I don't own anything except the OC and the plot.
TheOneThatSeesGNS, thank you so much for the review! What, you didn't instantly fall in love with Borkul at 'Murder, banditry, assault, theft... and lollygagging'? No? Just me? Okay...
8
The next morning and the day that followed were just as uneventful as the night before. Still there was no sign of that wicked woman and Borkul passed his time sharpening his sword at the forge and dozing in the sun. The pain had faded, but his pride was still hurt. Though he had to admit that his anger had ceased as well. He wouldn't say it out loud, but if hadn't been his balls that she had kneed, he would've even encouraged her. It had been effective after all, he had let go of her and she had gotten away. The results did justify the means in his opinion and he had always told her not to go easy just because it was still training.
He had trapped her with little choice and she had chosen the most promising way of escaping. Now that he had time to think about it, he couldn't really blame her. It happened rarely that he encountered a foe bigger than himself and after all, Aoife barely reached his chin. From her point of view, it must have been seriously threatening. Naturally, he wouldn't tell her that, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't punish her as severely as he had thought yesterday. Hadn't he wanted her to fight with fierceness?
In the late afternoon the mood in the camp changed. Borkul knew that the hagravens – who he luckily still hadn't encountered yet – were preparing the ritual now. It would take place in front of the huge stone wall on the uppermost level of the ruin, a wall similar to the one Aoife had shown him near Druadach Redoubt.
The hagravens didn't allow the whole tribe to bear witness, but most of them were on their way to the top anyway to pay their tribute to Niall before he left to the ritual site. Borkul joined them out of curiousity, but stayed out of the way. He had no intend to talk to the man and preferred to watch from a distance as the future Briarheart, dressed in a traditional headpiece of hide and antlers, walked up to the bridge.
Finally Borkul spotted Aoife in the distance as well, safely away from him at the crossing of the ancient bridges. He wasn't sure if she had seen him, too. If she had, she gave no sign of it. When the man reached her, she took his arm and walked with him to the left until they disappeared from everyone's view. He furrowed his brows and crossed his arms in front of his chest when his thoughts wandered back to the night before and how Aoife might had spent it. Had she comforted her old friend while they had waited for the ritual? Maybe distracted him? Borkul felt sick at the thought. What was her part in the ritual anyway?
"No need to look this gravely, this is a day of celebration", a mocking voice next to him said. He looked down to see Tiae stand next to him. The shaman had changed her headdress to an even more elaborated one, one that made her nearly as tall as him.
"Isn't it exciting?" She smacked her lips. "Ahh... can you taste the old magic?"
Borkul looked back to the bushes that hid the ritual site from their view. He was neither trained nor interested in magic – he wasn't even sure if he had any at all – but even he could feel a change in the atmorsphere at camp. It felt like the minutes before a storm, the air strangely charged like it waited for the thunder to break.
"Why aren't you up there?" He nodded towards the bridges.
Tiae smiled mysteriously and cocked her head. "If the matriachs accept me as one of their sisters, maybe I will... one day. Until that day comes, I will gladly see to my people's well-being."
Borkul watched the shaman for a few moments. For him it seemed insane that she wanted to be one of the hags, but it was the same with men wanting to become a Briarheart. Maybe that was one of the cultural differences that he would never adjust to.
"How long will the ritual take?"
Tiae shrugged. "An hour, maybe more. It depends on how vigorously his heart fights against being pulled out. But we don't have to wait here, there are still things to prepare. Come on, I could use a pair of strong arms."
Borkul spend the next hour doing chores for the shaman. She let him gather firewood for the great campfire where most of the celebration would take place, rearrange benches and tables and finally drag a kettle all the way down from her tent, keeping an eye on not letting him spill a single drop of the deep red liquid. Its scent was so strong that Borkul felt intoxicated just by smelling it and after he had placed the kettle near one of the tables, he had to sit down. Other members of the tribe piled up food, roasted mead and some started beating on drums while others sang chants in strange guttural words he had never heard before.
When the sun disappeared on the horizon, the party was already in full swing and there still wasn't any sign of Niall or Aoife. Borkul helped himself to some of the elk roasting over the fire while he kept watching the people around him. He hadn't realised how many Forsworn lived at this camp – or maybe Aoife and he just weren't the only guests. The space around the campfire was crowded as well as the meadows around it. It was noisy and laughter grew louder every minute the Reachmen kept drinking until it was mixed with loud the rythmic drums and songs. It was impossible to make out a single voice in all this noise.
His eyes fell on a man filling his mug with the liquid from the kettle and out of an impulse, Borkul decided to do the same. He pushed through the crowd to head to the table – he could at least try to enjoy the party. The kettle was already emptied by a third when he dunked the ladle into the beverage to fill a mug. It smelled like really strong wine, fruity and sweet – not his usual choice of drink, but maybe it would at least show more effect than the ale he had previously. Before the mug could touch his lips though, a small hand stopped his arm.
"You shouldn't drink that, my friend." Borkul looked down to find Tiae smiling up to him. "Here, have some more ale instead."
She shoved a bottle into his hand before carefully emptying the content of his mug back into the kettle.
"Why?", he asked her, confused but accepting the bottle nevertheless.
"Look around you", she said softly with another of her mysterious smiles.
He did, but at first he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. People were chatting in groups, eating, even dancing to the driving beat of the drums. Some of them were lying on simple hides spread out on the grass, simply taking in the bustle around them or enjoying the company. It was only when Borkul started to look more closely, that he realized they were especially enjoying the company.
Near the fire he saw a woman flanked by two men, kissing first the one, then the other and neither of the two seemed to mind. Not far from them a couple was sitting on one of the benches, limbs entangled and hands quite busy with exploring each other's loincloths; a bit further away another couple giggling and rolling over one of the hides. Everywhere he looked touches were exchanged, in varying degrees of intimacy and intoxication, but still.
Borkul raised his brows and took a sip from his ale as he watched several tankards roll to the ground as one woman was unceremoniously bend over one of the tables by her companion, their faces creased to grimaces of pleasure. When had the cheerful celebration around him turned into a fucking orgy? Had he been so busy looking for Aoife that he hadn't noticed?
"What is this stuff?" He sniffed towards the kettle and watched Tiae fill a man's mug with a smile.
"Just a little... eh... family recipe. To help everyone relax, you know? They all know what it does", she quickly added at his amused look.
"And everyone's okay with it?"
"Yes, of course, why wouldn't they? It assures the survival of our tribe and our traditions", she said and looked over the crowd like she couldn't even see the increasing number of copulating people.
"How is fucking random people a tradition?", he asked with a wide grin.
"If no one knows who sired a child, the whole tribe will care for it", the shaman said with a wink and Borkul bursted out laughing. That was by far the most unconventional thing he had heard in a long time. Tiae looked really pleased with herself as she absently stirred the potion.
When Borkul's laughter ceased, he took another sip from his bottle and got more serious. "Is that why you don't want me to drink it? Afraid I might sire a child?"
"Oh!" Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, no! Seriously, no. I'm afraid for the girl."
Borkul let his bottle sink and looked sharply at the woman. She held his gaze with ease and he saw no malice in her eyes, only a warm concern.
"What do you mean, witch?", he growled.
Tiae sighed deeply. "I see how you look at her, even if she doesn't notice. I have seen it the first time you came to my tent. Your eyes are hungry. Possessive..", she said gently. "Don't get me wrong, I believe you have her best interest in mind... but if you drink my potion, I fear that you loose control. You wouldn't care about the people around and maybe not even care if she complies..."
Even though his criminal record was long, he had never forced himself on someone and took some pride from it. Many of the other bandits he had worked with hadn't cared for such a minor detail like compliance and while someone – man, woman, mer or beast mattered little in that matter – screaming for their life did satisify some urges in him, it didn't get him off. It was a line he had never crossed, not because he cared much for honour or some other nordic bullshit, but because there was lot more to gain from being wanted by the women he bedded.
On the other hand, he had seen potions do things to people's minds that he hadn't thought possible. The wrong potion turned friends against each other, sent people running in blind panic – could this one twist his mind so much, he would take a woman, take Aoife, against her will? It was hard to believe that he was capable of that.
Still, Borkul decided to stick to ale, just in case. "Is she here? I mean – is the ritual over?"
"Yes, it ended about an hour ago."
Her words turned his heavy brows into a deep frown and Tiae sighed again. She reached up to pat his shoulder sympathetically. That the shaman had so easily deciphered him, didn't bother him. He wasn't one for playing games, he was too impatient for them, too blunt, too raw. If there was one thing more than a decade underground had taught him, then that games were a waste of time. The only surprising thing was that Aoife hadn't figured it out yet and he couldn't help but wonder if the woman really was that oblivous or just a little too innocent. The shaman spoke again and Borkul had to forcefully yank his mind away from the direction it wanted to travel in.
"Told you I care for my people. If Madanach thinks you belong with us, I'm okay with it. So please... next time, just believe the old, wise witch when she tells you that you don't want to drink something", Tiae said with a crooked smile.
"You're not that old."
"I'm older than you think. Probably twice your age, boy", she said mockingly. "I just learned a trick or two from our matriachs to hide it."
"Oh yeah?" Borkul took another sip from his bottle. "Why don't they use it on themselves?"
"Our beloved matriachs don't care for nonsense like..."
"Tiae", he interrupted her out of the sudden and let his bottle sink.
"...looks. What?"
"Does Aoife know what's in that kettle?" He looked down to the shaman with concerned eyes as she finally stopped patting his arm. Not that he had felt much of her tiny hand anyway.
"I.. well, yes... I think so, at least. It's common knowledge."
"I think she would've mentioned it if she knew. There is no shaman or matriach at Druadach Redoubt. No one there has any skills in alchemy."
Tiae let her arm sink and her eyes mirrored his concern. "Oh dear..."
"Did she drink it?"
"I didn't know that she..."
"Tiae. Tell me if she drank from the kettle."
"Well, yes... she was here about half an hour ago to get a refill."
Refill?! Borkul growled lowly and wanted nothing more than to grab her and shake the feathers from her headdress. He settled for slamming his empty bottle into the shaman's hands before he left her behind.