A/N: I'm so sorry this is so late, I've been incredibly busy, and ill, and a load of other reasons I won't bore you with. But anyway, here's a chapter – I hope they'll be more regular again from now!
Chapter Seven: A Song
"I'm glad my plight is so amusing to you." I said dramatically, but Stan didn't even look up. He was almost out of breath from the exhaustion of laughing. He had a mischievous quality when he laughed, and somehow I actually was glad that my anger was amusing him - it lifted my mood a little.
"It's not my choice, trust me." My mother, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to ask Randolph if I could forage with the girls today instead of helping build the defences. As if I wasn't enough of a joke to these rough pagan boys already? In her own effortless way she had ruined everything by trying to help.
"Well, be sure to bring me back the brightest daffodil in all the woods." Stan said, trying and failing to look earnest.
"You're the brightest daffodil in all the woods." I muttered quietly. It made sense in my head.
"You'll fare alright." He patted my shoulder, still smirking a little. "Remember Hel's captives."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh," He began, noticing my confusion, "Hel is mistress of the dead. It means...at least you are not trapped with her." I nodded, and made a mental note of this latest God, who sounded similar to our satan perhaps. Though these pagans have other gods for mischief, evil, thieving, disease and so on. Every man and his dog has a special god. Everything is simpler for Jews and Christians, with just Yahweh and satan to remember.
Before long Ike and I were following the girls across the river, wicker baskets in hand. We traipsed up into the foothills, where the trees became a little sparser, and soon we could look back and catch fleeting glimpses through the trees of the village in the valley below.
"Try to look a little cheerier." Ike whispered, jabbing me in the ribs with his sharp little elbow. Cretin. "I have to do this every day, remember."
I nodded, and gave him a grotesque, mad-eyed smile. He just shook his head and sighed.
"This should do." Gwendolyn, our seemingly self-appointed leader, suddenly announced. The group – there were seven or eight of us, I didn't bother counting – came to a halt. We had reached a small glade, bathed in sunlight, with dew-dipped blades of grass shimmering.
Soon everyone began to scatter, getting to work, and I quickly dovetailed behind my brother. It was pretty simple labour really, as there seemed to be ample bushes bearing bright berries to pick from. The axe work, with all its arm-ache and splinters, didn't seem such an appealing prospect now I was actually out here, even if I would get ridiculed for this. The repetitive process gave my mind a long leash to wander, and the sticky sweet smell of the fruits and berries in my basket was almost sickly, but not unpleasant.
"Kyle!" Gwendolyn almost shrieked my name straight into my ear. "Have you a death wish?" I realised then that her hand was clasped around my wrist, and in my hand were a few small, shiny red berries. Poisonous, clearly.
"How many have you eaten?" She asked, but only when she said it did I notice the sharp taste of the juice in my mouth. I had no idea how many I had absent-mindedly gulped down.
"Er, not many?" I offered tamely, dropping the ones in my hand onto the floor.
She tutted, pulling nervously at a strand of dark hair. "Most likely you'll be fine, maybe a stomach ache."
I just hoped I really had only eaten a couple. "Thanks." I muttered.
She rolled her eyes in frustration, before dragging me away by the arm. "Stay close."
As it turned out, nothing much in the way of a stomach-ache even developed. There were a few warning rumblings, but thanks to my pagan-food diet that was nothing too unusual.
"Stanley seems fond of you." Gwendolyn said eventually. We had worked together mostly in silence through the morning, save a few words telling me which berries were safe to pick, which were ripe or which were dangerous, and now it was some time after noon, the sun slowly falling from its daily peak.
"He's friendly." I offered, not sure if that question was meant kindly or not.
"Does he ever…talk about me?" She asked, purposefully stopping the task at hand and just waiting for a response.
I paused briefly. "He doesn't really, uh, talk about much that's personal." I knew her meaning exactly, and for some reason I didn't want to just tell her the truth – 'no'.
"Of course," She muttered, suddenly engrossed in plucking currants from the tangle of twigs. "I suppose we will be wed someday, is all. I mean, everyone seems to think it…and it would make sense."
I didn't respond. My new game involved trying to throw currants through a small hole in the wicker basket.
"It's just-" She continued, and I mentally groaned so loud I was worried she might somehow hear it. "I'm getting old…"
"Old?" I asked in disbelief. Even if she was a little older than she looked, Gwendolyn had to be at most two and twenty years old.
"This summer will be my nineteenth. I had hoped to be married by now." In Frankia it was not uncommon for parents to arrange marriages for women as soon as they first bled, but it was also common for women to be years older than Gwendolyn before being wed.
"Nineteen is not old." I replied simply. "I am nineteen, and I have no hope of marriage soon!"
She laughed. "That is different!" When she smiled she really was pretty, but her face had a tendency to look severe. "You are an exile! Most everyone else my age in the village is already wed, or betrothed to another."
"Is that so?" I asked, intrigued enough to overlook her callous 'exile' remark.
"Bebe," She said quietly, pointing to a wiry-haired blond girl a few paces away, "wed Clyde last year." It seemed odd to me that I had spent time with Clyde not knowing he was already a married man. I had no memory of seeing a ring on his finger.
"Anja is married to Craig, and Red-" she pointed again, this time to the striking redhead across the glade, "has been betrothed to Leopold, though she reviles her father for the match."
It seemed odd that there would be so much politics in the marriages even in such a small village, with so few choices.
"Katrin will have to marry Eric, most likely, or someone from Gotha." I assumed this was the one remaining, mousy blond girl. "May Freyr help her." Gwendolyn giggled.
All the remaining children in the village that had not been mentioned were very young, still clinging to their mothers or not yet talking. In fact there was a strange gap, with no children around Ike's age, only young adults and crawlers.
"So you see, I'm fretful." She finished, getting off her knees and dusting the dirt from her dress. "You will let me know if he says anything, won't you?"
"Of course." I smiled.
"Never mention my concerns to him." She said sternly, before placing two fingers in her mouth and letting out an ear piercing whistle. I stood up, and everyone began to gather around us, baskets brimming and putting my own effort to shame. Even my useless brother had managed to collect a whole array of things I couldn't even name.
The group headed out, but as I turned to leave I noticed a strange mark, scratched into the tree I had been leaning against. Two rough circle shapes overlapped, and a line was etched horizontally between them both. I heard a crack and glanced nervously behind me, but it was just the last of our group leaving the glade. I hurried after them, but I couldn't shake that recurring feeling of being watched.
It was probably just some mark the villagers had made, I reassured myself, to tell them which trees to cut down or something. It was quite deep into the forest…but still, I was being ridiculous, and I wouldn't allow myself to become the victim of some cruel joke about forest fiends that Eric was playing on me.
I had to wait until after a gruelling evening meal with my family to catch up with Stan. He was sitting cross-legged inside our hut – or rather his hut – and he stood up eagerly when I walked in.
"Eventide." He nodded at me. "Fancy coming out with us tonight? We were thinking of walking down to the lake. Unless your bones are too weary, course."
"No," I smiled, "it sounds fun." It would be good to spend some time with them after today. I didn't ask mother, since I was still holding a grudge from this morning, but I let Ike know where I was going before I left, being sure to make it perfectly clear he was not welcome to come along.
"There is one condition for me to come tonight." I said, though Stan and I were already walking out of the village.
"What might that be?"
"That there is no mention of my working with the girls today. I won't be the butt of your jokes all evening!"
Stan laughed. "Okay, granted. I can't vouch for the others though!"
"I know." I sighed. We followed the river downstream, the sky slowly leaking its blue dye as we went. The daytime chirps of woodland birds were gradually replaced by the sinister hoots of owls, but the raucous laughter of the group and the warm light of Stan's flaming torch next to me kept my nerves at bay.
Eventually the river began to widen, and we came upon the lake, bathed in a pool of moonlight reflected from its own surface.
"It's stunning." I muttered, and Stan nodded, gazing out over the surface.
"Best of all it's away from the elders." Leopold added, appearing alongside us.
We walked around the lake – it wasn't too large, perhaps just a hundred yards across – until we reached some old stones to use as seats. In fact, the stones seemed to be the ruins of some old building, forming four large walls and a space for a doorway.
"What is this place?" I asked. In fact, it was the first stone building I had seen since we left Frankia.
"Old Roman fort." Clyde said, slapping the stones.
"We hunted them all out long ago." Eric added. "Foreigners don't survive well in these woods." He said, looking right at me as he spoke.
"Anyhow, I didn't come all this way for chatter about forts." Stan interjected. "Where's the ale?"
"I've got it!" Leopold shouted excitedly, reaching into his cloth bag and producing a set of flasks.
"We're drinking?" I whispered to Stan, though it shouldn't have surprised me.
"Sure!" He replied, then seemed to notice my anxious face. "Kyle, you have had ale before, right?"
He took my silence as an answer, and muffled an incredulous laugh. "You are in for a treat from the Gods!"
Leopold had already popped the stopper from one of the flasks, and it was being handed around whilst people liberally gulped from it.
"As you aint used to it, it'll taste odd at first, but it's worth it." Stan muttered, taking two swigs himself before handing it to me. "Be sure not to spit it out though, this is liquid gold to us!"
I took a large sip, foolishly trying to look as though I enjoyed the drink, and choked it down. It was shockingly bitter and dry, like drinking water through an old sock. I must have spluttered loudly, because everyone laughed.
"Can't handle his drink?" Eric asked, tipping what was left of the flask down his own gullet as if to reinforce the point.
"We don't drink it so much, in Frankia, at least not when we're young…" I could still taste its foul twang in my mouth, but the liquid was pleasantly warming my insides as it found its way to my stomach.
"Try summore." Leopold said, throwing the second flask over. I opened it and took a smaller sip. It was still disgusting, but this time at least I wasn't caught off guard.
The view from our perch on the ruins was stunning, overlooking the pale lake and across to the shadowy trees on the other side, and the looming presence of the mountains beyond.
"Look at the water." Stan whispered to me, as the others were singing some loud song that involved drinking every time a wench was mentioned. "You can see the stars."
Sure enough, I could make out glinting reflections of the stars in the dark water, like I was looking over a rolled out map of the night sky.
"We come here mostly just to drink," he continued, "but you're right, it's beauteous."
I smiled, taking another swig from a passing flask. It was odd, but it seemed like the more I had the better it tasted. The moon was high in the sky now, and it was the middle of the night, but I felt warm and content, my mind wrapped in warm furs.
"Care to learn, Kyle?" I looked up, and Craig was standing over me, offering a hand to help me up. I took it, my happiness at being included in this game was greater even than my dislike of ale. Stan followed along behind, and we joined the circle that had formed. Craig began:
"Here's to the wench who'll love us after,
A night of merriment, ale and laughter,"
One person sang the first line, then everyone joined in with the second. There was a pause as we hurriedly drank and cheered, then Leopold began:
"Here's to the wench with bosoms ample,
Who on our hearts and lust shan't trample,"
I drank with them again, my body shuddering as I took yet another swill. Stan sang the next line:
"Here's to the wench that looks disapproving,
When we enjoy an evening's drinking!"
I was giddy, and the sky and water seemed to blend in the distance, the trees blurry and swaying.
"Here's to the wench that I have wed,
And here's to another, in my bed!"
I managed to guess the end of that line, shouting 'in my bed' gleefully with the others. There was a pause, before the last lines rang out into the night.
"My friends, I'm afraid this song ends now,
For at home I have a wench to plough!"
We sang again, and again, until I knew every line of the song. Eventually I fell down on the grass, giddy and laughing. "It's a stupid song!" I announced to Stan, who sat down next to me.
"It is." He smiled. The cold moonlight seemed to catch his big blue eyes somehow, like they had when he had caught my attention the first night we had arrived in the village. There was something indescribable about him – more than just that he was handsome – and I knew why Gwendolyn seemed so desperate for him.
I looked up, and the landscape was rocking gently, side to side as if I was out at sea. The others had moved back to the rocks, and Stan was just staring out over the water, lost in his own mind.
Suddenly I felt a surge from my stomach, and an unpleasant wretch in my throat. I turned, and vomited onto the grass.
"Are you okay?" Stan was crouching over me, pulling me into a kneeling position. The effort of getting up prompted a second wave of nausea and bile, and I was doubled over, heaving.
"Eugh." Stan said, pulling a lock of my hair out of my face.
"It must be…what I ate…" I muttered, trying to steady my stomach and force the ill feeling back down my throat.
"Oh, of course." Stan laughed. "What else could it be?"
"No! I mean, you don't understand," I protested loudly. "I…there were these berries – and I ate them – and Gwendolyn said-" I began, but it was too much effort to force the words out, and Stan was still smirking at me like I was insane. I just stared ahead, breathing steadily, hoping the world would stop spinning soon.