Chapter 15 – What is "Sacred"
Warning: this story will have very triggering subject matter throughout. Individual trigger warnings will be placed with chapters when appropriate. Any feedback is really appreciated.
Triggers for this chapter: vulgar language, mention of violence, mention of rape.
The war room of Tamworth may as well become Eivor's second residence, for she was finding herself spending much more time there than she imagined.
She much preferred handling battle plans from her own war room, amongst her own.
Now she was often in the company of some rather unsavory characters.
She could hear crickets chirping away as the sun had long since set. The warm fire, refueled with fresh kindling, offset the chill of the night.
Eivor was no stranger to staying up later.
Whether it be journeying across the land, battering gates of enemy fortresses to splinters, or enjoying a pair of warm thighs, Eivor was able to remain alert.
But each minute was creeping along at an excruciatingly slow pace.
She cleaned the dirt from under her fingernails as she reflected on her accomplishments.
Though she'd help send Burgred into exile, she favored the memory of finally sending Kyotve the Cruel to Hellheim.
If not to dislodge him from her homeland, then to finally avenge her parents.
She prayed to the Gods his son would soon follow.
By her hand alone.
She smiled at the warm thought of Ravensthorpe. The humble but growing settlement was truly starting to feel like home.
She'd slain countless soldiers, reaping the treasures of monasteries, fortresses, and ships alike. All to fund construction of homes, livestock barns, and of course, a brewery.
She'd begun to adorn their longhouse with trophies from successful hunts. Great beasts, proving to the High One she was worthy of a seat in his hall.
Eivor's deeds had earned her great honor and respect in her community.
Despite all this, she somehow managed to being reduced to a bodyguard.
Eivor stood by the war rooms grand wooden entry doors. The only way in, and out.
Nothing was going to get past Wolf-Kissed. Not if she could help it.
La Mère had chosen to eat her dinner in the war room. Her bowl filled with steamy beef and potato soup filled the air with a hearty aroma.
She was offered to retire to her quarters, but she argued there was too much work to be done.
A spy master with a good work ethic. I've truly seen it all. Then again, I suppose that's required from the sheer volume of their records alone…
The enigmatic secret keeper, Truman, sat across from La Mère as he helped compile information that apparently required immediate attention.
What criteria that material had to of met, Eivor didn't want to know.
But she needed to pay close attention.
The constant reminder of how powerful their information made them gave Eivor a sense of helplessness she was eager to be rid of.
Out of all La Mère's council, Truman was obviously the most dangerous. His specialization in secret trading reflected in the strange, ruthless energy that emanated off of him.
Like that of a snake curled up, eyeing its surrounds for prey.
He was the type of snake that seldom had to worry about predators.
If only Sunnin could snatch him up!
Eivor massaged her temple. The fact she entertained such fantasies made her wonder if she was losing her mind.
But she couldn't help but feel unnerved by Truman.
It was almost as if the very air around him became emptier.
Like he actively drained the secrets from whomever or whatever got too close.
She certainly didn't envy Ubba's position, seeing as he'd have to take over tomorrow.
He better enjoy the "positions" the whores undoubtedly have him in at present while he can!
"Are you going to glower at us all night?" La Mère asked between mouthfuls. "Not that it's terribly off-putting, but still."
"Then why bother bringing it up?" Eivor asked, annoyed.
"Melisendre frequently berates me for scrunching my forehead or poor posture. Something about wrinkles," La Mère said, chuckling.
"I care not for such vain matters," Eivor said.
"Suit yourself," La Mère said before taking another spoonful. "Just trying to make pleasant conversation," she motioned to Truman with her chin. "Not always possible with this one," she teased him.
"Increase my salary if you want conversation beyond my council," Truman said.
La Mère laughed. "No, from what bits I happened to overhear between you and La Mère des Secrets, I'd rather not partake," she said.
Eivor's frustration made her accidently chip her thumbnail.
A bead of blood pooled at its tip which she sucked, taking in the all too familiar copper taste. "I am in no mood for talk. My words are hollow from the sour taste in my mouth," she said through her teeth.
La Mère dabbed a bit of soup that had managed to trickle out of her mouth. "And why might that be?" She asked, though her tone made her question sound more like a statement. "Would a drink cleanse that palette?" She offered, holding up a pitcher of mead.
"Trying to win me over by favoring mead to wine? How naïve do you think I am?" Eivor tsked at her.
"As a matter of fact, I prefer mead," La Mère said. "I know, radical for a Francian! I suppose one good thing people often overlook about your people invading this island was the introduction of this scrumptious beverage," she said before taking an eager gulp.
"I argue the English people are well aware of that," Eivor grumbled.
She then noticed Truman had flashed his trademark smirk at her. "What…why are you looking at me like that?" She asked cautiously.
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," Truman said.
Eivor clenched her fists and stepped forward.
I've had enough of this man!
But La Mère shot up and placed herself between Eivor and Truman as a shield.
"I should warn you; Truman says little else. If its any consolation, I have a good guess as to what," she said hurriedly.
Eivor blinked. She couldn't possibly be able to read that man?!
Then again, they'd been associated for Gods knew how long.
"And why is that?" Eivor growled.
"You're more hostile than before," La Mère said, not taking her eyes off Eivor. She backed up awkwardly to take her seat. "Just yesterday, you spoke of sowing seeds for better relations. We are allies now, after all. Seems the sees you're planting are the exact opposite of what we need."
La Mère clicked her tongue. "Unless… there's another need you haven't met yet…" she said slowly. She exchanged a glance with Truman.
Though they weren't exchanging words, it was obvious the silent communication was solid.
There it is, the weasel under the façade of a maternal figure.
"It's…the…" Eivor said before taking a deep breath.
She knew she felt anger. Perverted even by La Mère.
It made her struggle to stifle those feelings just long enough to put the right words together.
I have to finish what I started. I am NO engei!
Eivor blew the air out of her nose. "The sheer level of invasiveness. Is nothing sacred to you?" She asked finally.
"No," La Mère said without missing a beat.
Her lack of hesitation was downright disgusting to Eivor.
"How can you say that?!" Eivor spat.
"Because the concept of 'sacred' is a myth," La Mère said with confidence. "Standards set that are veils with no power of their own. Society fuels them. How it does so differs depending on the society, but from my experience they almost always push people like us to the margins."
"Us?" Eivor asked.
"Bastards," La Mère said, cocking an eyebrow. "I don't mean to cause offense Wolf-Kissed, but that was beyond obvious," she said.
Eivor rolled her eyes. She was mainly trying to clarify who was included in whatever group La Mère was referring to.
To ensure she didn't include the Raven Clan, the Ragnarsson's, or any honorable company for that matter.
Eivor crossed her arms and leaned on one leg. "And how have you come to adopt this appalling outlook on life?" She asked.
"Again, obvious!" La Mère said, frowning.
Eivor drew in a sharp breath and furrowed her brow. "I know how you got to where you were. You've been through a great deal, but that doesn't excuse your trickster ways!" She said proudly.
"Think what you will, Wolf-Kissed. Holding what I once thought to be sacred would directly conflict with the reality of my present and future. I can't afford entertaining such delusions. Not when so many count on me, and forging this alliance. It's still fragile, need to foster the seeds I've sown," La Mère said dismissively.
"What you consider delusions is their reality," Truman reminded her. "You can't just force them out of that mindset. Convince them with actions, or seeds, I suppose."
La Mère closed her eyes. "Touring them through our support efforts as well as war, that'll require great effort," she said.
"And you can warm them to the idea of doing so, and believe it, by allocating this moon's profits from the fabric manufacturing to the construction of more ships. Many were destroyed in the war," Truman suggested.
La Mère rubbed her chin. "But what of the orphanage? I wanted construction of that to start right away?" She reasoned.
"Do what you should. Not what you want. Not yet," Truman said firmly.
La Mère pressed her lips into a fine line and nodded slowly. "I know that. I just keep forgetting how precarious my position is," she traced the rim of her soup bowl with a single finger while resting her head with her free hand. "We have enough coin to make ends meet, and with as many babies expected, the orphanage can wait," she decided.
Truman gave a curt nod, evidently approving of his leader's decision.
While Eivor was glad coin would be dedicated to support their army, it still felt tainted coming from her.
The mention of children, however, gave Eivor a devious thought.
She sauntered over to La Mère and placed her hands on the table.
She positioned herself so she was peering over La Mère, meeting her plain brown eyes.
"And what of your precious Melodie? Where do her values lie?" Eivor asked, not bothering to hide her provoking intent.
Truman whistled lowly. Based on what he said on his willingness to engage in small talk, Eivor took his reaction as confirmation that she had hit a sore point.
Good!
La Mère said nothing and rose slowly, gracefully tucking her brown hair behind her neck.
She walked over the to the fireplace and stared into the flames. "My daughter is adjusting well!" La Mère said, her back facing Eivor.
"She was so meek when we reunited, and she's come a long way since then," La Mère continued. She promptly took an iron prong meant to maintain the fire from its metal holster nailed into the fireplace and poked the logs.
They crackled loudly as a flurry of tiny sparks swirled up to the ceiling.
But strangely, she left the tip of the pole in the heart of the brilliant red embers.
What's that about?
"She has yet to succeed with her mathematic lessons, but she excels elsewhere," La Mère said, a hint of disappointment slipped into her voice. "That girl needs to be prepared, for what's to come!" She asserted this point with chopping the air with her hand.
"Grooming your successor?" Eivor asked. This wasn't so much of a challenge as much as a genuine curiosity, given the election system of her "true family."
"Shaping a girl into a capable woman. Whatever position she takes here," La Mère said. "Compared to the others here, she's had everything handed to her. That convent she was raised in had decent infrastructure, shielding her from the elements. She had a bed. Little food, but more than most," she rattled on.
"She would've grown into a meek servant girl, ostracized because of her impairment. Never dreaming of rising above her station!" La Mère said, arching the air with one hand.
"And what, you think you saved her from that? What if she preferred a quiet life?" Eivor argued.
"No!" La Mère shouted. "She has been reunited with flesh and blood, who cares about her well-being. She is surrounded by those in similar circumstances. Those who differ from the norm. She knows why they are different. They know why she is different and accept her! She is being educated both in and out of her scheduled lessons, invaluable information, invaluable compared to the teachings of any holy book!"
Her back still facing Eivor, La Mère held up her index finger. "I even got to give her an exceptional lesson by having her help with Aucassin!" She said.
Her voice dropped down an octave, sending a chill up Eivor's spine.
Eivor raised her eyebrows. "Help?" She asked.
La Mère finally turned around. "In executing him," she said calmly.
Her tone was betrayed by the manic smile dawned on her pale face; her cheeks reddened from the warm fire.
Her brown irises had been engulfed by her pupils.
She looked just as monstrous as the moment she stabbed Yvette to death.
And a monster she certainly was if she was being truthful.
"What?! But didn't you burn him alive?!"" Eivor exclaimed.
"Burned, extinguished, alternating between the two," La Mère said, swaying her index finger back and forth to visually demonstrate the process. "Remarkably he survived eleven rounds of that! Rather poetic considering this year marks the eleventh of him condemning me to the church," she said, giggling.
"How could you make a child endure such cruelty! Your own daughter!" Eivor yelled.
"The same way your people train your own, from a young age, to crush, destroy, and kill. So you may conquer. To get where you are today, how many have you slaughtered?" La Mère taunted her
"We do NOT force our CHILDREN to watch or partake in burning one of our own alive! The fact I have to say that out loud is ridiculous!" Eivor shot back.
La Mère quickly knelt down and yanked the iron pole out of the fire from behind her. Smoke wafted off of its tip.
A log fell out of the fire and nearly caught La Mère's robes on fire but it was just out of reach.
"HE WAS NOT ONE OF MY OWN!" She boomed.
Truman kept his eyes on his infuriated leader. Like he was watching a steed he had invested great coin in, being satisfied with its performance.
"He damned me! He damned her! I rose from that suffering, and she is rising thanks to me! We would not be here, basking in this incredible triumph were it not for me. Being. Strong. So, if I have the opportunity to personally involve someone who is truly my own, to grow stronger, I pounce on that opportunity faster than a bitch in heat!" La Mère screamed.
"Do not judge the trials and tribulations we endure because of systems, imposed by people who bleed the same way as us. Reduced to animals, we do what we must to survive in the social muck we call home. Those condemned to the same fate and don't fight, die!" She continued.
"Even if it means sacrificing what society considers 'dignified.' Everything, and everyone, can be deceived, can be punctured. Can invade, burn, steal, deceive, rape, and more. What is touted as 'sacred' are but words those more powerful than others give weight to. To keep their place at the top Who can blame them? It fucking brilliant!" La Mère said, spanning her arms wide.
She fumbled on her footing as the weight of the iron pole swayed her to the right.
Eivor reached her hand out. "Put that down, I doubt you know how to swing that thing around," she said, slowly pacing towards her. But La Mère shifted her feet so she pivoted to Eivor's left side.
"You are making a very bad decision here. One with consequences you will sorely regret," Eivor warned her.
La Mère shook her head. "We all have regrets. Certainly you have some, scarring your soul. Considering the abhorrent actions you've committed," she spat.
"What have I done that's abhorrent?!" Eivor demanded.
"We have reports of your raids. Stealing, burning. Yet you leave few casualties of women and children in your wake. The most unusual display of mercy from the likes of you. And its actions like that. They do set you apart, any simpleton can understand that. But you think this has earned more honor than me?!" La Mère said accusatorily.
She held the tip of the pole to her nose, taking a big whiff. "Because most of those families? Wind up in my care. Because of the carnage you inflict on them," she said.
She rested the tip of the pole on the floor, scraping the cracks securing its stones in place. "Remember that analogy you had, about seeds? The Ragnarsson's planted theirs long ago. Their roots are ingrained in this island, and your clan has tapped into them. But take care, around the children here Eivor. They might recognize you from a raid. The mind of a child is easily etched by such trauma," she licked her lips. "A drengr driving their axe in the skull of an enemy guard, that might have been their father, is especially poignant."
"Is that a threat?" Eivor asked, glaring at La Mère.
"No. An accurate assessment of how many of my true children think of every Norseman and Dane on this island!" La Mère said matter-of-factly.
Truman suddenly stood up. "Well made points, but end this," he said.
While he was an advisor to La Mère, it sounded more like a direct order.
At least it was in my favor as well as La Mère's. I'd hate to leave a nick on that scarless face of hers.
La Mère huffed and her shoulders shuddered before she regained some of her composure. She promptly slid the free log back into the fire with the pole.
Carefully stepping over the trail of black char it had left, she placed the iron pole back in its holster and took her seat.
Eivor stared at her, frozen in place.
La Mère rhythmically tapped her nails on the table.
The gentle clinking noise sounded like a slow march.
Perhaps she was trying to de-escalate. Meditate to recompose herself.
Eivor knew she would have to meditate as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
For now, she could only process this:
La Mère, Melodie, the whole lot of the spies were comprised of the forsaken.
Like her, damned by societal standards. In a way she argued was wholly unjust.
La Mère had every intention of turning that around.
She had won her victory, but by slaughtering her own siblings.
She'd even begun to foster an alliance with Mercia. Not completely hide in the shadows, but take credit for her deeds in the open.
Helping those who are most disadvantaged is a noble effort. And Eivor flinched at the thought of the women and children she had let pass her by so they could escape a raid.
She did what had to be done. Just because they couldn't defend their homes did not make Eivor's actions unjustifiable. Of that, she was certain.
It was clear there was a darkness in La Mère. Cultivated from the trauma's she had endured.
And she seemed to willingly feed that darkness not only if it meant bettering her circumstances.
Because she relished in it.
It reminded Eivor how Ivarr took joy in cruelty.
I envied you before Ubba. Now, I fear for you.