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Zelda felt the alarm bells ringing through her mind when she realized the giant barbarian had left her stave behind in the grass. But she couldn’t cast spells with the giant crystals around anyway, and she wanted the barbarian to believe her a helpless ordinary woman. Somehow, she knew her survival depended on it.
The barbarian woman carried Zelda for what seemed only twenty minutes, moving in silence, occasionally grunting as she stepped her great legs over fallen trunks or squeezed between the crystals. The giant crystals never disappeared, instead growing more numerous and thus causing Zelda to feel even weaker.
Sensing Zelda’s growing fatigue, Yrsa gave Zelda what she probably thought was a comforting squeeze on her backside, but instead, Zelda only felt sudden arousal and blushed to her hairline. Yrsa’s hand never left Zelda’s backside and was firm and strong as it griped her cheek. Its relentless touch was making Zelda more and more excited, though she knew the barbarian woman was groping her absentmindedly, as if she were carrying home a slain deer and trying not to drop it.
Only twenty minutes, and the silhouettes of huts appeared in the dark. A great bonfire was blazing at the center of them, and Zelda could see more of the giant warrior women standing around smaller fires, giant swords on their backs, bows in their hands, knives strapped to muscular thighs. As they entered the village, the warrior women turned and stared with popping eyes at Zelda, and Zelda (blushing furiously) remembered her dress was torn and her breasts were bare. She struggled to cover them as the warrior women pointed and whispered and muttered excitedly.
One woman cupped her hands on imaginary breasts and licked her lips at Zelda as she was carried past, so that Zelda blushed brightly and the crowd of warrior women laughed good-naturedly at her. Zelda looked every which way and could see the lust in the women’s eyes, but she did not feel threatened or disgusted by them. They were teasing her and meant her no offence. She was probably a funny enough sight, hanging over Yrsa’s shoulder with her big breasts hanging out and her hair flying.
The entire village seemed to be made up women, for there were no men in sight. There were little girls in dresses made of bear hide, running back and forth, their braids flying as they skipped stones and fought each other with sticks. There were old women with long gray hair sitting beside the many fires as they sewed clothes and sharpened skinning knives.
There were also young women who didn’t appear to be warriors. Instead, they wore dresses and were short and slender and devoid of muscle. Many of these young women were weaving baskets late into the night, breastfeeding (female) infants, preparing food, or sitting in the laps of big warrior women, who kissed their lips or stroked their long hair and even publicly groped their naked breasts, which no one seemed to find unusual.
Zelda thought she could guess how the women reproduced. Gweneth had told her stories of the women who lived in the wild, capturing men and having their way with them, before releasing them again at knife-point into the forest. If these were the Wilde Women Gweneth had spoken of, the women who were feared and reviled by men due to their astounding strength, then it was likely the stories were true.
Ysra appeared to be taking Zelda to a specific hut, for she followed a path without stopping or wavering, until at last, she came to hut with bones hanging over the doorway. She passed through the curtain of bones without pause and deposited Zelda on the earthen floor inside, speaking in her language as she did so.
Zelda’s hair fell in her face as she was placed on the floor, sitting upright. She pushed it back and looked around. Yrsa had sat her on a fur mat beside a barren firepit. The hut was one room, with bones, dried vegetables, and cooking tools hanging from the ceiling. Toward the back was a fur pallet very low to the floor, where the occupant slept.
Yrsa was still speaking in her language when an old woman stepped forward from the shadows and interrupted her. The old woman had long gray hair that fell to her knees and hung loose around her round face, and she was draped in black bear hides. “Yrsa!” she scolded. “Speak the common tongue in the poor thing’s presence. She must be scared to death.”
Yrsa respectfully took a knee when the old woman appeared, and it suddenly occurred to Zelda that the old woman had apparated: she was a witch. She was leaning on a stave, which was little more than a wooden stick with black raven feathers tied to the end alongside a long piece of crystal. The draining sensation had not let up, for the giant crystals grew throughout the village, but the presence of the raw Bane Stone on the old woman’s staff made Zelda feel even weaker.
“I am known as Revna,” said the old woman, speaking careful common tongue. “I am the elder of the village, meaning the young ones come to me for advice. I saw you wandering our forests through the eye of one of our ravens. When the wolves came for you, I sent Yrsa to protect your life.”
A pause. Zelda didn’t know what to say as she sat there, clutching her dress shut over her naked breasts. Eventually, she stammered, “Th-Thank you.”
The old woman nodded. “You may stay here, child, if it pleases you. But you will become Yrsa’s responsibility if you do.”
“Her responsibility?” repeated Zelda in surprise.
The old woman nodded seriously again. “Yrsa will share her bed with you. Yrsa will share her food with you. Yrsa will teach you our ways. For it was Yrsa who insisted we protect your life. I thought you a danger to us, and I meant to leave you to the wolves.”
Zelda looked quickly at Yrsa. She wanted to thank the warrior woman, but Yrsa kept her eyes trained steadily on the floor. She was still kneeling reverently before the old woman, her head down.
“You should understand,” went on Revna, “that to share Yrsa’s bed is a great honor. Yrsa is queen of this forest. It is she who leads the warriors here in our expansion as we claim more territory in Dark Bloom Forest. The women here respect her and will view your status as her woman as unearned. You will have to earn your place here by being a good wife.”
Zelda hesitated. “A good wife?”
The old woman lifted her brows in surprise. She seemed sincerely taken aback. “Yes, of course. You shall marry Yrsa and become her woman. Why shouldn’t you? You said you had no place to go. You were lost and alone in our forest and clearly running from something if you dared set foot here on your own. What else will you do? Where else will you go in your condition? And Yrsa is one of the most beautiful women in our village. Not only that, she is the strongest and the best hunter. She will provide for you, keep you safe, give you a home.” The old woman snorted. “You should be kissing our feet in gratitude. All of these riches handed to you on a silver platter, and because Yrsa looked in the water’s mirror and loved you.”
Zelda sat in amazement for a moment. Her eyes slowly turned to Yrsa, whose head was still down, and she was surprised to realize the woman was blushing! But Yrsa did not lift her face nor did she speak. She knelt and remained completely still.
“Perhaps you have a lover elsewhere,” said Revna shrewdly. “Perhaps you would return to this other.”
Zelda hesitated. She was on the verge of lying, of denying the existence of Calain and the other Knights of Falcon, but she could see it in the old woman’s face that she already knew the truth.
Her eyes still fixed on Zelda, Revna summoned a bowl of water from the shelf. Zelda knew she was doing it telekinetically. The bowl floated past Revna and set itself on the floor before Zelda, where she sat clutching her gown shut over her breasts.
“Go ahead, child,” said Revna softly. “Look into the water’s mirror.”
Zelda hesitated and leaned forward. The vision that met her eyes froze her on the spot: Calain lying dead on her back, staring into the sky, blood trickling from her lips and her eyes. “No!” Zelda shrieked. More images. Selene lying dead beside Calain, bleeding from the throat. Cassandra taking a blade to the belly. Gweneth gurgling as her throat was slashed—“No, no, no, no!” Zelda screamed. She backed away from the bowl of water, accidentally kicking it as she scrambled, so that it tipped over and spilled in the barren firepit. Tears rose to blind her, and she buried her face in her hands and wept hard.
Zelda didn’t know how long she cried, but her heart fluttered when she felt Yrsa’s big hand close uncertainly on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the woman’s touch, Yrsa moved her hand to the top of Zelda’s golden head and smoothed it down Zelda’s long hair, again and again, stroking her, until her sobbing slowed and she lifted her face. She stared with dead eyes into the distance, unseeing. Her Calain, dead. No, it couldn’t be so! And yet, the visions had been so real! And it was her fault! Her fault! If she hadn’t run from Gweneth, they would have met at Wolf Fortress, and everything would have been fine!
Shaking all over, Zelda dropped her head forward and cried helplessly again. She didn’t protest when Yrsa carefully gathered her in her arms and lifted her, carrying her from the hut. As she was carried away, Zelda didn’t see the look of satisfaction on old Revna’s wrinkled face.