Chapter 41 A Devil's Name
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I pick up the piece of sharpened stone and wrap the bottom in a strip of rag to protect my hand. There on the ground…there before me…this isn't Sara anymore. Her soul has gone to Him above. This is…no, this is not Sara anymore…but it once was a part of her. I…Sara wants me to stay alive. She gave me a reason to live, and for her sake, to not squander all the good things she has given me, I must—My eyes fly open, my stomach churning horribly. My throat tightens and the burning comes straight up! Not again! I barely roll over in time as the burning vomit spills out of my mouth and splashes on the ground.
"Greta!?" Torrance asks. Footsteps come rushing to my side and a hand falls on my back. "Locke, I told you that barley was too old to eat!" I cannot stop the violent heaves that wrack my body, throwing up the last of my digested dinner onto the ground. Sweat breaks out of my skin. My eyes water terribly. I feel more than see my hot vomit swarming my fingertips.
"None of us are retching aside from her," Locke says, barely sympathetic. My body contorts, arching my back, squeezing my throat. I heave, heave, and heave, but nothing else comes up.
"She's done this before." Eric! His footsteps start up and draw so close to me, torching my ears. Another hand presses on my arching back, the weight and size of the hand familiar and—frightening.
Torrance takes his hand from me. "She's woken up like this before!? Just sick to her stomach!?"
"Aye. I dinnae like it anymore than ye do. It should pass soon." Eric rubs my back, trying to soothe me. My heart aches. He's trying so hard, but it will never work. Only my body will decide when to stop. God, I wish I had something else to throw up!
Each heave becomes weaker than the last. Each heave takes longer to come than the one before. Steadily, my back arches less. My throat loosens. I heave and heave…and heave…I am left here on my hands and knees half splattered in my vomit. My arms tremble beneath me. Chills sweep through my body. My teeth chatter. Sweat beads down my forehead and molds my clothes to my skin.
"Water?" Eric asks—someone. He must want the water for me.
"Yeah, let me get it," Torrance says and springs to his feet.
All their eyes weigh on me, watching me tremble before my pile of stinking vomit. The vomit had splattered onto my skirt, onto my coat sleeves. Why does the earth not shake now and bring the whole mountain down on me!? How can Eric still be here beside me, stroking my back with one hand and gripping my shoulder with his other hand with such gentle strength, such care—"Here," Torrance says, coming back to us.
"Thank ye." Eric's hand leaves my back.
"I got it!" I scramble about and snatch the waterskin out of Torrance's hand. Torrance's eyes widen. My head starts spinning. I shake terribly, my whole body feeling heavy and weak and drained. "I can clean myself up," I spit out past my chattering teeth.
Torrance's eyes relax as his face softens. "I can help you—"
"I'm fine, really! You pack up camp – if it's time." I dare not look at Eric even though I feel his eyes on me. I pull the cork out of the skin, take a swig, and swish the water around my mouth. Eric rises to his overwhelming stature and ambles off to his packs. I almost heave a sigh of relief. I scoot on my knees to face my odorous vomit lying there on the stone, tan and yellow with a few small lumps in it. I grimace as I continue swishing the water around my mouth, desperate to get the burning bile off my tongue. Disgusting. I turn my head away from the men and spit the water out onto the stone. I take another swig of water and gulp it down. It does little to wash away the sour taste clinging to the back of my throat. The rustling and shuffling of the men breaking down camp reaches my ears. It must be day thirty-five. God, it's been one month already.
Footsteps come out of the shuffles and rummaging of the other men and draw nearer, heavy and unmistakable. My body stiffens as Eric comes to my side and crouches low. Annoyance pricks my skin. I see him looking down at me out of the corners of my eyes.
"I'm alright," I mutter and down another swig of water. Why can't he just leave me to my shame!?
"Here," he says and holds something out to me, drawing my eyes to his hand. There clutched in his hand is a wet rag. A sweet ache enters my heart, softening it too much. I cannot be cruel to him again…nor can I bring myself to turn away his tender care.
I cork the skin and accept the wet rag from him, though it feels dry. "Thank you," I whisper and clean the vomit from my fingers. I turn the rag over and bury my sweaty face in it. I tilt my chin back and drop my hands in my skirts, leaving the rag to sit on my face. I groan into the rag, relief soothing every sore muscle.
"Yer welcome," he says for only my ears, startling my heart. "Feel better?"
My heart beats harder. "Mhmm," I hum into the rag, savoring the warm tingles touching my cheeks and forehead.
He chuckles softly with a closed mouth. "Good."
I should take this rag off my face. Why he came back to be at my side before a pile of my foul smelling vomit I'll never understand, but the least I can do is look at him. I scrub my face with the linen rag and ball it up in my fists. Here goes nothing. I suck in a deep, shuddering breath and brace myself. I lower my eyes to him. He just looks at me, his eyes soft and sad.
A pang touches my heart. How cruel I have been to him. He deserves so much better. "I'm sorry," I whisper. The shame gets to me. I look down at my hands, watching them wring the soiled rag. "I'm so sorry about yesterday and," I swallow hard, "I said some very hurtful things to you and you deserve so much better."
"Dinnae apologize." He reaches for my fists and pulls them apart. My stomach knots suddenly. How can he touch hands that were just covered in vomit!? "The heart can ne'er be forced."
That snaps my eyes up to his. My heart leaps to the precipice. Far below are twisted spires of rock that will kill.
He looks down at my hands and gently pulls the rag from my grasp. "It wasnae my intention to make ye feel that way." He folds the soiled rag into fours and cleans the chunks of bile coated meat and barley grains from my dress as best he can, though there are faint yellow stains left on the brown wool. My stomach twists and my nerves buzz. My hands twitch, desperate to snatch the rag back from him and clean myself instead…but I cannot hurt him again. I fold my hands together, holding back the demanding pressure in them. "I'm sorry," he whispers and pulls back some of the folds of my dress to better clean it.
My heart aches worse, nearly overwhelming me. "Now it is me telling you to not apologize. You…you did nothing wrong. You said nothing wrong. It is not a sin to say what's in your heart."
Eric glances up at me and smirks. "No' everythin' in a lad's heart is pure." He looks down at my arms and wipes the splatters of vomit from my coat sleeves.
My heart beats a little harder. My face grows warmer. "Nor in a woman's," I say. His hand halts and his eyes dart up to mine. Something stirs in them, darkening them beneath his thick lashes. A boldness swells my chest, the heat between my legs feeling more comfortable and…welcomed.
A slow grin spreads his mouth, starting out small but turning into something almost lecherous. "Now where's that pretty prudish lass I found in the dark forest?"
I give him a coy smile, that bubbly feeling rising in my taut stomach. "She's still here. You're just getting to know her better."
His eyes briefly widen with either surprise or pleasure. "Well I hope to continue to get to know her better."
My smile turns devilish. "May I give you some words of wisdom?" I lean closer to him, my vomit becoming a distant thought. As far as my nose can tell, we're both in desperate need of a bath. "Don't keep her waiting too long."
Those words give him pause. His smile starts to fall. My smile lessens with his. That ache enters my heart again. Perhaps I shouldn't have said that—"You two remind me of a small bird in my homeland," Locke says as he strolls up to us.
Eric and I tear our eyes from each other to look up at Locke. He stops before us, his bedroll tucked under his arm.
"What do ye mean?" Eric grumbles, annoyed.
Locke laughs. "In your tongue, they are called lovebirds. They fight and then they are affectionate with each other." Lovebirds? Hope nearly sparks in my heart, but I snuff it out. He cannot love me, and I do not love him.
"Tsk," Eric scoffs and shakes his head. "And they shite wherever they please. Sometimes even in a lad's beard." His wicked grin returns.
Locke's face scrunches as if he just smelled something bad. Eric bursts out laughing. "Never again!" Locke says and scrubs his hand over his clean shaven jaw.
My eyes widen. Eric laughs harder. "What do you mean?" I ask aloud. Locke looks at me.
"Twas years ago," Eric says, his laughter ebbing. I turn my head to him, that wicked grin still on his face. "I took Locke on a wee ride to teach him how to track deer." He holds his hands up as he says, "So try to imagine here are two lads enjoyin' a warm summer day mindin' their own business when he feels somethin' land in his beard." He points at Locke. "This galoot decided to lick it—whatever it was!"
"I thought it was a raindrop!" Locke says. Eric looks up at Locke out of the corners of his eyes, flashing that toothy grin of his. Both men start laughing.
"Oh!" It hits me like a slap to the face. I barely catch Eric looking at me as I turn my head to Locke. "You licked bird – droppings!?" I cannot bring myself to that other word. "Out of your beard!?"
Eric laughs while Locke shakes his head. "It was very bitter, mushy, and wet," Locke says.
"Ah!" I cringe and shudder.
"Aye, after he tasted it, his eyes got big and he said, 'Ah! This is bird shit! Eric, we must return to camp now!'" Eric says, doing his best to imitate Locke even with his accent. "I was lookin' forward to givin' this lad a huntin' lesson, so it was with a heavy heart and great reluctance that we turned around and headed back to camp." He holds his hand to his heart and gives me an exaggerated pout.
That pout—"Oh God!" I giggle. I try to rein it in, but it turns to hard chuckling. He tries to suppress it, but a smile breaks his pout. This sweet, fun air between us gets the better of me. "You're too cute!" I reach up and gently pinch his cheek, his cheek bristly against my fingers where his stubble is. My fingers linger, savoring the taut muscles of his smile.
"I wish you were kinder to me, Eric," Locke says.
Eric's smile lessens as he reluctantly turns his chin to Locke, stealing his cheek from my fingers. "I'm workin' on it."
Locke laughs and takes a step back, his eyes shifting to me. "She seems clean enough, so come help us pack."
The rest of Eric's smile falls. "Aye, give me a moment and I will," he says.
"Alright." Locke nods and starts backing up as he looks at Eric, at me, and back at Eric. I catch a glimpse of his growing grin before he turns and strides back to Wessel and Torrance who are deep in their own discussion as they break down camp. That grin—it's almost…foreboding, like he knows a dark little secret about Eric and me and is taking delight in it.
"Ah," Eric groans, pulling my eyes to him. He looks at me and shakes his head. "He is a galoot."
I chuckle softly. "He does have a point, though. I can help you pack. Perhaps I can tie the bedrolls and fold the furs?"
His smile shrinks some. "Aye, thank ye. Jus' be careful with yer feet."
"Why wouldn't I be careful with my feet?" I ask and force a smile for him.
"Aye, true." He purses his lips and bobs his head. That coaxes laughter out of me. He happily laughs with me. God, this laughter is so sweet. It feels…together. Even as our laughter ebbs, his eyes and his small smile linger on me.
I sigh, my shoulders falling. I don't want this moment to end, but I feel the others' eyes on us. "You should go help them pack," I say softly.
He sighs. "Alright," he says and brushes his thumb across my cheekbone for one last touch, anything to delay him having to get up. His touch ends too soon when he pushes off his knees to stand up. He keeps turning his head to keep me in his sight as he takes slow, heavy steps towards the men.
Right, I offered to help pack up the bedrolls and furs. I tear my eyes from Eric and crawl from my wreaking pile of vomit to the foot of my bedroll. I roll up my bedroll, tie it off, and then roll up Eric's bedroll to tie it off. I toss all the furs into one pile and sit back on my rump to fold them. Eric comes around and collects our bedrolls as I stretch my legs out and grab a fur to fold it. I shouldn't look at him…I find my eyes catching his blue ones as he straightens to his overwhelming stature, one bedroll beneath each arm.
"My dear!" Torrance calls. Quick footsteps approach, echoing against the tunnel.
I cannot help my frown as I tear my eyes from Eric to look at the healer. Torrance comes and crouches before me, a bundle of folded clothes in his arms. "You want to look at my feet again?" I ask flatly.
Torrance's face falls—no doubt hearing the disappointment in my voice. A pang touches my heart. "Not today, my dear. I hate to admit this, but I misjudged how much linen I needed to bring."
I raise my brows at him. "I thought Eric measured my feet for you so you would know how much linen to bring."
"I must have misjudged my measurements," Eric says, frowning.
Torrance glances back at Eric. "No, you didn't mismeasure anything. I just didn't bring enough linen. Besides," he lowers his gaze to me, grinning, "I heard the excitement in your voice."
I snort as Eric takes reluctant steps to the others. I watch him as goes to his horse and ties the bedrolls to her back.
"I brought some clean clothes for you," Torrance says, pulling my reluctant eyes back to him.
"You did!?" I ask, my eyes going to the bundle beneath his arm.
"Well, they're my clothes considering you and I are the closest in size." He sets the clothes on the floor and starts unfolding them.
"Tsk, right," I scoff. I glance back at the other men. There Eric is helping Locke pack Abasi. Locke is taller than any Taboran I have seen, and Eric is taller than him. Movement draws my eyes to Wessel as he approaches the men.
"You really should try the nog," Wessel tells Locke and Eric.
Locke sniggers while Eric pats Wessel's round belly, grinning almost cruelly. "Only once, my friend," Eric tells Wessel.
I frown at Eric. That was mean of him. I watch Wessel closely.
A grin cracks his shaven face and he pats his own round belly with both hands. "If you keep drinking to excess, you'll have this lovely stomach one day," Wessel tells Eric.
Eric's eyes widen and he plants his hands on his hips. "I know that, but I got a reason to watch my figure now!" He wriggles his hips like a lady would! My eyes nearly bug out of my head, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The three of them burst out laughing and Eric casts a quick glance at me. His eyes catch mine and he freezes. He laughs suddenly, resonating across the space. That bubbly feeling rises in my stomach and pushes laughter out of me. He waves at me as his laughter ebbs, but he keeps that toothy grin of his. Heat flushes my cheeks. My nerves buzz as I raise my hand and wave to him.
"I thought maybe you'd want to change into a fresh set of clothes?" Torrance asks, stealing my eyes from Eric. I look down at the clothes Torrance has spread out across the ground. My smile leaves me. A pair of brown linen trousers, a yellowed shirt that may have once been white, and a folded pile of linen strips. My stomach knots. Those strips are to bind my breasts. What breasts I do have.
"Do you think it necessary for me to dress like a man?" I lift my heavy eyes to Torrance, frowning. "For everyone's safety here?"
Torrance returns my frown. "My honest opinion? Yes, I think it would be very beneficial to all of us, but like I said the night before last, if anyone of us tweaked our appearance, we will be better off. You don't have to if you really don't want to."
My heart sinks as I peek at Eric. He has gone to Ylva's side, checking her rein buckles and her saddle straps. For his sake, for his safety—for everyone's safety here, it would be better if I was taken for a man. Those bounty hunters said they are looking for a native woman in the company of a blonde-haired foreigner. Hector said there's a bounty out for a large foreigner and a native woman in his company. My stomach knots more. Will Eric still be saying he has a reason to watch his figure now?
I shake my head of the thought and look at Torrance. That doesn't matter, not at the cost of everyone's safety. "Will you help me change and bind my breasts? I don't want any of them to see me except you."
Torrance nods without hesitation, no judgement nor lust in his eyes. "Of course, my dear. Here!" He grabs a large fur out of the pile and holds it up before me like a curtain, hiding me from the other men's eyes. "Put on the trousers. Then we can go over to the wall and you can use the rock as support to change the rest of your clothes."
My heart beats harder as I set the fur aside and grab the brown trousers, the linen thick and coarse. At least these will be good for the cold. As quickly as I can while minding my feet, I hike up my dresses to my waist and pull the trousers up to my bottom. I roll from side to side to pull the trousers up past my hips and lace them up as tight as they'll go. I pull my arms out of my coat, pull my scarf off my head, and loosen the laces of my dresses. I'm going to leave my coif on. For now at least.
"I think we can do it here," I say as I unfasten my belt and pull my arms into my dresses. "Just have the wrap ready for my chest."
"Alright!" Torrance sets the fur aside and picks up a long strip of linen. He scoots closer to me, using his body to hide me from the others' sight.
"Thank you," I murmur.
"Of course," Torrance says, his voice soft and kind. Despite his kindness, my stomach churns horribly. Torrance has seen me naked before. He is not the reason my stomach is churning. If Torrance budges a fraction, Eric will see the twisted, ghastly reddened skin of my left arm where that fire had burned me. Don't think of him. Just put him from your mind for this moment. I gulp down the excess spit in my mouth and steel myself. Minding my bum shoulder, I lift my dresses over my head. The chill of these tunnels bites into my back and stomach and tortures my breasts. As soon as I toss my dresses aside Torrance wraps the linen about my breasts. I help hold the linen in different spots as he passes the wrap around and around my chest, pressing my breasts nearly flat.
I let go a small breath of relief, though it is small. The rest of my nerves are still buzzing from the chilly air. I snatch the yellowed shirt from the ground and throw it on. I still and drop my arms in my lap. There! I heave with relief. Finally, I'm covered.
"Here's this, too." Torrance grabs another piece of clothing off the ground that I missed and holds it up for me to see. It looks like a knee-length brown vest with several buckles to fasten it at the front. "It's made of wool and lined with hare fur." He opens it up and points to the grey fur lining the inside of it. "This has kept me plenty warm during the winter months."
"Oh wow!" I brush my fingers along the smooth, almost waxy fur. My heart softens for the healer. "Thank you, Torrance." I look at him and smile. "Thank you for everything."
Torrance returns my smile with a soft, handsome grin. "You're welcome, my dear."
I almost embrace him, but he helps me into the vest instead. I tighten my shirt laces around my throat and fasten the vest's buckles up to my neck. I grab my old belt and wrap it around my waist.
"Don't wear your belt too tight," Torrance says, halting me. "It'll hide your hips better."
My heart lightens some. "I have hips?"
Torrance's brows furrow. "Yes," he answers slowly, confused.
A gleeful grin spreads my mouth. "So I catch men's eyes!?" Torrance raises his brows at me. That knocks my smile back some. That came out wrong. "I mean, I'm quite thin. I just…," I point at Eric, "...he has his figure." Torrance glances back at Eric and snorts. " I'd like to think I look like a woman."
Torrance looks at me and smiles, shaking his head. "You're a very beautiful woman, my dear. Eric better know how lucky he is."
My smile twitches and nearly falls, but I manage to keep it. "I'm the lucky one, Torrance. No, not lucky, but blessed." Eric…I truly am blessed. Even with all my fears of him and the sure future that lies ahead of us, I am blessed that he is the one who found me in that dark forest. I am blessed that he has put space between Maacthis and my heart. I am so blessed that he is in my life now…and I repay that blessing with lies and deceit. A dark cloud comes over me and tries to crush me beneath it. "We should get going soon," I say. I push my arms into my coat sleeves, wrap my scarf around my neck, and slide Eric's knife into my belt at my left hip. "I need to fold the rest of these furs." I reach for the fur I had abandoned—"I got them," Torrance says, halting me.
I frown at him. "I really don't mind."
He shakes his head and extends his hand to me. "You go to Eric. I'll take care of them."
I sigh and accept his helping hand. "Thank you."
He smiles kindly at me and nods to my walking stick, no need for words. I grab my walking stick and he helps me to my feet. Torrance lets go of my hand when I find my balance on my heels and my walking stick.
"Look at you!" he says, beaming at me with pride. I smile down at him. He has every right to be proud of himself. He looks down at the furs and scoops everything into his arms, even my vomit-stained clothes! He springs to his feet.
"You're not going to fold the furs!?" I ask as we both start back to the others. He takes slow, patient steps with my hobbling ones.
He gives me a smug look. "We're not picky about perfectly folded pelts."
I roll my eyes, earning Torrance's laughter. We reach the men as they finish packing up the last of their things. I look from Locke and Abasi and Wessel and Phoebe until my eyes cross his.
"Eric," I say as I slow my hobbling steps, trying to hobble as little as possible. My stomach churns terribly while my nerves buzz. Eric leans back on his left leg with his hands on his hips, looking so relaxed. So handsome. Those claw-like lacerations that run down his left temple are barely there anymore. I slow my hobbling steps and stop as he slowly looks down my body, a devilish grin spreading his mouth the lower his eyes go. My brows furrow some while my whole body becomes a knotted mess of shame. I have no breasts, no hips, and I am leaning on this ugly walking stick like an old man! Why the grin?
He takes his sweet time raising his eyes up my hunching form. "I like the new look," he says, his eyes finally meeting mine.
My brows furrow more. "You…" Something stirs in my gut. Something uneasy. My eyes widen. Oh…oh God. "You like – men!?"
His eyes nearly bug out of his head. "What!?" He bursts into laughter and shakes his head. "That's the first time I've ever been asked that! Nae, I like the lasses jus' fine!" His laughter ebbs as he lets go of his hips and closes the space between us. He draws so close to me, his stomach nearly touching my bound breasts. My chest grows heavier while the air thickens. My heart beats so hard against my sternum as if yearning to be rejoined to the life that keeps his heart beating strong and steady. He stoops to me, his mouth drawing so close to mine. I close my eyes, waiting for his kiss…his hot breath touches my cheek as he whispers, "I was thinkin' about what's under those clothes."
My eyes fly open while that sinful heat scorches my loins. "Eric!" I half scold, half gasp. He laughs deep from his chest as he pulls back just enough to look me in my eyes. Did he see my scars!? "Did you see me change!?" I ask, barely containing my panic.
He stifles his laughter and shakes his head. "All I saw was Torrance's back. Disappointin', but it is what it is." He gives me a reassuring smile, though it quickly turns impish. "I was only tellin' ye what's stirrin' in my heart." That fun-loving air from before warms the space between us. It soothes my nerves and my fears and allows that bubbly feeling to loosen the knots in my stomach.
My chest swells with boldness, putting the men about us far from me. I grab one of the dangling laces of Eric's shirt collar and twirl it around my finger. His eyes dart between my playful fingers and my face, his smile turning into that silly, toothy one. God, I love that smile.
"I hope there's more stirring in you than just your heart," I say. His smile lessens as his eyes darken.
"Eric!" Locke's voice shatters our little world like those black glass knights.
Eric scowls and shoots a glare at the easterner. "What!?"
Locke points down at our belts, not saying a word. My brows furrow and I look down—"OH!" I clasp my hand over my mouth. The fire between my legs intensifies by tenfold. I…I cannot look away. Eric wraps his coat around himself suddenly, concealing his…excitement.
I peek up at Eric from under my dark lashes. He shakes his head and glares at Locke. "Thanks," he tells Locke, ticked and embarrassed.
Locke grins, pleased with himself. "You are welcome." He turns from us and leads Abasi by the reins to the dying fire. No doubt to grab a torch for the day's travel through the pitch black tunnels.
I frown at Locke's back and look up at Eric. He quickly looks elsewhere and breathes out past pursed lips, puffing out his reddened cheeks. "Eh, sorry about that," he murmurs, looking everywhere except at me. "We should get goin'," he says and quickly steps aside, providing me a clear path to Ylva.
I don't move from my spot. I've never seen him like this. He was sort of like this when he first kissed me on that damn ice, but his face is flushed this time. He folds his arms tightly, keeping his coat closed around himself. He keeps looking everywhere except at me, almost bouncing on his feet—as if resisting the urge to run the other way.
His sudden bashfulness—it's endearing. It's a side to him I've never seen. "Eric, you can look at me. Please?" I say as sweetly as I can.
He sucks a sudden breath and holds it for two of my breaths, bracing himself. It takes a lot out of him, but he forces his chin down to me. He blinks more…as if trying to look at me as little as possible.
I give him the kindest smile I can muster and brush my fingers across his pink cheek, his skin hot! My eyes nearly widen, but I fight against it. I like the heat anyways. "It's alright," I tell him. I let my frozen fingers linger on his burning skin. I hope I am not hurting him with my chilled fingers. A small chuckle escapes me. "Thank whatever god will hear me that I'm a woman. I cannot count how many times you've stirred my…" Hot blood flushes my cheeks. My nerves buzz again. He blinks less as his embarrassment slowly ebbs. I withdraw my tingling fingers from him. "I don't have to say it aloud, do I?'
He swallows and shakes his head. "Nae…" He purses his lips and glances above my head for a breath before returning his eyes to me. "It's hard bein' a lad sometimes." A hint of a smile lightens his mouth.
I chuckle, spurring his growing smile and breathy laughs. As our laughter ebbs, a jest comes to mind. Anything to lighten his red cheeks. "Women have their share of problems, too. We bleed every so often for a whole week! Men lord over us and expect us to cook and clean and mend their clothes and bear their twenty children!"
Eric gives me a sweet smile as he gestures to Ylva and takes a step towards her. I hobble alongside him with my crude walking stick while he takes his patient, even steps. "Ye know, there's honor in bein' a wife and mother. My mother, she was a wife and – well, obviously a mother." He flashes that silly, toothy grin of his.
I snort. God, how I love that grin!
His grin lessens as he says, "She was also an historian and an explorer. She was a lot of thin's."
"And all of them good," I say, a soft smile spreading my mouth.
He nods, his eyes turning soft. "Aye." We reach Ylva's side and stop there. His smile turns sweet, filling his eyes with something tender. "I really wish ye could've met her. She would've loved ye."
My stomach knots, threatening to steal my smile. If she knew who my father was, what he did to her son… "Was your mother—" I bite my tongue, my smile gone. How I wish to know, but dare I ask it? Could it tip him off to just one of my lies?
His smile leaves him. "What?" he asks softly, inching closer to me, shrinking the space between us. He really wants to hear what I almost asked about her.
I swallow. My heart goes to the edge. Would it be detrimental to ask? Not for my sake, but for Greta's? The eagerness in his eyes, the hope… "We should get going," I find myself saying.
His face falls as he straightens his back. "Aye." He grabs my waist and lifts me up onto his saddle. "Ye should eat," he says, taking his hands from my waist and reaching into his saddlebag to pull out a wrapped piece of bread. He pulls back the linen and offers the bread to me.
"Thank you." I force a small smile for him, silently praying to return to the fun we were having before my fear got the better of me. I set my ugly walking stick across my lap and take the bread from him.
He returns my small smile with his own. "Yer welcome." He stores the linen back in his saddlebag and goes ahead of Ylva, grabbing her reins while the others start leading their horses down the dark tunnel. "I got the fire!" Eric calls to the other men, minding his voice.
"Alright!" Locke calls back.
"Thanks!" Torrance nods his thanks and leans towards Wessel who is walking beside him. "I can't wait to get out of these damn tunnels," Torrance tells Wessel as Eric leads Ylva to the dwindling flames of the campfire.
"It will be nice to see some sky again," Wessel says, his voice more distant than Torrance's amid the echoes of their horses' hooves. Eric lets go of Ylva's reins and crouches before the fire. He picks up a nearly intact branch out of the dying fire, shrinking the fire to three flickering flames that cling to the last twigs. He straightens and scatters the burning twigs with his boot, leaving the flames to quickly eat and warp the twigs into charred, twisted strings. The flame at the top of his torch thrives about a wad of oil soaked linen. He turns back to Ylva and me and grabs her reins in his free hand. He clicks his tongue twice. Ylva nickers and follows after him. I look ahead at the three men with their horses and their torches. Torrance and Wessel walk side by side chatting quietly. Further up ahead, Locke leads the way down the only clear path. He will call Eric to the front when a fork appears in the tunnel. For now, Eric keeps the usual distance between us and the others.
"Lass," Eric calls me. I look down at the hunter, finding it too easy to do. He glances back at me, giving me a glimpse of his soft gaze. "What were tryin' to ask about my mother?"
My stomach twists and my heart beats harder. Why is he asking me this!? "It was something trivial, Eric. Just a small wondering. It doesn't need an answer. It's fine." I shrug my shoulders and give him the biggest smile I can manage. He doesn't return my smile. "Don't worry about it." There, will that get his mind off it?
He looks up at me, glum. "I'd like to know," he says. I can't help the scowl pushing into my forehead. Damn it, that didn't work. The scowl leaves me with my defeated sigh. As if telling him to not worry about it would have worked anyways.
He frowns up at me. "I dinnae mean to force ye to talk. I jus'...what stopped ye?"
My heart skips a beat, leaping right to the edge! My silence is more damning! I need to say something to evade his suspicion…Stigr. Yes, that will work well with my lying tongue. A pang enters my heart, but maybe I can find out this way. "You never called your father your father."
His brows furrow and he glances ahead to check his footing. "What do ye mean?" he asks, reluctant and hesitant. He looks back at me, that reluctance and hesitance in his eyes. Another pang enters my heart. Now my curiosity is peaking. There is a reason Eric didn't tell me more about his father after we had left Vilgard. There is a reason he called Stigr his father only once. Perhaps this isn't something I should broach.
I frown. If I back out now, we both could avoid what we do not wish to speak of…yet why he is so reluctant to speak of Stigr…My heart softens and aches for the hunter. I want to know, but I will not force him as he is not forcing me. "You only called Stigr your father once. To me, I mean." My hands clench tighter about my walking stick and the bread with the want to reach out to him. I look all about me for a place to put the bread. Eric's new rucksack and saddlebags have been tied off. There is Gus' lute tucked safely between my bedroll and Eric's. I'll have to practice some chords before I forget what Gus showed me, but that's not pressing right now.
"What are ye lookin' for?" Eric asks.
I look up at him. "A place to put this damn bread! I want to touch your shoulder."
His eyes widen as I look down at my belt. That will do. "Huh?" he asks, bewildered. I shove the bread between my belt and my dress, nearly crushing it in half, but I secure it.
He chuckles once, his smile barely there. "What're ye doin'!?"
I lean towards him and rest my hand on his shoulder, minding my rump in the saddle. His faint smile falls as his eyes go from my gloved hand to my eyes. He nearly stops walking, but he forces his feet to keep moving.
"Eric, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I was wondering about your father. Why do you—" There must be a gentler way to put this "—I mean, you speak of your mother so warmly. I can tell you love her dearly, but your father," I bite my tongue, refraining from another lie, "you speak of him…differently."
The hunter's face tightens. "Ye noticed?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm, disdain, mocking.
I wince and retract my hand. Did I anger him? "I'm sorry," I whisper.
His face suddenly falls and softens. "Nae, I'm sorry. I didnae mean that anger for ye, but for him." Him. I frown. Eric frowns, too, before that scowl tightens his face again. "Ye want to know about Stigr?" He nods and looks ahead, stepping a little quicker. "I'll give ye the short and bitter tellin' of it. He was there at first, but he grew to love the drink more than us. He had nae reason to turn to drink. He had good parents, a good home, a good upbringin'. He jus' turned to drink. My mother ended up raisin' us on her own for four years. Then one day Skoll's wolves attacked our home."
I suck in a sharp breath. The wolves with delvir souls. Eric glances back at me. He sees my face. No words need be said. He only nods and looks ahead, both of us wanting to leave that as a distant memory. "Those sons of bitches came in and butchered my mother in front of me and my brother and sister." My eyes widen. "I fought them as best as I could, but what could a ten year old lad do?" His voice cracks. He clears his throat. "Ye know where Stigr was when all this happened?" I swallow hard. Am I supposed to answer this—"Passed out in the pigpen behind the tavern soaked in mud, pigshite and his own piss. That's where I found him after I was forced to watch every single one of those delvirs sodomize my mother's body and," he swallows hard, "hurt my sister." He speaks those words from a tight throat. Something cruel wraps its talons around my heart. Horrible imaginings flood my mind of an innocent fair-haired girl who is far too young being knocked down and pinned to the floor while those wolfmen tear at her clothes and pull down their trousers—don't think of it! God, don't! Fire touches my eyes, the back of my nose, and my throat.
"They took my sister away after they finished," Eric says, his words barely reaching me. My sight of him blurs, hot tears threatening to fall. I clasp my hand over my mouth, the fur of my glove bitterly cold against my numb mouth.
"There was nothin' I could do. My family was jus' one of many who were attacked that day." He laughs bitterly, cruelly. "When Stigr finally came out of his drunken stupor and saw his daughter gone, his sons beaten, and his wife lyin' there in pieces on the ground—" He stops himself and draws in a slow, deep breath, lifting his back and his shoulders. He lets go of his breath slower than he took it in, his shoulders barely falling. "Luke and I buried our mother," he says, his voice far more even. "Stigr was off gettin' drunker than he had ever been." He almost turns his head to look back at me, but he stops himself halfway, giving me a blurry glimpse of the side of his face. "It was me who raised my wee brother after that. For twelve years, I did all I could to protect him." He purses his lips and shakes his head. "I swore I'd ne'er become like Stigr. The first chance Luke and I got, we left our clan willfully and came here to help yer people fight the evil that was comin' o'er this land. Yer home." He finally looks up at me, though my tears blur him too much to see his face clearly. Hot tears stream down my cheeks, soaking into my glove. Oh God, he's going to tell me about his brother's murder. Where else could this be going!?
"Yer dead King," My heart constricts, "he turned on my brother and I," he hisses. "After the blood we shed for him, the wounds we suffered from Ravenna's phantom soldiers, he accused my brother of treason!" He sneers. "Lass, my brother didnae have a traitorous bone in 'im! I tried to get yer dead King to see reason. Why would we come here, leave our home, our family, our friends, to aid him in a war that's no' ours!?" He thrusts his torch out suddenly, the flame whooshing and crackling louder. "Tell me, WHY WOULD WE!?" His words echo all around me, pummeling my head.
Terror grips me. My heart struggles to beat with the fist constricting it. Does he see the eyes of his brother's killer now? Is he going to pull me down from his horse and strangle me? Or would he rather drop his torch, draw his axe from his belt, and strike at my skinny neck?
Slowly, the hunter draws his torch closer to his bear-sized body. Each breath he draws comes in slower and goes out slower. My tears flow with abandon. I keep my hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my sobs to near silent sniffles. How I want to fall off Ylva and grovel before him, utter to him how sorry I am for every lie, for every injustice that was inflicted upon him by my father, by me, by those wolfmen…but for Greta's sake, I keep my hand clamped over my mouth. To say anything now would spell my end.
"I'm sorry," Eric whispers, his words barely audible. "I hate seein' that fear in yer eyes." That single word strikes my chest. He hates. He stops Ylva in the middle of the pitch black, his torchlight barely touching the rockwalls and domed ceiling of this tunnel. He comes up to me, my bound feet brushing against his stomach. "Please dinnae be afraid of me. I huvnae talked about this for nine or ten years now…for good reason as ye jus' witnessed. I'm so sorry."
My tears keep flowing, blurring his face, though I can just make out his frown and the pain in his eyes. Pain because of my fear of him—and the pain of his sorrows. He starts leaning closer to me, but he stops, remembering the torch in his left hand and Ylva's reins in his right. He lets go of her reins and extends his hand towards me! My body recoils. He halts his hand in the air, his thick fingers so close to my cheek. His fingers curl, his strength leaving them. He slowly lowers his hand to his side.
"I swore I'd ne'er become Stigr, but I did after I lost Luke," he says softly. "I told myself then that it was alright because I had three reasons." He holds up his thumb, his second finger, and his third finger. His thumb for his mother, his second finger for his sister, and his third for Luke. He lowers his hand. "Stigr didnae, but I did. That's what I told myself." He shrugs his shoulders. It's such a stark contrast to the gravity of his words. "Then I met Sara…," he falls silent. Something stirs in my gut, nagging me. There is more to this. I sense it. It's in the silence, in the bitter cold air between us. He shrugs again, failing to add levity to such…such weighted, disconsolate silence. "Ye know what happened from there."
I finally peel my hand from my mouth and clear my throat. "How long were you and Sara—" I gulp down excess spit "—married?"
A dark cloud comes over his face. "Eight years. I– knew her for two years before," he says with difficulty. He nearly said that depraved word, but he refrained—for me. A pang touches my heart. I'm such a hypocrite.
I swallow again. Eight years…so much can happen in eight years. So many good times and bad times, blessed days and cursed days. "You married Sara," I say, my voice shaky. "In her final moments with me, she spoke of you with love and joy and she did not want to leave you!" More tears come and spill down, mercifully blurring my sight of Eric's twisting face. "You gave her a good life that she did not want to leave behind! If you became like your father, er Stigr, then how you accomplished that, I fail to see!"
Eric casts his eyes down to the ground. "She loved me with nae conditions, lass. She forgave me time and again when I didnae deserve it." He scoffs suddenly, a nasty smile turning up his mouth. "If I could forgive like she forgave others, I'd be better off!" That nasty smile leaves him. My stomach twists suddenly. When he learns my true name, he will not forgive me—but he said if he did forgive, he would be better off. A spark ignites in my heart. Does he want to forgive? I…I could just be latching onto something that isn't there. That thought nearly snuffs out the small flame of hope. Nearly.
He sighs and lifts his head to peer down the tunnel. "They're too far ahead," he whispers to himself. He grabs Ylva's reins and starts after the other men.
I bite the inside of my lip. I should just keep my mouth shut, but I…God, I have to know! "Eric, your father…," words leave me when Eric halts and turns back to me. I sniffle back the water trying to drain from my right nostril and scrub the tears from my eyes. "Have you forgiven him?"
Eric scoffs and sneers. "Does it sound like I have!?" His words cut me to my bone. Regret softens his face. "I'm sorry," he says. He sighs and draws in a slow, deep breath. "If he had been there that day, my mother and my sister would still be alive."
To carry such bitterness and anger around for as long as he has…I harbored such things for fourteen years. For mama, for Ravenna, for Finn, for Wessel. It drained everything from me. It stole my will to live. If it wasn't for Sara, I would be a rotting corpse hanging from those rafters in my cell. Then Wessel found me out in that frozen wasteland. Those fourteen years of anger, of hatred—they were a waste. Wessel didn't need my forgiveness. I needed it. I gave myself it with the understanding that I did not know Wessel was branded a traitor unjustly. He could not save me. He would have been killed on sight if he showed his face anywhere near the castle. But that is one thing. When I finally forgave mama, it gave me such relief.
Eric sighs and turns from me, starting down the tunnel again. My heart aches terribly for him. I had no idea he was carrying such great anger in him, knowing that if he could bring himself to forgive, he would be better off. Yet for some reason he cannot forgive. He hasn't forgiven his father for—God, for twenty-seven years!
"Do you want to forgive your father?" I ask, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
Eric slows his steps and stops. He looks down at the ground. I watch him, waiting, praying to god or Ursus—whoever will hear me! Turn around, Eric…Turn around. Please. He keeps his eyes on the ground…He keeps his back to me. The small hope in my heart is stamped out.
Something stirs in me. I need to speak up. If I don't say anything now, I'll be damned. Somehow, I know this deep down. How I know this, I'm not sure, but I do. My heart goes to the edge once more. "Eric…I had no idea the pain, the…the anger you've carried in your heart for – twenty-seven years! My God!" I can hardly believe it…I can barely believe it. "It pains me dearly to know that. It pains me because I harbored and nurtured such anger and hate in my heart for fourteen years." I clutch my heart, trying in vain to keep it from falling apart. More tears well in my eyes. I grit my teeth. Damn it! "I hated Wessel for fourteen years! I blamed him for my imprisonment, for not coming to save me! I cursed him in my heart!" I choke on a sob.
Eric lifts his head…an inch. He almost turns it to me…but he still hides his face from me.
"If only I had known the true reason he didn't come for me, it would have saved me so much pain. When Wessel found me in that damn frozen wasteland, I realized it was not he who I had to forgive, but myself. It was not just myself I forgave, though, but some years before then, I had to forgive Ravenna and Finn lest my anger for them turn to hate and consume me! Eric!" I sob his name, pleading with all my heart, all my soul, all my strength. Am I saying too much? Too little!? "It pains me so much to see you like this. Eric, I think I understand how you feel for I felt it too. For fourteen hellish years, I felt it! Yes, it was hell, but I made it worse by holding onto my anger! But when I forgave Ravenna and Finn, and then myself," and mama, but I dare not say that, "oh, the relief it gave me. It was like lamia balm."
I watch him on the edge of his saddle. He lifts his chin a fraction higher…but he keeps his eyes from me. I frown and look ahead. The others have turned into three small dots of gold light. Eric clicks his tongue and starts walking again. Ylva follows without protest.
My heart grows so heavy, dragging my eyes down to Eric. Will he never forgive his father? Nor himself? If he cannot forgive his father nor himself, he will never forgive me. If he could bring himself to forgive…God, the hope that would give me. It'd be a dangerous hope, but it would ring with promise. A pang touches my heart. I shouldn't want him to forgive his father and himself for just my sake, but for his sake. It pains me dearly to see Eric this way, to know of the anger and pain, perhaps hate, he carries in his heart for his father.
I stoop to him and gingerly rest my hand on his shoulder. He looks back at me, more out of reflex than out of desire to do so. My frown deepens. "Eric…no one deserves forgiveness. Not me, not you, not your father, not Ravenna or Finn, or even Sara." His eyes widen, but I force myself to keep going. "But if there is no forgiveness, then how can there be healing!? Forgiveness is a…no matter what any of us do to earn it, it will never be enough."
His face falls and he looks ahead. Oh no! My heart lurches towards him. "It can only be freely given! That…" The dots all start to connect for me in a way I've never seen before "...you said Sara forgave others. You said she loved you with no conditions. Don't you see? You've said it without realizing it." He stops in his steps once more. "Forgiveness is an act of love. Unconditional love. That love can heal all wounds if you let it. Eric, please, forgive Ravenna and Finn. Forgive King Magnus." I swallow hard and squeeze his shoulder. God, I said it. "Forgive yourself…Forgive your father."
His eyes snap back to me. I stiffen and snatch my hand from his shoulder. I grip my walking stick so tightly in my other hand. There's so much stirring in his eyes, darkening them, so much I cannot discern—but there is no anger. My body starts to unravel. That much I can see. I would have thought begging him to forgive my father would have made his blood boil. God, perhaps he is raging deep down, but I cannot see it.
His gaze falters and shifts from me to stare into the black void of the tunnel.
"ERIC!" Torrance's voice resonates down the tunnel. Eric and I both look up to the three men who are nothing but specks of light.
Eric picks up his feet, leading Ylva down the tunnel towards the men. My shoulders fall and my heart sinks so deep. I…have I asked the impossible of him? Have I once again fallen victim to hope's cruel trap? I thought myself impervious to false hope, but those words Eric said had given me a glimmer of what I dreamt about last morning. His forgiveness, his acceptance of me…his love for me. He knows he would be better off if he forgave like Sara did, but his silence…is it all too telling?
We soon reach the others.
"There's a fork up ahead. Which way?" Torrance asks, keeping his voice low.
Eric nods and ventures ahead of the others. His torchlight sprawls across the stone with each step he takes. The further he walks, the gold light touches a pillar of smoothed rockwall reaching from the ground to the ceiling. On either side of the pillar of smoothed rock are two gaping voids of darkness. Just as Torrance said.
"We take the right," Eric says and starts down the right tunnel. I glance back at the others as they follow suit. My eyes meet Wessel's dark ones. He just looks at me, so glum and…disappointed. My heart sinks deeper still. Disappointment in me. Our voices carry well in these tunnels. How much Wessel heard of what Eric and I spoke about, I'm not sure, but it's all the same. Torrance, Locke, and Wessel are very much aware of Eric and me.
I recall Wessel's warning about our hearts. How they are funny things. Indeed they are. At first I thought I loved Eric. Then I realized that I do not love him because I keep lying to him. Then it grows so envious at the mere thought of Eric loving Sara—as it does even now. Then it concocts some crazy dream, pervading it with its desire for Eric's acceptance of me, his forgiveness, and for his love. Today it latched onto those words he said. If I could forgive, I'd be better off. It hoped on those words so dearly. God, deep down in its core, it still does. Perhaps with time he will come around? But surely Sara has pleaded with him to forgive too!? Surely! If he cannot even after twenty-seven years…It's a false hope. How I hate false hope.
Yet how my heart clings to it. Indeed, it is a funny thing. A funny thing that will get me killed one of these days.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
We travel the rest of the day in silence save for a whisper here and a murmur there among the men. Eric barely says a word aside from answering the occasional question on which tunnel to take next whenever the path splits into two, three and four ways. I wish he would speak more. I wish he would smile. Maybe even laugh—that's too greedy. He doesn't even spare me a glance. He just focuses on the dark path ahead and marches on like a well trained soldier. A stinging stripe reaches across my mangled heart. He is a well trained soldier. From what little Eric told me, his father made sure he always had his axe in reach.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Eric finds another suitable spot to make camp. The horses are tethered to the old dwarven hitching posts again. Camp is set up. A fire is started. After the five of us consume another repetitious dinner of bread and dried meat, Wessel speaks up. "I'll take first watch tonight."
Eric lifts his heavy eyes from the fire to look at Wessel. "I can take it," he says, but Wessel clambers to his feet.
"Eric, you look tired as hell. You can take the last watch." Wessel grabs a torch out of the fire and leaves us quickly, not giving Eric the chance to argue. Eric grumbles something to himself and stares into the fire.
I find myself staring into the fire, just listening to Torrance and Locke talk and laugh around it. Eric has said little tonight. I peek at him from under my lashes. He stares into the fire much like me, his eyes half closed. My heart aches. Wessel was right. He looks tired as hell. He must have been mulling over what I said all day. What else could have silenced him like this? What else could have drained him so?
"That is funny!" Locke says, laughing. "Now let me tell you about my hyenas!"
"Ah, come on!" Torrance groans. "I've accepted the weird wolfmen with demon souls or whatever he said!" My eyes dart up to Torrance as he throws his hand to Eric sitting on the other side of the fire. "But I can't accept men turning into – hyenas! At least not until I see it with my own eyes!" Torrance shakes his head. "Which I never will nor care to."
"Hmph," Locke scoffs and leans back on his bedroll. "The hyenas would love to crack open your bones, healer. The bones of the unbelievers."
Torrance snorts and resumes picking his nails with the point of his knife. My stomach churns. I had to crack open Sara's—I shake my head and push the terrible memories back down where they belong.
"You scoff and laugh to yourself, but I have seen their tracks. They change from man to hyena and from hyena to man with each step. Eric!" Locke calls his name. Eric's eyes dart to the easterner, his gaze finally leaving the fire. "Tell them about your shapeshifter," Locke points to all of us, "the one that feeds on human flesh."
My eyes grow wide. My blood runs cold. I pull my deer pelt tighter about me and scoot closer to the fire, desperate for any warmth.
"Skinwalker, ye mean," Eric says. Skinwalker? A chill goes down my spine. Bugs crawl over every inch of my skin with their tiny, pinpoint legs.
"Whatever." Locke waves his hand dismissively and folds them. "Continue."
Eric sighs and returns his gaze to the fire. "The skinwalkers ye want me to tell ye about cannae change back to their human forms. Once changed, they're forever changed."
"Right, right, just get to the part where they eat people so we can go to sleep." Torrance waves his hand in tight circles, impatient.
"Or how about we just go to sleep!?" I flinch. Horror grips me. The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. I look from Torrance to Locke. I should not look at Eric, but I cannot stop my eyes from going to him. He merely looks at me, frowning, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. I swallow hard. "This is such a – repulsive thing to talk about!" I spit out, disgust churning my stomach to near nausea.
Eric's frown deepens while Locke speaks. "I want you both to first hear about his skinwalker." He points to Eric and clasps his hands in his lap. "Then you and Torrance may go to sleep. Continue, Eric."
Torrance groans and turns his gaze to me. "He thinks this is going to prove some point!" he tells me.
"Indeed," Locke grumbles and looks at Eric. "Eric, speak!"
Torrance and I both turn our gazes to Eric.
The hunter sighs in exasperation and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The delvir calls himself Wendigo." The fire burns in the dark centers of his eyes…like the flames of hell. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together. "Jus' sayin' his name draws his attention, so I'll say it nae more, but ye'll be safe from him so long as ye ne'er tasted human flesh. I think all of us sittin' here can safely say we ne'er have." He holds his hands out and looks at Torrance and Locke. I become like stone.
"Tsk, I'm good," Torrance says, smiling to himself.
"Do not look my way. No matter what you foreigners think, my people do not practice cannibalism." Locke shakes his head, resolute. I force my eyes down to the fire before those six eyes weigh on me. The silence starts save for the crackling of the fire. My heart pounds furiously against my sternum, trapped in the stone casing of my flesh.
"Aye, right," Eric says, whether to Locke or to me, I'm not sure, but his two words cut the silence short. "The delvir himself never tasted human flesh. He wanted to. He murdered his wife and children jus' to do it, but he was killed by his brother before he could. He laid buried beneath the earth tormented with his own insatiable hunger. That was until an unfortunate man and his family became trapped in the snow. The man got himself and his wife and newborn helplessly lost. After two days of trudgin' through the deep snow, his wife's hips hurt her so bad that she couldnae walk anymore, so they had to take shelter in a wee cave. This wee cave was the delvir's grave. If only they had found another cave or made a snow cave, they would've been better off. Anyways, the followin' day, the man kissed his wife and newborn son goodbye and went on to search for help. He was gone for almost a week, but his feet had become so frostbitten that he could barely move. He took off his boots and stockin's to look at his feet. They were black right up to his ankles."
"He'd need his feet cut off. Below the knees if he's fortunate enough," Torrance says.
"Aye," Eric agrees with no hint of mockery nor sarcasm. I keep my eyes fixed on the writhing flames, each crackle and pop pricking my ears. No matter how close I sit to the fire, I cannot feel a fraction of its warmth! The sound of calloused hands rubbing together hits my ears. "It was then he felt in his heart that somethin' was wrong. He put on his boots and trudged through the snow right back to his wife and son." His breath leaves his lungs. "When he got back, he saw his wife from afar coverin' their son with snow." My heart lurches in my chest. God, that poor man. That poor woman! To lose their newborn like that—this is just a story, Snow. A fantastical tale. Though delvirs are real.
"When he reached her, he...fell. He fell and he cried…He clung to his wife and she clung to him.
"A few more days passed. The hunger was gettin' to them both. He became really worried for his wife. He couldnae lose her, too. That's when the thought came into his head." My stomach churns so much that my insides hurt in various spots. My throat tightens as the nausea travels up it. My mouth waters horribly. I press my hand to my mouth. Anything to keep my dinner down. "He thought maybe the body of their son could save them both. He told her this. She lashed out at him, called him vile names, and accused him of no' lovin' their son. He tried to persuade her to see his point, but she refused to listen. The two ended up sleepin' apart that night.
"The morn came and he woke before her. He looked o'er at his wife while she slept. She looked pale, too thin, nae well. He couldnae lose her. He would do anythin' to keep her because he loved her so much. So, while she slept, he dragged himself to his son's snowy grave, uncovered his bairn, and drew his knife."
"Sick," Torrance sneers. "Eric, you're really into this story."
"I am no'!" Eric snaps. "I'm tellin' ye what happened!" This is true!? "He brought his wife the frozen meat and he lied to her. He told her he found a rabbit and killed it. She was overjoyed and believed him. They both ate." Terrible memories of that cruel winter come rushing back to me. Sara's hollowed out ribcage lying there on the stone floor, each vertebrae of her spine picked clean of meat—My dinner scorches my throat as it rushes up. I manage to gulp it back down. "Lass, ye alright?" I stiffen instantly at the sound of his voice.
"Eric, this is no story for a woman's ears!" Torrance says and holds his hand up to me. "Look, you're making her sick! Again!"
Eric sighs. Something presses on my back—his hand! My heart pounds. Why can I not control myself!? If I cannot, that will surely raise Eric's suspicions! God forbid he ever learns how I desecrated his beloved's body. God forbid. Somehow, I pull my hand from my mouth. "I'm fine," I say, my voice hoarse. Eric rubs my back, trying to soothe me. I swallow, trying to get rid of the burning sensation at the back of my throat. "This story is just…awful." I must look at the hunter to keep up the gag. Somehow, I find the strength to look up at him. "This is made up, right? Everything you're saying about the man and his family, it's all a lie?"
His face falls as he takes his hand from my back. "Nae, this really happened almost three centuries ago. It's the first that delvir ever claimed someone."
"Claimed someone!...," words leave me as the fear embraces me.
He only nods, his eyes softening. "It is an awful story." His expression suddenly hardens with determination. He looks to Locke and Torrance. "I'm done with it. Let's get some sleep." He starts to lie back on his bedroll.
"Eric, no!" Locke says. "Finish it!"
"He said he's done!" Torrance says.
"I'm done." Eric holds his hands up.
Locke scowls. "Eric!—"
"Finish your story!" I say. His blue eyes dart to me, wide with surprise. That's good. I pray…I hope. God knows I would prefer he shut up, but would it not seem more suspicious for me to cut a tale short that makes me visibly ill?
"Are ye sure?" Eric asks softly. He leans closer to me, propping his elbows on his knees again. "It's a disgustin' story!" He sneers. Disgusting? It's more than disgusting. "Locke is jus' eager for a terror tale. Dinnae let him pressure ye like that."
"I am not pressuring anyone!" Locke says. Eric snaps his eyes to the easterner, glaring at him.
"Eric, this is my own choice." My hands twitch and ache with the want to reach out to him, but I keep my deer pelt clenched in them. He looks back to me, his glare falling away. "Just finish it quickly so we can all go to sleep."
He breathes in through his nose, flaring his nostrils, and nods once. "If that's what ye really want."
I force a single, stiff nod. "It is."
He frowns at me. "Alright…well, after they both…ate, they were feelin' hopeful and good. They made love that night in the cave and fell asleep in each other's arms. The morn came again, but this time it was his wife who woke first. She wanted to visit her son, so she got up and dragged herself to his grave because her hips still hurt too bad. That's when she saw…what was left. She was horrified at first, thinkin' that some wild animal had found him and dug him up, but the truth became apparent. Blindin' rage filled her. She rushed back to her husband and started beatin' him, cursin' him, screamin' at him, weepin'. He woke up startled and confused. He thought some animal was attackin' him, no' his wife. He didnae think. He grabbed a rock and swung and struck his wife's head. He killed her instantly."
"Oh my God," I whisper, my eyes peeled wide open with horror.
He nods, his shoulders slumped, his face glum. "When she fell to the ground and everythin' quieted, he woke up more and started to realize what had happened. When he realized what he did, he dropped the rock, took his wife's warm body in his arms, and he cried. He cried as she grew cold and he cried as she grew stiff. For days he cried. He eventually stopped cryin'. He was nae longer hungry for food. He hungered for death. That's when he heard a lass' scream behind him in the cave.
"He looked back and he saw the delvir in his twisted form, nothin' but grey skin and bones, the body of a man but with the skull and antlers of a buck. The man felt fear like he ne'er had before. He looked into the black, eyeless sockets of the delvir and an insatiable hunger filled his stomach. The temptation to consume his beloved's body frightened him. He would have rather died than to do that, but the delvir didnae leave him. Instead, he haunted him night and day, mimickin' the sounds of his son's last cries and his wife's final words. The man was losin' himself. He cut off his own ears with his knife, but he still heard the delvir's taunts."
"Oh!" I grimace, horrid images of the poor man sitting there with his severed ears in one hand and his knife in the other, blood pouring down the sides of his neck.
Eric frowns. "Do ye want me to stop?"
"No." I shake my head and gulp down my excess spit. "Just finish it quickly."
"Aye, right. Well, the man tried to kill himself, but he couldnae. He…ended up eatin' parts of himself. As he did, he felt a terrible pain in his bones. The pain in his head was the worst. His body began to change. His skin was turnin' grey. His arms and his legs were gettin' longer. His feet and hands were gettin' bigger. The physical changes were no' the worst part, though. He found himself forgettin' all the good memories he had of everyone he ever cared about. One by one, his memories left him. He was very aware of the void they left in his mind. He tried so hard to remember, but eventually he couldnae even remember his own name. That was when the hunger took o'er. He got up and consumed the frozen body of his wife. He cried as he ate and he wondered why he was cryin', but he couldnae find an answer."
Eric lets go of his breath and sits back. "He was the delvir's first victim, condemned to live immortally as a twisted creature with an insatiable hunger."
"But I thought they could be killed," Locke says.
Eric looks at him. "The only way to kill them is to starve 'em to death. We–there are two ways to do it. The safer way is to wall off the mountains and caves. It keeps the skinwalkers in and hapless folk out. Then all ye have to do is wait three years for them to starve to death. The more dangerous way is for someone who knows the skinwalker to go into his or her territory. Usually it's the skinwalker's loved one who takes the risk, but sometimes it's a dear friend who wants to help the skinwalker find rest. This brave soul, whether family or friend, calls out the skinwalker's name. He knows the skinwalker is near when the chill goes deep into his bones. That's when he starts remindin' the skinwalker of his or her memories. Memories of family, friends. Good memories, bad memories. This brave soul does this while also prayin' that the skinwalker disnae kill him first. All he can do is hope and pray that the skinwalker isnae too far gone to remember. If this brave soul succeeds, the skinwalker will remember and will seclude himself or herself to die…and finally have rest."
A shaky breath leaves me. How horrible. Just…how horrible.
Eric glances at me and leans back on his bedroll, bracing his hands behind him. "My…in the north, we have another way to deal with 'em." He scoots back so he can stretch his legs out, his boots so close to the fire. Why can I still not feel its warmth!? The chill…it reaches deep into my bones. Another shaky breath escapes me, my breath mistier than before. My eyes grow wide. "If we discover that anyone has tasted human flesh, we kill them."
My blood grows so cold that it can barely flow through my veins. My heart struggles to beat. How I want to shiver, to chatter my teeth, to move at all, but I am frozen nearly solid. I can barely move my ribs to draw in air. If Eric ever discovers what I did to his wife's body, he will kill me. My eyes sting. The writhing flames blur. I would rather he kill me than to become a skinwalker, but God, how unjust this all is! The man did not kill his son. He only wanted to save his wife! I did not kill Sara. Finn forced me to consume her frozen flesh! If I had not—done what I did, I would have died that cruel winter. If I had not done it, I never would have fulfilled the favor Sara asked of me. I wouldn't be here. My promise to Sara would have died with me in that cell. In that hell!
"That seems unfair," Torrance says softly from across the fire. "I've heard stories of men trapped in the mountains. Good men, mind you. They didn't kill anyone, but they were left with no choice but to consume the dead. Is that really something you would kill them over?"
Eric's gruff sigh tortures my frozen ears. I cannot look at him. I cannot even turn my head. Memories come back to haunt me. Memories of no warmth and lasting darkness. Leather scratches across stone as Eric moves. "Where are these lads now? The ones who ate the dead." My heart stills. To hear the slightest hint of mercy from him sparks the smallest flame in my heart. I let go of another shaky breath. Warmth! Precious, precious warmth! I…I almost forgot what it felt like…
"I…I don't know," Torrance says softly, despair tainting his voice. The flame is stamped out instantly, leaving me hollow and chilled to my marrow. "So are you saying they're all Wendigos—"
"Shh!" Eric shushes Torrance. "Dinnae say that name! Call 'em skinwalkers."
Torrance sighs in exasperation. "Are you saying they're all skinwalkers now?"
Air rushes into Eric's lungs. "I wish I knew," he says softly. "What I do know is that this delvir comes after anyone who has consumed human flesh, even the good. It's always jus' a matter of time."
"So there's no hope for these poor souls is what you're saying?" Torrance asks with an edge. How he is speaking for me, I wish I knew, but why can't he shut up!?
I hear the man beside me swallow. The man I wished I loved. The man I wish I could trust. How I wished he could accept me, forgive me…and love me. "Torrance, if I knew, I'd tell ye, but I dinnae know. I think…maybe it's what's in their hearts. I've heard of some skinwalkers takin' much longer than others to turn. One took ten years to turn! Tsk!" Eric scoffs suddenly. "Maybe if anyone bothered to pray o'er them, then perhaps they could drive the delvir away…but I dinnae know if that would drive him away forever or jus' for a time."
"Has anyone ever tried praying over the poor souls!?" Torrance asks.
"No' that I've heard of. If any mountainman has resorted to eatin' human flesh and somehow survived to make it back to society, he keeps that dark secret to himself. Where I'm from, we kill anyone who has consumed human flesh. It's seen as an act of mercy by most."
"By most? There's some who don't see it that way?" No matter how much I want to, I cannot tear my eyes from the blurred flames. Icy tears escape my eyes.
"Aye, but they're few. Watchin' someone ye love slowly lose themselves…I dinnae think I could ever endure that."
"You don't think you could?" Torrance laughs. "If I know you at all, I think you'd do your damndest to save them. I don't think you could even bring yourself to lift your axe to them. Especially to someone you love…Eric? Eric, what are you…what are you looking at?"
A large hand grabs my head. Not Eric's hand. This hand is cold and cruel. It's evil…much like Maacthis' evil. It has been so long since his evil touched my heart. This new evil strikes that same fear into my heart. Eric starts speaking, not in my tongue, but in his native tongue. Harsh, cruel, cutting words that sound much like a bear huffing and growling, but they are unmistakably words. The evil—it's gone! The fear seeps out of my heart. The hand lifts from my head, allowing my frozen neck to spring back up. My chest suddenly lightens! I suck in a deep breath, swelling my lungs with warm air until they nearly burst. I release my breath and suck in another deep, filling breath. The warmth of the fire touches my skin and melts the ice clinging to my muscles and my bones, freeing me to move! I shiver immediately and chatter my teeth and tug my deer pelt so tight about me like a jacket. Eric falls silent.
My eyes widen and go to Eric against my better judgement. He lowers his gaze to mine, his eyes so open and blue. Worry is etched into his face, deepening his wrinkles. All relief leaves me as quick as it came. Another fear enters my heart. Even though I am warm and I can move once more, Eric…he sensed the evil that came over me. That evil…it was Wendigo. It had to be! I felt that bone chilling cold long before Eric sensed his presence! Only when that delvir pressed his hand down on my head did Eric start muttering in his tongue. No…no he was not muttering, but praying!
"ERIC!?" Torrance snaps. Eric and I both look at Torrance past the writhing flames. His brows are furrowed with anger and confusion. "What was that you just did!?"
"I prayed. I thought…" He shakes his head slowly and looks down at me, his expression unreadable. "Ye said his name." He tears his eyes from me and casts Torrance a hard look. "I said a prayer as a precaution, that's all. Dinnae ever say his name again. He might hear it."
The color leaves Torrance's already pale skin, leaving him even paler. Worry pushes away his anger and confusion. "Consider me warned. Good night, everyone." He nods to us and lies down on his bedroll, pulling a thick tan pelt over himself.
"Night," Locke tells Torrance and looks at me, smiling to himself. My brows furrow. He—he looks pleased with himself! An unwelcome heat wells in my chest. Did he want to invite the Wendigo here!? All to prove some damn point!? I open my mouth, ready to scream at him, but he lies down and pulls his own pelt up to his chin. He turns onto his side, bearing his back to me. A sense of defeat comes over me. What can I possibly say?
Leather scrapes across stone, pulling my eyes to Eric's worried gaze. He scoots so close to me and pulls open my deer pelt! My heart and my gut twists suddenly.
"Eric!" I whimper, pleading. Pleading for what?
He pulls the deer pelt from my deathgrip and takes my hand in both of his. He stoops to me, putting his face just a breath's space from mine! His hot breath scorches my chilled flesh. "Are ye alright?" he whispers, his eyes brimming with more concern than I have ever seen in them. "I sensed somethin' evil. It came over ye!"
I find myself shaking, the fear filling every fiber of my muscles, every splinter of my bones, and every corner of my soul. Tears sear my eyes and spill down my face. "I…I don't—" I bite my tongue, stopping the words before they betray me! I don't want to die. God, I know I think I do, but I don't! I want to live! Can he not ever forgive!? Could Torrance possibly be right? Could Eric ever raise his axe against me!? I gasp and choke on a sob.
His hands come over my face! He's going to!—He cradles my cheeks so gently and brushes away my tears with his thumbs. His hands are rough like stone, but they are so warm. "Shh, easy." He stoops to me and presses a warm, lingering kiss to my chilled forehead. Why is he not strangling me!? Does he not know who that malevolent spirit was!? Who else could it have been if not Wendigo!?
Eric wraps his arms about me and guides my head to his chest. I almost tense in his arms, but I still when something hot envelopes what's left of my heart. This heat is not like fire. It does not torture me, but it…it is eerily similar to when Eric first pushed away Maacthis' evil. Though this is more intense. Stronger. Without speaking aloud, it pleads with me to not be afraid. It wants to assure me, to let me know that no harm will come to me. My tears soak his shirt and surely wet his chest. How can I not be afraid!? Eric himself said so coldly, so cruelly that his people kill whoever has been found to have consumed human flesh! He himself said he could not bear to watch someone he—someone he loves lose themselves. No, he cannot love me. If he does…I do not know. But he cannot, no matter how much I want him to.
"Do ye know who it was?" Eric asks me softly, carefully.
I still again. Any calm I felt is gone. He cannot know, lest this tender embrace end. He will kill me if he ever learns what I did to his beloved's body. Torrance's doubt is his alone, and it's wrong. "No," I say, my voice shaking. "Perhaps it was the same evil you are pushing back from me…endlessly." My heart aches. Yet another lie, but the thought of losing this precious space between my heart and Maacthis—God, that's another suffering that will befall me should Eric ever learn my true name. He will take his protection from me if he ever learns the truth. The hell that I ran from, that I escaped…I will return to. My heart twists suddenly. I cling to his shirt and weep harder into his chest, trying in vain to keep myself quiet. "I don't want to lose you!" I whisper, my voice shaking. I crush my mouth to his heart, wanting to kiss it, but I lose myself in its strong, steady thumping against me.
He holds me tighter to him. "I cannae lose ye," he says. My heart twists about itself, hurting me dearly. I curl into him and cling to his shirt tighter. I bury my face deep in his chest, weeping bitterly. I want to live! I don't want to lose him! I want to love him so dearly! I want him to love me! But how can there be any true love if all I do is lie? How can there be any unconditional love if Eric can never forgive? I am…I'm at a loss. Whether Eric feels the same, I cannot tell. He seems to have bought my lie about which delvir came for me. For now.