audric broke the quiet with an unexpected question, "Are you lonely Devona?"
"Not really, why?"
"You know how I worry. I am away far too often," his voice was burdened with guilt and grief. Knowing he was not being the best father he could be.
"Papa," the expression she wore was serious and far too mature for a girl her age. "It's alright. I'm not totally alone. I have the horses and cows to talk to. And the garden keeps me busy. The best part about it though," her eyes glazed over and her attention was focused on some faraway image Audric could not see, "the animals don't need to talk for me to understand them."
"Devona," he began, resting his larger palm over her small hand, "I understand you prefer to be alone. I was like that at your age, but if you cannot connect with anyone but your pets than how will you ever find true friendship?"
"But I have you, you're all I need."
She subconsciously wiped away the forming tears, the memory of him too much for her heart to handle.
Her attention was dragged away from her past by the sound of a branch cracking under a heavy foot. Every muscle tensed beneath her skin and she whipped her body towards the source, her dagger already in hand for defense. She could see a vaguely familiar shape in the distance, a person sitting atop a raven black stallion with white markings running up and down its legs. Devona kept her eyes trained on the man, not moving a single muscle so long as he watched her. His form was not tall or broad, but pudgy and short. Unkempt reddish brown hair peeked out from under his hood and that is when she recognized him.
What the fuck are you doing here? She wondered, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of pure unadulterated loathing.
Before she could demand answers from him, a loud crashing sound erupted from her house along with a scream of absolute misery. Without a second thought she ran back to see what that Northman had done to himself this time.
The rider chuckled to himself, and turned his horse back around. Setting off in a gallop back down the mountainside for home. He was content with what he had seen today.
Stay tuned, the next chapter is an awkward but touching moment between Bjorn and Devona.
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