Three weeks after my encounter with my blood father-to-be the Brynja visited our village. I had often heard of the small clan, though I was rarely allowed to see them. They were wanderers mostly, a clan formed entirely of young women. And they were different. They were fierce, mystical women who needed no men. In my village they were well tolerated as some years they were the only traders we saw. Their eyes seemed to hold deep secrets when they came to our village to trade for wool and though they had come twice a year, every year since before my birth, this was the first time their eyes had lingered on me.
The tallest of them, a graceful woman with dark hair and copper toned skin sat by me and smoothed my hair back from my face with one hand. Though she spoke to my father her gaze never left my eyes. She seemed to find some sort of answer in their different colored depths. Another, shorter and with silver-blonde hair stood near the fire and warmed her hands. While she did not blatantly stare, her eyes flickered over to the corner where I sat more often than I thought was normal. I admit it unnerved me, them looking at me as they did. I did not know these women, had never known them and mostly avoided them. But here one of them sat next to me, finger combing my hair idly as if I had grown up with her. I shivered, but since my father did not seem to mind, I did not back away. My sisters never brushed my hair and mother claimed not to have time for such things. The feeling of the hand, working out the knots and tangles, was soporific.
When my father left to gather the fleeces from the back room, the shorter moved towards me and both continued staring. Finally the brown-skinned one spoke. "Such eyes you have, child. I have never seen the like. Such skin, and such hair." She murmured as she stroked my face. But I did not shiver from her touch. Though she was of different colorings, she reminded me vaguely of that man I had met that wet night almost a month ago, they both did. I admit, I was intrigued. "Perhaps Sezjah," she whispered to her companion, "she will join us when she is older, no?"
The other, Sezjah apparently, trailed a hand down my jaw to the very place that man's lips had touched my neck. No matter how I washed there was now a small dark red line when his mouth had touched my skin, barely visible. She winced and spoke slowly, "Perhaps there are other plans for her, she has been marked by my brother it seems."
"Your brother?" the words fell out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying or what it meant.
She surveyed me silently then gave a small nod. "Yes, my brother. He marked you. Just here." Her fingers fluttered over the bruise. "You may not have even known he did it."
"I knew."
I gasped covered my mouth with a hand and shrank into the corner, wondering at the fierceness in my voice. I had never been one to speak unless absolutely necessary. I had always been quiet, hoping that by staying so, people would fail to notice my strangeness. Now, twice in less than a minute, I had spoken to two women I hardly even knew more words with more emotion than I had said or felt in the last week.
The nameless one laughed, showing pearly teeth that almost seemed sharpened to points. "Yes, fiery... She would do well with us when it came time. Mayhap I will talk to your brother about her; he has always given me whatever I wanted."
At that moment my father came back, bearing a large pile of fleece. The women stood and wandered over to settle the deal. While they were distracted with business I scuttled out the front door and ran, as soon as my foot crossed the threshold, to my thinking rock, only to find that several other of the Brynja were lounging upon it. Dark, questioning stares dug into my skin and again I fled. Was there no end to these women? Finally I crawled up into the rafters of my house and stayed there. By the time I clambered down, the Brynja were gone, taking with them much wool, water carriers and two dogs. No one seemed to noticemy absence; after all, I often disappeared for hours on end, finding uses for myself that others could not see. That night it rained and I slept in the loft. My dreams were of copper-skinned sisters and pale-skinned men. And for the first time, I did not wander, though the rain was not cold and the moon was full. Those women had scared me more than the man. And I did not know why.