UNLEASHED

Forever Mine Aftermath

In my seventeenth year, I had finally found enough courage to ask my aunt Dahlia why she was so angry with my mother. Why she hated my father. And through magic she had shown me her memories, allowing me to see each action before my very eyes as they unfolded.

My father's people came to her village in the far North. There they killed every man, woman, and child. But Dahlia and Esther gave them pause. The young women had magic – a valuable asset. The Vikings loaded up their ships with everything of worth that they could find, taking their victims' belongings as their own. Including the witches. Every house was set ablaze. And the last thing Dahlia and Esther saw as the ships pushed away from shore, was the corpses of their family burning.

Back in my father's village, the two sisters were nothing more than Þrælls – slaves. Dahlia, being the eldest, took the brunt of the men's abuse to keep her younger sister safe from their wrath. While forced to do magic on the Vikings' behalf, she was beaten and raped repeatedly. But to her, the pain was all worth it, as long as Esther remained safe.

In secret, Dahlia worked on a plan that would allow them to escape and spent months gathering the necessary ingredients for such a spell. But when the result she had worked so hard to achieve was close enough to taste, Esther revealed a secret of her own. She would not be leaving with Dahlia. For Esther had fallen in love and was going to marry – one of Dahlia's past abusers. Mikael. My father.

Dahlia's heart broke that day, and it never mended. Her sister's betrayal cut too deep.

I understood her pain, could sympathize even as I hated her. Her past dealing with the Vikings had made her loathe the entire lot of them, and she blamed Mikael for the loss of her sister. She had grown cold and cruel to protect herself from further harm, and to ensure her abusers would fall victim to her vengeance.

But I don't think she saw that the injustice that had befallen her, she now pushed onto me. She was my abuser. She was the devil that haunted my nightmares, and that would still be there when I woke up. History was repeating itself.

More than a week had passed since that fateful night Dahlia had killed Mattias and I had lost my child in a foolish attempt at ending my life. In all those days I had barely moved from my bed. I lay atop a bundle of old sheepskin, staring blankly at the wall to my left. I did not sleep. I did not eat. I could no longer cry.

Something inside me had shattered that night, and I felt numb. A hollow emptiness resided where I had previously felt my son grow from a seed to near full-fledged child. Whatever spark of resistance had fueled my thoughts and actions before, appeared to have been smothered. Nothing mattered anymore. I had nothing to live for.

Dahlia, despite all her flaws, did not bother me during this time. She went about her daily tasks of keeping the house in order, ensuring our shelter could weather the cold winter outside, and that we had enough food to last us the few weeks remaining until our magical hibernation would claim us for yet another century. Perhaps she could sense there would be no use in trying to rouse me. The woman lacked empathy, but she understood the workings of humanity well enough.

On the ninth day, however, she took my hands in hers and gently coaxed me out of bed. I let her, allowing her to move me around as she wished, as pliable as a puppet. As I stood, she began to undress me, humming that familiar tune she had used to calm my magical outbursts as a child. Once naked, she guided me into a wooden tub she'd filled with water warmed over the fire.

There, she washed me. As gently as a mother would a young child. She ran a soft cloth over my skin, lathering with one of her specially made soaps, and rinsed it off. I paid no special mind to the process, took no pleasure in the warm water enveloping my stiff, cold limbs.

When she had finished and successfully managed to dry me, Dahlia dressed me in fresh clothing. Blue woollen dress atop my linen shift, wool stockings, and soft leather boots laced tightly around my feet and calves. She wrapped a fur cloak around my shoulders, predicting the coming night would be especially cold.

Throughout all of this, she did not speak. Not until she set herself the task of combing and braiding my long hair.

"It is enough now, Freya. We have had sufficient time to grieve," she said softly, her fingers tugging slightly on my blonde tresses as she worked.

"What happened was very regrettable. But you have learned your lesson, and now we must move on. Our time is short. Soon we will sleep, and there is much to be done in preparation. We must ward the house, from the elements and from those who would try to intrude. And I am making you a potion."

Dahlia's hand cupped my chin and she turned my head to look at her. My eyes automatically met hers. She was smiling. All maternal pretense. Or possibly madness.

"You will take the potion before sleep claims us, and it will ready your womb for another child. When we wake, we will try again."

For the first time in days, I felt it. The spark. A spark of anger and indignation.

We will try again.

She was never going to stop, was she? She would never give in until I gave her what she wanted, and even then I would still remain bound to her.

Dahlia released me and returned to braiding.

"From the day my sister turned your siblings into the abominations they now are, the duty was put on your shoulders alone, my Freya. You will give me the child I am owed. And then, when he or she has matured, they will give me their firstborn. And so it will continue throughout the ages until I have enough power to truly make us immortal. No more hibernation. We will be the most powerful coven this world has ever seen. The world will cower at our feet. And no one will ever be able to make victims of us again."

The look in my aunt's dark eyes spoke of pure obsession. Power. It was all about power. And it would never stop.

In my mind's eye, I could see generations of children, men, and women, all of my bloodline, condemned to an eternity of oppression and abuse. They were suffering. So much suffering...So much blood on my hands…

I inhaled sharply, and from the depths of my lungs emerged a shriek of pure animalistic fury. I lunged for the woman at my side, clawing at her face, her eyes, tearing out clumps of her hair. I was lost in the ecstasy of rage and I could not stop myself.

Dahlia could, however. With bloodied gashes upon her face, she lashed out with her magic. It threw me off her and I landed harshly on the earthen floor of our home. Pain briefly registered in the back of my mind, but it seemed unimportant. I got back on my feet and made to attack again, but this time my aunt beat me to it.

Her hand closed into a fist and I instantly found myself unable to breathe, as though invisible fingers had closed about my throat, squeezing mercilessly. I was forced to stop, gasping for breath, eyes wide.

"You pathetic, ungrateful child!" Dahlia hissed, the claw marks on her face slowly fading and giving way to new, healthy skin.

"You're no better than your brute of a father. Perhaps a night out in the cold will still your temper?"

She threw me then, magic carrying me swiftly through the suddenly open front door, and into the mounds of snow outside. Her hex dissipated and I drew in great lungfuls of air, coughing and sputtering. When I looked back at our cottage, the door was again closed, a clear message I was not to enter until given permission.

I did not care. The biting cold was better than being in her presence. Anything was better.

Hot tears of anger filled my eyes as I clambered to my feet, and I quickly set off in the direction of the forest and the small mountain top beyond. I fought my way through snow that reached me to the knees, the effort using more energy than I truly could afford to part with. And yet my anger fueled my journey and I did not stop until I had reached my destination.

Atop the mountain, there was less snow. The wind had carried some away and blown it into the ocean down below. The population of trees up here was sparse, but a few pines swayed lightly, one of them sheltering an old rock monument; a stone carving of the god Odin. One of the few the Christians had missed on their mission to destroy all traces of 'the old gods'.

As soon as my eyes fell on Him, I realized my anger had faded. Possibly extinguished during my climb up here. It gave way to another emotion, one I cared for far less. Despair.

This was not my first time visiting. I had been here several times earlier this year to sacrifice and pray, up until my pregnancy had stopped me. The trek had become too arduous once I was seven months gone.

I fell to my knees in front of the small statue, brushing snow from my previous offerings. I unearthed a wooden bowl previously used to hold goat's blood and cleaned it out the best I could. My fingers turned stiff and pink from the cold, but it did not matter. In fact, it might work to my advantage in the end.

I was not entirely sure why I had come, what message I wished to share with my gods. All I knew was that I was utterly alone and that I needed someone to listen.

I closed my eyes and willed my magic forth, two deep slashes appearing on either of my wrists and I quickly held the bleeding wounds over the bowl to gather the crimson drops that fell in abundance. My eyes watered once more, from pain, from sadness, from fear.

When the gods see willingness to suffer – to sacrifice – they pay attention.

When the bleeding lessened and my wounds closed, I lifted the bowl and set it carefully at the foot of the statue.

"Óðinn (Odin),

I call upon your strength and power, I ask you to share your wisdom.

Aldaföðr (Allfather),

I, your faithful daughter, beseech you...help me.

I cannot live like this anymore. I cannot, will not, be a slave.

Fjölnir, Wise One, Concealer,

Aid me in my escape, grant me the possibility to fight another day.

Lend me your weapons and knowledge so that I can outwit my enemy.

In return I offer…"

I paused, my mind spinning. What could I offer? What did I have that was worthy of a god's favour? Dahlia had already taken everything from me – my love, my will to live, my ability to die. What was left?

The answer came to me swiftly. Like a lightning bolt hurled to earth. Was it Odin who had planted the idea in my head? I did not know. But all at once I knew the price that had to be paid.

I couldn't help but hesitate, one hand absentmindedly falling to my stomach, clenching in the fabric of my dress.

"In return, I offer up my womb. My ability to carry forth a child. I will give you the most precious gift a woman has: my fertility."

I was sobbing now, but through great effort, my words were loud and clear, my intention and honesty genuine. It was an awful thing to part with, but it had to be worth it. It had to. For freedom.

Pain struck me suddenly, the same sensation from when Dahlia's magic had restricted my windpipe coiled about my insides and I fell into the snow, writhing and screaming. Darkness fell around me, and my surroundings disappeared, my mind hurled into a never-ending cacophony of images and sounds. I saw the faces of my children, the lives that may have come to fruition had I chosen differently. They were beautiful. I cried. I cried for those souls that would never see the light of day, and I cried for myself, for not being able to know them.

A deep, male voice continued to echo through my head:

"Sacrifice,

Sacrifice,

It is not a sacrifice unless it hurts."

Darkness.

The sensation of something soft tickling my forehead forced me awake. The sun was out, warming me with its light despite the blanket of snow beneath me. A shadow fell on my face and momentarily startled I reached out to brush it away. A disgruntled caw sounded and I could hear the flapping of wings.

I pushed myself up to sit and turned around to face the statue of Odin. Atop it sat two black ravens, identical, watching me. A small smile tugged on my lips. Was this a sign from the gods? Odin's ravens, Huginn and Muninn? I regarded the birds a moment longer before the memory of last night returned to me.

The brief satisfaction I had felt vanished instantly, and I was filled with dread. I got to my feet, staggering a little, and realized my inner thighs were sticky with blood. As was the skirt of my dress. I tried to bite back a sob but to no avail. It had not been a dream.

"Freya!"

At the sound of Dahlia's voice, I whirled around, eyes wide with renewed fear. There she stood, face flushed with colour from the cold, her gaze furious. She had never liked my gods. My father's gods.

"What have you done to yourself now?" she snarled once she caught sight of the blood, and made to take a step towards me. She stopped in her tracks as the ravens lifted off from the statue and moved to perch on either of my shoulders. Dahlia looked as stunned as I felt.

Their talons were sharp, but they did not hurt me. Rather the opposite. Their grasp on my shoulders felt comforting. Reassuring.

The display did not stop Dahlia for long though. She was moving again, and even with my two new companions, I felt certain she was about to make me regret ever defying her. My power was great, but it did not match hers. Nothing ever could.

Except…

Dahlia had only taken a few more steps before she was brought to a quick stop again. She doubled over, hands clutching the sides of her head as though experiencing a migraine. She groaned in pain and when she finally managed to straighten, I noticed trickles of blood from her eyes, nose, and ears.

It wasn't me. Not my doing. But I recognized a moment of weakness when I saw one. The raven on my left squeezed me just a little tighter, as though encouraging me to act. And I did.

I raised my hands and closed them to fists, twisting them beside one another as though I was wringing water from a cloth. The sounds of bones breaking echoed through the open space and Dahlia crumpled to the ground as her legs, ribs, and arms shattered from the inside. The sight filled me with elation, and before the powerful witch had time to recover, my magic caught her once more, twisting her neck in an unnatural angle until temporary death took her.

I stood there a short while, breathing hard and staring down at my tormentor's unconscious form. The ravens pushed off my shoulders and took off into the air, swirling in circles up above me as a voice that was not my own whispered in my mind.

"Run."