It had been several moons since the Berserkers took us from our home. The orphans and I lived in a lodge nestled high in the peaks. We were surrounded by forest and meadow.
“I wish to visit her. Perhaps I could stay with her while she carries the babe,” Meadow said, twisting a lock of her hair.
“Perhaps. I can ask our guards.” There were always several stationed nearby our lodge. To keep others out, as much as to keep us in.
“They don’t want us roaming far anymore,” Rosalind said from her perch by the hearth. On the floor, her sister Aspen played with the girls her age—Violet, Briar, Juniper, and Clover. “They say it’s too dangerous.” She sniffed. “If these warriors are so strong, why don’t they kill the Corpse King once and for all.”
In the opposite corner, Fern gasped. I looked to her questioningly, but she’d shrunk into a ball, her red hair curtaining her face.
“We shouldn’t speak of him,” Meadow cautioned in a whisper.
“Who? The Corpse King?” Rosalind tossed her long blonde hair. “I’m not afraid.”
Meadow stiffened.
“It’s not a sin to be afraid,” I said gently. I put my hand on Meadow’s shoulder and she softened.
“Is that why you cower outside during the full moon?” Rosalind muttered under her breath.
It was my turn to stiffen. I opened my mouth to deny it, but my lips were frozen.
“Rosalind,” Fern murmured, and the blonde girl shut her eyes. “I’m sorry. Juliet, I didn’t mean it.”
But what was done was done. What was said was said. My secret was out. Maybe it had never been a secret.
I rose, smoothing my dress down as regally as I could. Both Rosalind and Fern watched me, one wary, one saddened. Both had pity for me.
“I am going to fetch water,” I told her. “Please watch the young ones. If they wish to go outside, do not let them stray.”
“Do you need help?” Meadow bounced to her feet and smoothed back her hair. She always wanted to leave the safety of the lodge. Not to do chores or keep me company, but to catch the eye of a warrior. I often caught her preening near the outpost of our guard. She was still too timid to flirt outright, but it was only a matter of time.
I bit back my retort. “No, I wish to be alone.”
Her face fell and I gentled my tone with a smile. “When I return, we will all go pick wildflowers. See that the little ones are dressed and put on their shoes.”
I swept past Rosalind.
“I’m sorry,” she said again as I passed her. I gripped her shoulder a moment, meaning to comfort, but unlike Meadow she didn’t soften. That was just Rosalind. There was always something brittle in her. Like her beautiful face was made of clay—lovely, but one wrong move and she would shatter.
I didn’t begrudge her moods. I felt the same as she did—worry, fear, distrust of our captors. Relief that we were warm and well fed. And, deeper still, an unease, an expectancy telling me it was only a matter of time before the Berserkers came for me again.
When I left the lodge, the tension broke from my shoulders like I’d doffed a heavy cloak. I’d been up a few times that night with Ivy and Clover, who were restless in sleep. Fern, too, often had nightmares. We were all still settling into our new home.
I took up the buckets and headed for the path leading to the stream. The clearing around the lodge was empty, and the forest was still, but I knew better. The back of my neck prickled with the awareness I had when a certain two warriors were near.
I hadn’t gone five steps before a big shape moved out from a tree. I caught my breath but didn’t let my feet falter as the warrior named Jarl strolled to my side.
“Little wife.” He fell into step beside me.
I stiffened but didn't look at him. My stomach flipped and swished like a minnow in a pool. I would've darted back in the lodge and hid if I could. But I hardened my spine. I had never cowered before the warriors and never would.
A few more steps and a shadow moved out from behind a tree. Fenrir. Of course. Wherever Jarl was, Fenrir was not far behind and vice versa.
“Fine morning for a walk,” Jarl said, as if I wasn’t ignoring him. I shook my head and he winked at me.
I quickened my step, but his long legs barely had to stretch to keep up. “You no longer wear a veil,” Jarl observed.
I touched my hair where once I would’ve worn a veil—a sign of my dedication to God. I’d given up wearing it after a few days on the mountain. I was no longer Sister Juliet.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
It was a beautiful day, if I ignored the presence of the two warriors who insisted on escorting me. At the abbey, my life had been divided into simple sections, bound by the bells. Prayer, work, meals, and more prayer. Sometimes there was fasting, sometimes feasts, though celebrations were mostly enjoyed by the village and rarely touched the abbey. My life inside the stone walls was simple, safe.
Now I lived on Berserker mountain. There were no bells to signal the passing hours. Only crickets and bird song. No neatly tended gardens. Only wildflowers and rugged pine. No rules, no prayers, no veil to bind my hair. Only a stunning view from the heights, and above, a vast unbroken sky.
But if God made the world, He made this land. Man tried to make the world small. Men built the abbey and bound the hours of the day to the bells. Men told me when I should rise, what I should eat, how I should work and dress.
How many of the rules I followed were not made by God, but made by men?
“You’re upset,” Jarl said.
I smoothed my forehead and shook my head.
When I reached the stream, Jarl didn’t ask, he simply plucked the bucket from my hand and filled it from the stream. Fenrir came and took the other. I stood awkwardly on the bank, unable to ignore them any longer.
They were big as boulders, these warriors. Fenrir’s black hair was unbound. It fell straight down his back, long enough dip into the water. Jarl had bound his hair back with a thong. They both wore leather breeches. Under a fur cape, Fenrir was bare-chested while Jarl had a sleeveless jerkin. Jarl’s arms were covered with pagan symbols.
I reached for the water bucket as he returned to me, but he shook his head. I pivoted, woodenly, and started walking back to the lodge. I would take my time returning if I were alone, but I had no desire to linger with these men.
But I’d promised Meadow I’d ask them if we could visit Laurel. “I heard one of the spaewives is with child,” I used the term the warriors preferred. Spaewife was a woman who could mate with a Berserker. “May we go visit her?”
“Which one?” Jarl responded, and my steps slowed.
“There’s more than one with child?” Laurel, Hazel, Willow, and Sage were all settled with warriors. They’d been stolen from the abbey but seemed happy. All but Hazel were mated to not one, but two warriors. I couldn’t imagine how that was possible.
I shouldn’t imagine how that was possible. But after several moons with Jarl and Fenrir always near, I had imagined it.
God forgive me.
Jarl grinned as if he knew my thoughts. “Yes. Come spring, there’ll be a new crop of babies.”
Fenrir spoke up. “There’s to be a feast four nights from now. In celebration.”
I hid a sigh. “Perhaps we could go for the day and help with the preparation.” Meadow and the rest would be in ecstasy. Rosalind hated leaving the lodge and would sulk for days.