She was fighting, a sword in her hand and a shield in the other. Her armour was dented, she could taste copper in her mouth, and in front of her was a warrior from the Göltur tribe. He saw wariness in his eyes. An experienced soldier: he would not make the mistake of taking her lightly. They circled each other, feinted, then she charged, sword ready to deliver a killing blow.
The shouts woke her up. It was dusk. She took the sword leaning next to her cot, and went to check on her daughter. She was awake but confused, so she told her to stay put while she went to see what was happening. She opened the door of the house, sword at the ready, but only managed to see a glimpse of something before a heavy blow to the head knocked her down. She was dizzy and in pain, she felt metal arms dragging her by the ankles, and the next thing she knew was that she was chained, barefoot, and with no weapons. Her daughter was next to her, chained as well and terrified. On her left was Eir, crying. She had never seen her cry. Looking around, she saw others in chains, and human soldiers standing guard. Then, her eye caught on the dead body of Chieftain Voldugur, his corpse riddled with arrows, and she understood why her friend was weeping. She knew well what it meant to lose your life‘s companion, but that did nothing for the disbelief and despair that took hold of her. She could hardly breathe. Her mind was frozen... until her daughter’s cry for help jostled her awake. She tried to stand up, rushing to take her back from the hands of those filthy bastards. She pushed one soldier away, roaring in fury, her muscles bulging as she prepared to rip apart any who dared threaten her child, uncaring of the chains that restricted her movement. She did not see the punch, but felt the wind being knocked out of her, the hit on the back of her head, falling on the ground, the kicks on her ribs, her own blood in her mouth. Then, cold hands of steel yanked her away. Her daughter was still screaming for help as she was dragged in the opposite direction, the fear in her eyes tearing away at her heart.
«MOTHER! MOTHER! HELP ME!»
Tár woke up with a jolt, drenched in sweat, her heartbeat as loud as a war drum. She frantically looked around, her hazel eyes searching for her daughter, her desperate plea still vivid in her mind. When she saw Lífsgleði sleeping next to her, she was flooded with relief and calmed down. It took her a few moments to take stock of the room they were in, of the comfortable bed she had been sleeping on, of the warm blanket and the hearth that helped fend off the cold she felt all the time. A cold that disappeared when she took care of her daughter, but crept back in when she was alone with her thoughts.
She remembered she was in Gerad, among her people. Three weeks had already passed since they had taken refuge there. They were safe.
Her mind did not seem to agree, though, for the nightmares were always present, each and every night. So much that she was scared to sleep, to remain trapped in those terrible memories and never wake up again. But she had to rest, she had to regain her strength. For Lífsgleði. She had failed to protect her, and she was not going to let it happen again. Until recently she had thought that perhaps death would have been a better fate for her than to keep on living as a slave, used and abused every day.
Tár had thought about ending it during her captivity. She had thought she had the resolve to kill her child, to spare her a life of slavery and abuse, and then take her own life; but when Lífsgleði had lain on the ground, the grass greedily drinking her blood, she understood how afraid she truly was of losing her, and how naïve she had been in considering death a viable solution. Her daughter needed her, she needed her mother, not a killing blow, and she was going to help her in any way she could, whatever it took. Nightmares would not scare her away.
Hugging the joy of her life, she lied down again and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not come easily.
***
Tár was sitting at the rough wooden table in the kitchen area of their accommodation, on the ground floor. Eir was standing next to the hearth, where a small iron pot rested. The smell of herbs suffused the room, and Tár breathed in, already feeling her body relax; the dark circles under her eyes a testimony of her lack of sleep. The herbalist moved to pot away from the fire and used a ladle to pour the concoction into two wooden mugs, a piece of cloth on top of them to filter the herbs.
The Warrior Sister thanked her friend and accepted the warm mug. She basked in the scent and heat wafting off of it. It was still early spring and it was also raining outside, so a warm drink was more than welcome. Eir tossed one of her braids behind her back and sat on the other side of the table. She too had dark circles and a couple new wrinkles that gave her a stern visage, despite her youth. However, it had not marred her beauty, nor had it changed the warmth of her brown hair. Like everyone else who had lost someone in the soldier’s attack, after arriving in Gerad she had found a black scarf to tie around her hair. The sight of it evoked painful memories in Tár and brought with it a sense of profound sadness. Knowing Eir, she would keep the scarf – and the braids – well past the customary length of mourning.
After all, Tár had done the same when Hermóðr had gone into the Widow’s embrace.
«Drink it slowly. It will help you calm the spirit and relax the body», Eir said, matter-of-factly, before taking a long sip. «Though, with how much muscle you have, you may need more than one cup».
«Thank you. You ought to put on some muscle yourself, though. I understand that you’re on the smaller side, but you’re too thin».
«No thanks between us. We’re friends. Listening to you is the least I can do, even when it’s just the inane chatter of a woman who doesn’t understand that not everyone is as tall and thick as a red bear. The concoction is just a bonus you get for putting up with me».
Tár let out a decisively unladylike snort, then drank from her mug. «Bleah! It’s awful».
«I’ve never said it would taste good. Drink, don’t be a child».
«You could’ve put some honey in it», she grumbled.
«Yes, a pity we don’t have any. We can’t even afford it. We’re poor now, remember? We barely scrape by. Those of us who can work, anyway. I manage, but others have to find whatever job they can, some even joined the local garrison. I took Ingrid in to teach her; the girl was already too shy for her own good, but now, after what they did to her… She’s smart and learns quickly, though».
«I remember she had eyes only for Eldur». A faint smile appeared on Tár’s face, full of melancholy. «Last summer she even gave him a kiss that left the poor boy stunned… Looking back to it, it all seems to belong to another life».
«Because it does, and the sooner we understand it, the better».
Tár stared at the content of her mug, the steam warming her face. «I really do put up with you, don’t I?». A rhetorical question.
She kept looking at the hot liquid, slowly sloshing it, but her eyes were unfocused, her mind elsewhere. Eir seemed content to keep quiet and drink.
«I keep having nightmares». Tár finally said. Implicit was her question, but Eir remained silent. «Every time I close my eyes I see the same scenes. I’m weak, powerless, and they take Lífsgleði away. I’m… I’m afraid of going to sleep». Tears started to wet her eyes, and she felt a familiar lump in her throat. «I fear that when I wake up my daughter isn’t there anymore, that I’ve lost her!» Now, the tears began to freely fall.
Eir’s warmed hand gently squeezed her own, and Tár let herself sob freely. She was used not to show weakness in front of others. She had to be strong, or at least appear so, for herself and her daughter, but with Eir she could let go.
«I know how you feel, and it’s better if you throw everything out when you can. I’d join you, but I’ve got no tears left to shed. I can’t even cry myself to sleep…»
«It’s just… I thought I’d suffered enough when Hermóðr died. That I could deal with whatever else life would throw at me. I was wrong, so wrong». She hiccupped. «Oh, I’m sorry. You’re in mourning and here I am, complaining. It should be the other way around». She sniffed, trying to stop the tears.
Eir drank from her mug and closed her eyes. She was still holding Tár’s hand, who doubted she was enjoying the concoction, despite her incomprehensible fondness for bitter food. I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, though. Another hiccup shook her. Ugh, this thing is terrible. Sage, give me fortitude.
«You were there for me when I was lost. Now I’m here for you in your moment of need. That’s all there is to it. You’re strong, Tár, but you’re not made of iron, and I’m your friend, so don’t worry and rely on me».
The next couple of hours passed almost unnoticed. Tár talked, recalling the nightmares, the scars of body and mind, her daughter’s abuse and the light in her eyes slowly being replaced by emptiness. She almost glossed over the violence she had been subjected to herself. They talked of the dead and of the survivors. They spoke of the men of their tribe, fearsome warriors and deadly hunters made powerless to help, two of them even sexually abused; compared to the women, they were just better at hiding their pain. Eir mostly listened, though she gave her opinion and advice from time to time, or when asked.
«When Líf tried to kill herself… I-I don’t know what I’d have done without Elìsa and Alesanðr. Djaspinder as well; she acted while I was petrified. I couldn’t move, Eir. My daughter was dying in front of me and I needed a stranger to wake me up and tell me what to do! I’m a terrible mother». She squeezed the other’s hand.
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The slap hit Tár without warning. It stung, but not because of the pain: it was the fury in Eir’s eyes. «Don’t you ever say again that you’re a terrible mother. Understood?!» The question did not need a reply, and she was still dumbfounded by what had just happened to even think of saying anything. «I know you, and I’ve seen how much you love and care for Líf. No one knows how they’d react in a similar situation, so stop being so arrogant as to think you should’ve done this or that. You’re not perfect».
Tár hung her head. «I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just that… I keep thinking about the way Elìsa bandaged her arms, how she and Djaspinder stopped the bleeding, the way everyone obeyed her immediately, even her own chieftain. I’d love to know what she shouted at them, but their language is so strange. I remember they acted with purpose, sure of what they had to do, and I can’t help but compare it to what I was doing in those moments». She sighed and drank some more from the mug. «I am ashamed of my inability. I know how to bandage a wound – I’ve done it countless times – but not the way they did it».
«By the Sage, Tár, that human is a healer of some kind. Stop comparing yourself to her. She’s good at it, for one of her kind, but it’s her field. Yours is the battlefield. This is like you complaining because you know less about herbs than me».
Tár chuckled as she replied. «Don’t worry, I’d never say that. I know much more than you, you quack herbalist».
«Remind me who’s putting up with whom, again?» Eir’s voice was dry as the desert, but her attempt at sounding offended was betrayed by the smile on her face.
«I am, for sure». The aroma of the herbs was now everywhere, and she was actually feeling their effect. She felt much more relaxed, perhaps even too much, but she enjoyed the sensation. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. «I will ask Elìsa to teach me that thing they did with the stick and how to bandage a wound like she did».
Eir sneered. «You want to ask the enemy to teach you? What makes you think she’ll agree?»
«They’re not the enemy, Eir. Alesanðr literally gave his blood to my daughter. I don’t know how it was possible, but now his strength and spirit are part of her. I doubt they will deny me after doing so much for us already».
«And if they ask something in exchange? What then?»
«I will give it to them, whatever it is. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I owe them two lives, and I will repay this debt, the Father be my witness».
«Swearing an oath for some humans… you’re being foolish, my friend».
Tár shook her head, letting a placid smile emerge. «It would be foolish to deny reality, Eir. We’re safe thanks to them, they brought us back to Our People. You’re letting your rage and pain cloud your mind. Remember: seek balance—»
«—and in balance, find wisdom».
«Observe reality—»
«—and in the world find the truth».
«Keep your mind as clear as the blue sky—»
«—do not let emotions cloud your judgement». Eir concluded. They both had committed the Sage’s teachings to memory many years before, like all in Eiðvörður’s tribe.
«Eir, I understand where you’re coming from, but you shouldn’t aim your rage and your hate at them, and you know it».
«They’re humans!»
«And I’m grateful we’ve met them».
«I’m not. I wanted to be in our village, with my husband!»
«That wasn’t them, and you know it. Tcharli saved us, Eir, you can’t deny it».
«I know! I— what did you say?»
«They saved us».
«No, before that».
«Oh, “Tcharli”. It’s how they call each other. From what I’ve understood it’s the name of their group. Like the units from the Iron Shields, but smaller».
«So weird… How do they differentiate one another if they use the same name?
«I have no clue».
«Ok, but how did you find out?»
«I’ve heard them use it, then I asked Tetzuo and he gave me confirmation. It’s curious, but I find it fitting. An unusual name for unusual humans».
«Always the wise one, aren’t you?» She chuckled, but her expression went soon back to one of mild annoyance. «Well, you’re right, they’re unlike other humans I’ve met, but it’s easy to be better than filth. I still don’t trust them».
«I’m sure you will, one day».
***
Two days later, Tár smiled as she greeted those she had come to regard as her saviours. It was morning, and their visit had become a sort of daily routine, almost customary. It made her happy to see them caring so much; it was… unusual, like most of their actions.
Her daughter was with her, and she too gave them a light bow, although her spirit was not into it; it would take a long time before she would go back to being her smiling and joyous self. The thought was a stab into Tár’s heart, but at the same time it gave her the drive to do everything needed so that Lífsgleði would recover.
Elìsa checked their physical wellbeing in that strange manner of hers that Tár had gotten used to. Satisfied at what she found, she told them they were in good health, even Líf and her arms. Her Tungu was not good – though not as bad as Braðley and Stīf – but she still managed to communicate. Tetzuo, the curious one with slanted eyes, spoke better than the rest of his companions, but even then, they could only have basic conversations. Tár’s frustration mounted as once again she had to simplify her speech.
«Greetings. You, how do today?» Tetzuo asked.
«Greetings, Tetzuo. I am well, thank you», she replied, still uncertain on how to correctly pronounce the stocky human’s name.
Elìsa chimed in with a smile. «Sleep, good? Eat, good? Lífsgleði, good?»
Gently shaking her head, Tár replied again with simple terms and very slowly. It was just like teaching her child to talk again. «Sleep is bad. I have nightmares. I eat plenty, thank you. Lífsgleði is... not well». Her tone of voice left no doubt as to her sadness. «She does nothing. She eats when I eat, sleeps when I sleep, and walks if I walk with her. Her eyes have no light».
«“Nou lait”? What meaning is?» Tetzuo asked with a tone that was both polite and curious. He had his usual thin, pointy stick in one hand, and his marvellous parchment book in the other. “Notebook” he had called it.
Smiling, despite herself, at the strange way they spoke her language, Tár thought for a moment how to best reply. She wanted to correct him, but without being pedantic; eventually, she settled on «“No light” means dark, dead, without life».
After a few seconds she saw understanding dawning in the humans’ brown eyes. Tetzuo wrote something in his notebook, showed it to Elìsa and a sombre look took the place of her smile.
You’re all so strange… I don’t know if you’re mercenaries, sorcerers, enemy spies, or foul demons tricking us, and I don’t care.
They had saved her. They had saved her daughter.
That was enough.
Movement caught her eyes, and she noticed Alesanðr had just arrived. He kept to the back, near the door, as if to watch all the room. He differed from his companions, as he came to visit less often and never stayed long. To others he might have appeared cold and uncaring, but she saw a kind and man who took his time to come and see how they were doing despite looking kind of lost. An awkward man who did not seem to really know what to do to help, but still cared. She had some trouble reconciling that with the assertive soldier she saw argue with his companions or would readily give his blood to her daughter. However, one thing she had learned, in her forty years of life, was that people were complex.
That day too he checked if she and Lífsgleði were fine, and though he did not speak much, he saw in him the eyes of a father as he talked to her daughter.
«Do you… already have a family, sir?» When Líf asked him a question, everyone paused, positively surprised. However, it was far too personal, and she would have a word with her daughter once she was healthy again, but he took no offense. He listened and replied with a gentle smile.
«Yes. I have wife. I have daughter. I have son».
«Oh…» Tár noticed the disappointment in her daughter’s voice. The silly girl desired a father once again, and likely thought that the one who had saved her life would be the best choice. Life did not work that way, however.
Alesanðr coughed and changed topic. Adorable.
«Tár, why many has black…» he gestured at Eir «… thing on neck?».
«Oh. That’s because they’re in mourning». Her voice carried a note of grief.
«Sorry, what? Please, again?»
«Mourning. It means to let tears fall». Seeing he did not understand, she mimicked crying. «Sadness. For dead people».
She watched him briefly discuss with Elìsa and Tetzuo. After a few seconds, understanding dawning on his face, and his demeanor took on a somber turn.
Putting his right hand on his chest, he bowed to her and asked if she could tell them more about it.
Tár explained that it was tradition, among their people, for anyone who loses a family member to wear a black scarf around their neck. Women would also tie their hair in three braids, whereas men would let their beard grow freely and, if long enough, they would braid it. Tradition demanded the mourning to go on for a month, but there were people who chose to do it for years, some even their whole life.
«We have a ritual», she told them. «We do it to pay respect to our deceased. If you want, you can participate. I would be happy».
It was Tetzuo who replied this time, speaking for the three of them. «I’m sorry. We understand much not».
Tár scratched her head, thinking how to properly explain. She looked at Eir and decided that showing them would be more useful than telling. So, she talked to the reluctant herbalist and convinced her to involve Elìsa, Tetzuo and Alesanðr. It took some time to explain everything and to teach the words of prayer to recite but, in the end, they showed the three humans how to acceptably pay their respects. Lífsgleði and other two tribeswomen joined them, and soon everyone in the room was in front of the small, simple shrine, they had built in the room, holding a small piece of burning wood in their hands. They kept them alight until they burned out, then, they prayed to the Widow to let the dead rest in the afterlife among the gods, and to the Healer to give comfort to the living.
Eir pulled out three objects representing Chieftain Voldugur – her husband – in life and rested them under the shrine. Ideally, they should have been things he had owned, but his body and anything of his had been left to the Forest together with their village and the other four who had been killed during the raid. So, she had found a knife, for his prowess as a warrior, an old earring to represent his leadership, and a faded crimson lace, symbol of his duties as husband and father.
As a last gesture, she opened a small, wooden box filled with salt and poured a pinch of it on the three objects; a gesture repeated by all present.
As the ritual concluded, Elìsa turned to Tár and whispered to her «He was father?». She looked around as if expecting a child to come out of hiding.
Before she could say anything, Eir surprised them by replying, her voice full of such grief that Tár found it almost unbearable to listen to. «We had a son. Almost nine years old». No tears fell from her eyes. «He tried to avenge his father and they… He was just a child, my beautiful boy. He should have his shrine too but I didn’t… I can’t…»
Tár quickly hugged the now weeping woman, comforting her with soothing words, although she knew they were useless. Despite her claims, Eir still needed to cry, to let it all out. She was not over it, not by a long shot. She had been strong for the tribe, not cracking to keep them from total despair, only crying in silence when she thought nobody was watching, but now she could let go and mourn, as it was right. Nothing would heal her scar and compensate her for her loss. She would have to learn to live with it and keep living. Time will make it more bearable, but it will be up to her to find herself again, to bring new purpose to her life.
The three humans got up in silence and made their way outside, but Tár stopped Alesanðr. She took hold of his right hand and he voiced no objection, even if her grip was probably too strong, but she had to make sure he understood how grateful she was, and words felt cheap, not enough. So, she stared at him, unblinking, losing herself in those deep eyes the colour of rich soil, and squeezed his hand.
He nodded, and she relaxed.
He had understood, she was certain.
As they left, Tár kept Eir in her warm embrace.