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When I was five or six years old, one of the youths in the village was attacked by a beast in the forest. A wildcat, it was determined. The man was past the point of speech, but one could always tell by the scratches. He’d been hunting deep in the woods, and was recovered by friends when he failed to return by dawn. The healer was down the coast, attending to other matters. And since Karmen was the closest, and a known midwife, they’d carried the young man to our doorstep.
I can still remember how it looked when they hauled him inside, the door banging open behind them, streams of water and blood dripping onto the floor. There was a deafening chorus of shouts, everyone saying something different, and equally important. One of them cleared our table with a great sweep of his arm, and the young man was laid across the top.
There was a great shuffling of bodies, heavy boots circling the table. I was merely a child, and a small one at that. No one noticed me standing in the corner. No one except Karmen, who pointed silently to a small wooden chest in the corner, the one where she kept her supplies.
With trembling hands, I retrieved it and wormed my way towards the table, catching sight of the poor man for only a moment as I passed it into her hands. Over ten years later, I can still never forget the sight of him: white as a ghost, yet somehow, he was still bleeding. He was drenched, yet still bleeding. My eyes grew wide as saucers, and my mouth fell open with a silent gasp.
I was a child of hard times, born in a rough part of the world. Yet the blood still managed to stun me. Rivers of it, trickling down his chest. I never knew there could be so much. It didn’t seem possible anyone could survive it.
Sure enough, the boy didn’t. He died on the table. I remembered thinking my grandmother must get a new one, surely we couldn’t continue to eat on it after such horrors. But when I woke up the following morning, breakfast was plated on the fresh-scrubbed wood just the same.
Up until that point, I would have counted that as one of darkest things my young eyes had ever seen. It had been challenged recently, but still, that night in the woods held no comparison.
The next few hours, were some of the worst of my life.
“Come on,” I panted fiercely, “stay with me!”
The wolves were dead, their bodies strewn across the ground, but the young bannerman who’d saved my life wasn’t far behind them. He was sprawled in a lifeless heap where they’d left him, cold and unmoving; the ground beneath him was soaked through with blood.
I was perched halfway on top, my fingers pressed against the deep punctures where the wolf’s teeth had sunk into his body. The rest of the damage was bad enough, but the worst was his leg—where the alpha had bitten into his thigh. It was a death-mark, as my people liked to call it. A bite or a blade delivered with such precision as to sever the vein beneath it. The wolf had done this to perfection. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to stop it. Erik was bleeding out before my eyes.
A fractured gasp escaped my lips, as I shifted myself higher—straddling his knees as my hands pushed desperately against the wound. I had torn open his clothes and seen the damage almost immediately. I had known what it meant just as fast. But kneeling there in the forest, aching with cold and reeking of blood, I couldn’t make myself believe it.
He would not die in that dark place, like all the others. I would not permit it. Not if I had to follow him to the gates of Valhalla, and drag him back here myself.
“Don’t do this, Erik!” I commanded, putting all my strength into the effort. Blood streamed over my fingers, piping hot for only a second, before abruptly cooling in the frosty air. “Come back to me! What would your mighty gods say about surrender now?”
There had been no sign of life, since that burst of light had flown from my hands. Just a few quiet words, then his head fell back and his eyes had closed forever. In the madness of my struggle, I had actually considered trying to use the light again. It was rumored, in the secret corners of the world, to bring about healing—not just destruction. But I had only ever managed to kill things, and set things on fire. The man had suffered enough. I wouldn’t do that to him as well.
His body was cold beneath me, his face was white as a ghost.
“Please,” I whispered, ripping the cloak from my shoulders and laying it atop him. I had torn off part of my skirt already, balling it tightly against the wound. “Please, don’t go. It’s better there, I will admit it. But you’re not finished here yet. There is more for you, I swear it.”
Don’t leave me here alone.
There was a stirring beneath my fingers, so faint, I might have imagined it. My eyes flew open—when had they closed—and his head rolled weakly to the side.
A gasp burst from my lips, some inarticulate exclamation.
YES!
“Erik,” I cried, staring wildly at his face. I wanted to shake him, to rouse him, but I couldn’t risk taking my hands from his leg. “That’s it, open your eyes! Come back to me! You are here!”
He drew in a rasping breath, unable to do anything more.
“Móðir,” it was barely a whisper.
My face went still.
He was calling for his mother.
The tears came thick then, rolling in unending waves down my cheeks. My braids swung between us, as I redoubled my efforts—curving my body over him and putting all my weight on his leg. A jolt of pain rippled across his face, and his lips parted with a silent breath. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he tried to dislodge me. But he was unable to even open his eyes.
“Come on,” I whispered, staring desperately at his face, “you can do it. We are not the ones who surrender, remember? We are the ones who fight.”
He made a little sound, fingers stirring on the ground beside me.
“That’s it,” I gasped, practically choking in relief. “A little more.”
A few seconds passed, then he stirred again. A breeze swept through the trees, dusting the hair off his forehead, and those beautiful eyes which held my every attention, fluttered slowly open.
They stared blankly into the night sky, before settling on my face.
“You’re covered in blood,” he rasped.
I could slap the gods of irony.
The pain struck him a second later, freezing him dead-still, before spasming in agonizing ripples across his face. He drew in a choking breath, trying on instinct to lift himself, only to collapse once again with a heartbreaking cry. The blood flowed faster, and I tightened my grip on his leg.
“It’s all right,” I cried, desperate to reassure him. “It’s all right, I’ve got you.”
Why am I saying that? Not a thing in this world is all right.
“Liv—” he gasped, unable to say anything more.
“I know,” I soothed, “I know it hurts. You’ve got to try and keep still, alright? There’s a deep bite in your leg, but it’s going to be fine. We’ve just got to stop the bleeding.”
It was impossible to know whether he was listening. It was impossible to know whether he would even understand. His eyes flew to my face for a split second, wide and searching, then his body convulsed again and he threw back his head with a heartrending cry.
I’m so sorry!
I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. Never in my life had I seen a single person sustain so much damage, while managing to stay alive. A thousand odds were stacked against him. The man was wrestling for his life at the celestial gates themselves, and yet, I could see the blues of his eyes.
“Scream,” I said quietly, forcing my voice to be calm, “scream all that you need—you deserve it. And then the bleeding will stop, and you and I will leave this place. Are we agreed?”
His eyes flew again to mine, bright with pain.
“I cannot,” he stammered, hands curling into fists in the wreckage, “I cannot breathe.”
He was shaking so hard, I could barely understand him. Wild, violent shaking that scared me more than a little. It shook him so hard, it chattered his teeth—or maybe that was just the cold.
I pulled up the cloak around him, darting my hand back to his leg.
“Breathe with me,” I commanded softly, staring into his eyes.
He looked as though I’d said something crazy, or was speaking a language he didn’t understand. A tremor shook through him, and he cried out again, unable to stop himself, but I leaned forward ever so slightly, placing myself squarely in his gaze. Our eyes met and I held him there without moving, exaggerating the slightest motion, drawing in slow, deep breaths.
At first, it seemed like a fool’s errand. The man had been torn apart by wolves, most of his blood had soaked into the earth beneath us; it was hardly any wonder he couldn’t catch his breath.
But there was something mesmerizing about the rhythm of it, the steadiness. His body still wracked beneath me, trembling without control, but his face was still and his eyes were holding steady. After a few seconds, I felt him breathing in unison. At the very least, he sincerely tried.
I felt myself smile, tears still dripping down my face. “You’re a miracle, you know that?”
He merely stared at me, ghostly skin and enormous eyes.
After a few more seconds, I looked down at my hands. The bleeding had stopped. Whether it had stopped in time was another question, but the damage had been at least momentarily blunted.
From the looks of things, it wasn’t a second too soon.
“I need to sleep,” he mumbled, the words running into each other.
A spark of panic flared in my stomach, but I kept my face calm. It was one of those bad signs one knew to look for—like a person who claimed to be freezing, but didn’t clasp their cloak.
“You can’t sleep, vennen. Not yet.” I glanced down at the wreck of skin beneath my fingers, wondering again how he was possibly alive. “We need to set your leg, first.”
He followed my gaze, before his eyes lifted again to mine.
Sweetheart.
When was the last time I’d said the word.
“This part will not be fun,” I continued, reaching for his belt. “But it will keep you awake. I need you to try to keep talking, all right, Erik? The moment we’re finished, I’ll let you sleep.”
He stared blankly, still trembling violently beneath me, then let out a sharp cry when I shifted my weight on his legs. The sound echoed in the trees, and for a split second, I was struck with the horrible notion the wolves might come back. There had only been two; surely the rest of their pack would start searching. The thought left as quickly as it had come, bolstered by the scent of singed fur hanging on the breeze. Let them come, I could be rather territorial myself.
“No—wait,” he murmured, realizing all at once what I was doing. My fingers unclasped his belt and pulled it gently from his waist. “Please, I...I cannot take it.”
His fingers rose weakly to mine, but could do nothing else.
I kissed them without thinking across the knuckles, bruised and bleeding, tears of desperate apology still sliding down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, but it must be done. It will be quick.”
He shook his head a little, tearing at my heart. “Knock me out,” he pleaded.
“You would not wake again.”
“I don’t care—”
“Do not tempt me.”
There was a pause. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d dared to joke, or simply the impending terror of what was about to happen. But he steadied a little, his mind sharpening into focus. He glanced a second around the clearing—searching for something in the dark.
“A stick,” he said quietly.
I understood at once, and grabbed the first thing within reach—sliding it gently beneath his teeth, and not remembering until much later, it was probably coated in blood. He gripped it as best he could, bracing slightly and pulling in a faltering breath. Then he looked up at me and nodded.
I slipped the belt around his thigh, digging my fingers into the hard ground to do it, so as not to jostle his position. There was an awkward moment when I fumbled to thread it again through the clasp, squinting in the dark. Then in a single swift movement, I pulled it suddenly tight.
The scream that came then, was unlike any that had come before. It rose out of him like the breaking of a storm, thunder and waves crashing. His body arched off the ground, suspending in the most exquisite pain, before crashing back to earth, limp and spent and panting.
“It’s all done,” I murmured, unable to say it quickly enough. With my hands finally free, I brushed the tangled hair from his forehead, terrified again at the temperature of his skin. The stick went loose in his mouth, bitten halfway through. I removed it gently. “There’s nothing more. You can sleep now, darling. The gods will ask no more wonders of you tonight.”
Sweetheart... darling. When had I ever been so free? And yet, staring down at him on the blood-soaked ground, they tumbled from my lips like the most natural thing in the world.
Even if they were slightly lost on their audience.
He blinked up at me, like there was a chance he was dreaming, before a shudder tore through his body, and his eyes flew with sudden dread around the clearing.
“The wolves,” he panted, “they will come back. We cannot stay here.” He made a reflexive movement, like he was trying to push himself upwards. “I should not have been so loud—”
“Let them come,” I said clearly, never breaking my gaze.
He stared at me with a complete lack of comprehension, like he couldn’t imagine for the life of him what I meant. Then his eyes drifted a bit further, to the pair of bodies littered on the ground.
They lingered there a moment, before returning to mine. He swallowed. “...you?”
I squeezed his hand, nodded. “Sleep, Erik. There will be no more dangers tonight.”
