Chapter 7: Time to Square and Spare
Recovery
"RYADOVA STINA! STINA!"
"SEINAAN! SEINAAN! SEINAAN NOSTAVO!"
"SKJALDBOLG!" I shouted with the Rus as they hurriedly cried out their orders to raise their shields into a wall. A good mix of Kievan-Rus and Finnmarku makes for a battle of who would be in charge, considering that I am the only Scanian, a Dane by repute, wouldn't amount to much backing for leadership. It wouldn't matter in the choice. The Rus were my brothers and the Finnish be damned if they think I'd join their ranks. Correction, rank.
I watch as they line themselves in a single line of shields. A carbonation bursts out of my mouth in laughter, which is met with more by my sides and further down the line, and we can't help but be amazed at how easy this mock battle shall turn out. Those of us aware are already prepared. We split our forces into three. Our shield-wall is centered, meeting with the Finns with a resounding -CLASH- against their own wall. An exchange of shield against their blade is vice versa played between us.
As our wall is met, I cannot see all that goes on, but I know the man in front of me is getting his work cut out for him today. I have the advantage of reaching further than he. As his ax-head comes around to smash into my shield, I pivot the face along his knuckles, letting the head of his ax smack into my chainmailed sternum, harmlessly sliding off, but with my own shield bashing his arm and shoulder away from me in time to smash the back of my ax into his exposed turned thigh. He falls down to a knee with a grunt and I simply raise up my axenshield with the other Rus. The man fell, no point in pushing my luck with a flourish.
Besides, the battle had ended quickly after that moment. I saw the shock from the fallen man's face as he saw our other two branched units circle around their exposed asses. A single line of shields is pathetic. We have irregulars for a reason. A wall and our irregulars fight together, like a fortification with defenders, but always on the move. This is best described as us allowing a sally and flanking the enemy.
A horseman weighs in on our victory. He is too far for me to make out his speech. One of our Rus and a Finn meet with him to discuss some topic. One conversation we all certainly attest the Finns not liking one bit from the aggressive gestures. It amazes me that these people had more elite men then us and yet never considered being bested by the little guys at our back. This goes to show how much value can be invested in those who always watch our rear and why a flexible wall is better than a solid one.
"How come?" I blink and turn. Next to me is a Rus completely enshrouded in darkness. I attempt to speak, but nothing comes out. "Oh, sorry, you never spoke in this memory, did you. That is okay, I can understand how you feel." There is something familiar with this person, but I can't place my finger on it. "You don't have to try. It isn't important, we are enjoying this dream, unlike the others we have had." A smile spreads across my face and a nod of agreement gets directed towards the Rus-Shade. Motion off to the side catches our attention and we turn together to see what is going on. Again, I cannot hear all that is being conversed from the horseman, but I catch, "Archise," "Tora," "Simina," "Ola." Concentrating on my languages, I attempt to piece together what accent and region I've heard those from, but all I can come up with is it's Greek to me. "Actually, you are right. He's saying, 'Get the fuck out of here and take all of your noblemen with you, but leave the horses,' and wow is that harsh. I guess he placed a bet with the Rus?" I had no idea.
At least, at the time, I had not a clue. That is when I recall what happens a week from now. Arkadiopolis.
A sound like thunder. No, more like I can feel the thunder. Turning away from the horseman and the two Varangian leaders to search for the rumbling. A shift, subtle at first, but more noticeable as I rotate around to find the quake beneath my boots. Soon, I find myself no longer on the ground. I'm in the saddle, our chargers blindly smashing into the gate, and storming in to sweep out the defenders. I already know how this battle ends and why it took too long for us to reach here in time. The dispute on who should lead delayed our forces.
"Oh, indecisive?" At the end, before I question and manage to knock Theo's teeth out, I see the Shade again. Once more, I try to speak, but nothing comes out. "I told you, don't worry, we can understand each other. Do you really see me speaking?" That does take me by surprise. The Rus-Shade never once opened it's mouth. It raises the head of its ax to point something out. Over my shoulder, I observe the scene of fires being put out in the city. "Looks like they are trying to save what they can." I'm not fooled. They are only blowing out the candle to make a wish and eat their cake. "Oh, spoils of war? I guess it is difficult to take something that is on fire. Maybe that is why we haven't been raped yet?" My ice-blue eyes bug out as I stare at the Rus-Shade in shocked-bewilderment. "Fever. They think we carry the plague." Shaking my head, I haven't a clue what it is talking about. A soft sigh escapes the Rus-Shade.
The whole world seems to shift again. I'm standing someplace familiar. A ship. The red, beige, and black reminds me of the dromon converted to look like a viking vessel. Wait, it is the very one, once I note the crew. I can't move, but I do look around. The sound of the gulls is enchanting the beautiful scene out in the river. Snow capped trees let fall the melting clumps onto the lush field of grass by the water side. In those trees, I can make out the sign of little creatures wanting to collect the bark, nuts, cones, needles, and leaves from whichever branch can hold and hole them up. I'm not all too sure how I am capable of seeing them this far away or even be sure that is what they are doing. All I know is that I know. It is a sense, rather than a sight, that is telling me what they are doing and how it is being orchestrated.
Some of the men walk up to me and lay a hand on my shoulder. There is a strain in my cheeks from me trying to turn my head their way. I can't. It is an frightful feeling that only adds more fear in me when I can feel something moving, a sensation directed below the belt, between my legs, running along the inside of my thighs, and dipping along the divide of my crotch. My eyes struggle to look down, but I can't see what is going on without being able to lower my head or at least dip enough to nod for me to catch what they are doing.
"YAAAAAA!" A scream. One that is so loud that the echo rings across the whole entire stretch of the river for miles. The men around me are knocked off of their feet, rolling over, crawling away in horror. Had that scream come from me?
"What the- FUCKERS! THE WHOLE LOT OF YOU!" Calibri, he's stomping towards the men and kicking, swinging, and even makes contact with an oar across the face of a crewman. "GET AWAY FROM IT!" There is a severe look in his eyes as he turns towards me. "Go! GO!" Like a soaking wet blanket is thrown over my body, I feel myself moving, skirting past Calibri's swinging, and making my way down into the cabin to find my cot.
In the dark is where I sit for awhile. There is no telling how much time passes before Calibri comes down. I can tell he is angry at me. "You are getting off. I can't control them any longer." There is a lot of huffing coming from him. He must have put up some kind of fight with the others and I know it is my fault. For some reason, I am causing a problem and it is sweeping through the whole lot of them like wood is to fire.
My mouth, I feel the stretch of my lips, knowing I am about to open up and speak. "Hocemo," I hear an odd language. Calibri seems to understand it. There is a terrible relief in my friend's eyes. As if he has been dreading and awaiting for this moment, but glad that it came.
"I am sorry, but there is no longer any safety here. I've tried and tried- What is that?" Calibri lifts his head and I can hear it too. The crew is running around quickly, frantically, and in a panic. Shouting. Then someone comes to block the light outside at the doorway and yells down.
"CAPTAIN!"
Walking to the bottom of the stairs, the Captain peers high into the light of day to see what his shipmate had to say, "What is it?"
"Captain, there are ships sailing our way."
Calibri turns away from his crewman's silhouette at the top of the stairs looks at me. "Stay here," he points a shaking finger at my cot. Violently, he shoves me down onto the bedding and throws a linen blanket so thoroughly over me that it covers my head. Almost like he's trying to hide me under the covers. Straining to sense what is going on, I hear his stomping feet rise up the steps, the door being slammed shut, and bolted. "GIVE THAT HERE!" Then something else is slammed into the door. I guess this is when they started to board the door shut...
-SLAM-
My eyes pop open and instantly give the source of the noise a once over. I'm inside a room and there is a loud noise, like someone shutting a door very hard and having a hard time keeping it close. A shout. Then more shouting.
Slowly, I give the room an inspection. It is sparse with a single door, a pile of furs on top of a crate by the end of the door-frame, one ornate cradle with masses of rolled fabric of vibrant solid colors, a ways from the doorway is some kind of dresser, and on the top of it a number of baubles in different shades. I'm in a bed. There is a powerful pull on my head and limbs, like I'm tied down, but the familiar feel suggests that it is the weakness of resting idle for far too long. How weak have I become now? Am I going to discover that weeks have gone by again? Where am I now?
Once more, I go into a roll to make my way out of bed. With a loud thump, I crash onto the wood floor. This sound I made, it is as if beneath me were hollow. A pair of floors. This house has multiple floors and I'm in one of the top. Likely, a two floored home, but I've seen halls with four in Jyyland.
There is a loud thumping noise. Feet. The stairs are being taken quickly and become louder outside of my door. My ice-blue eyes dart from the wood ground to the bottom crack to see the space beneath as a pair of boots emerge. Swinging open, I lift my head, trying to push my shoulders up with a half successful push-up. From the fall of my fair hair across my vision, I can make out a face that I've seen before. The falcon-like copper eyes and hair, with the thin pressed lips, and that controlled anger is all too recognizable. The Liv from the ship giving orders.
"Glad to see you can still wake up," he expresses coolly while kneeling down to me. An arm crosses over a hosed leg of brown. His chest is decorated around the collar with a solid blue tunic fashioned to compliment his natural brown top and worn pants. The other arm reaches out for me and sweeps the hair from my face to hang over either ear. "Now you can see too. I've collected a few questions that I need answered, but they can wait until you are ready."
There is a moment of him watching me, observing my struggle to bring life back into my limbs, before he reaches out to me again and painfully grabs me by the arm. I'm lifted up, unable to use my legs properly, and he deposits me onto the bed. Laid back, I try to prop up onto my elbows.
His muscled arms wrap around me to drag my hands above my head. A single fist closes around both of my wrists in the tangle of my hair.
This man is leaning far too close to my face. So close I can see that there are green and red specks in the copper of his eyes, a scent coming from him that can only be described as masculine, the finer detail of his jaw tensing and neck throbbing with restraint to let out whatever it is he wants to say right away.
It takes me a moment to be unfocused from his face to realize his body has pressed itself onto me. Another note is how I finally take in my vulnerability being completely without clothes. There must have been sheets and a blanket before, but now either they were sprawled out on the floor or hanging beneath me over the edge of the bed.
My legs attempt to move to kick him away and instead gives him the opportunity to wedge himself between them. It does occur to me that I've begun to ventilate rapidly, with my chest thumping against his, and my shoulders unable to stop jumping with the quick heaves of my breathes.
A free hand he has and it is used to smooth out the hair again from my face. The palm lingers over the cheek, brushing a calloused thumb along the corner of my lips for a brief instant, then raises to drum his fingers beneath my eyes tenderly. Over my forehead, he presses his advantage over me, laying his hand to slick my blonde bangs back for a full exposure. Those eyes never ever have left mine and I don't think for a second that I had looked anywhere else from his.
Then he stands up, letting me go, and turns to the door.
"You're no longer burning up. You'll live." There is no more said or done as the Liv slams the door shut behind himself. The receding sound of his feet retreat back down the hall and descending steps. I lay still, as I am, for a little while to collect myself. In the dream I've come from, the men touching me brought a fear out of me, a scream that rips from my throat to ripple across the waves. This felt so different. There is still fear, but a different kind, a more dangerous sort. A fear that I rather be without for as long that I live. It is the sense that we get when being judged and are afraid of being rejected for a single mistake.
I swallow down my panicked breathing and gradually become calm. It takes a portion of my regained strength to slide back off the bed and sit straddling-kneel on the foor. My hands are pushing down to brace myself from the effects of keeling over in dizziness. I close my eyes and concentrate on sitting up straight. After the better part of my resolution improving, I attempt to pull my legs out and place them in front of me to massage life back into the pair.
There doesn't seem to be much of a change in my limbs this time. Still, I will have to question how long I was out. Likely, it had been at least another week, if not more, based on how my body is responding. Over my legs, I am kneading into the tender meat of my thighs, the subtle press worked in close to my core when I notice the disturbing sight for the very first time. I am missing my manhood completely. There is nothing, a patch of golden grass, but no root, not the shriveled and sickly stem I had last seen, or even a pair of buds to display my own masculinity.
Now I feel sick. I'm glancing away in turns, as if something beside me will help reassure that everything is going to be alright, but each turn is only reaffirming the look I'm giving myself down there that I've gone sissy. Eventually, I stop disgracing myself in this moment of denial and accept that I've lost a precious part of me. I'm not sure how and yet it has been done. I don't think something like this can be undone. No use fretting about it. This doesn't make me any less of a man, though. Like a lost arm doesn't make me any less of a warrior. I'll keep myself following in the same path I've been traveling since I was born.
In due time, I manage to stand up and see how well I can walk on my own two feet. A few times I do fall. It takes time to reacquaint myself with moving around. Now, I grab a hold of the nearest sheets to wrap myself up in over my shoulders and head for the door. Opening it, I see the light of the hall and the floor racing off of a cliff to the downstairs. I pad my way to and down.
The Liv is down here, "Good, come sit and break some bread with me." He's ripping a very tough side of a loaf before dipping it into a bowl of broth that is passed to the middle-ground between himself and an empty chair at a table. I take note that I still retain my tall stature compared to the table and chair. That would mean I'd be the taller of us here. I doubt that means much if we break into a fight. He clearly has the greater strength. Those arms of his are bulging with incredible power, enough tightly packed muscle under that blue tunic to make me think it take two spans of my hands to encircle completely. No, I don't want to tussle with him in my current state or dress. For now, I obey, sitting and taking the offered dunk of bread to my lips. He watches me silently as I consume my first bite. Is he expecting a reaction? Is this a test?
Quickly, I swallow and speak. "I can't answer anything until I know the questions." His brows lift up, which I had not noticed were knitted in tension before. It is acutely better on him looking more relaxed. I suppose he was worried I'd be resisting his hospitality?
"Scania has not responded to the ransom. Could you repeat to me your relation to Gyrid Hremson?"
"I'm his heir, his... Child," I can't say son, not after he has seen what I've become.
"Yes, I didn't believe it before, but I have after confirming it from other Scandinavians."
"I'm Dannish, Scania was ruled by High Jarl Steggi Belison Skjoldun before my father and two other jarls, the Bleik and Falk, broke Scania apart into three. Now it is Skane, Blekinge, and Halland under the over-lordship of Jyyland. Denmark." I let out a sigh, taking another bite of the bread, chewing, swallowing, and resuming. "You have to send the ransom to Jelling, in Jyyland, or to Ringsted, in Sjealand, for the ransom to be recognized. My father isn't in the best health, both physically and mentally, and my aunt isn't the best source to be parting from our coffers..."
Especially since my aunt is the widow of Steggi Belison Skjoldung.
Having her become regent was only merited because of her blood relation, seniority, familiarity with the land, and prior authority over the entire region. In no way is she to be trusted, but there is nothing to worry over since defaulting away from Denmark's interests would worsen her position severely.
"You were probably received by my aunt, Dorte Hremdottir. It should be sent to House Jute or Knytling." It seemed that this Liv was taking it all in like a sponge to water. Now, I feel like squeezing a bit of that information out of him for my sake. "How long has it been since you've sent the ransom?"
"Four months." The muscles in my hand become so lax that the bread drops out of it. I've become completely numb and my lips begin to tingle. It is as if all the oxygen in me has dissipated into the air. I can't breath. I don't think I recall how to.
My eyes water as I search out for help on the matter with the Liv. He seems to be cursing himself for making a mistake and instantly coming to my side. A large hand is placed over my back, soothing it while holding my head close to his chest, keeping me from falling over, and bracing his and my body to each other for support. I don't think my mind can take this, but I'm not going to pass out again.
For all I know, it could be years next time I wake!
My hands reach up to grip a hold of the Liv's tunic, shakily pulling him around his shoulders and back, trying to gain reassurance that I won't fall into the darkness again. We might have held each other for a minute or a hour. I couldn't tell time anymore in this world. One moment with my eyes closed could spell a seconds, weeks, or months.
We parted. His shirt had a dark stain from my tears and I'm glad that I had not heard him or myself. There was no telling how I would have responded to anything he might have asked or told me in this state and I don't want to know how I sound when I'm crying. He goes back to his seat, gradually. There is a concerned observance in those raptor-like eyes. Like he is wary that his prey could fall victim to an unseen predator before he has a chance to sweep in. I know nothing of this man, but that is the sense I am given when seeing the desire in those copper eyes. That is something I should work on. I give myself a moment to test my voice softly, not wanting to sound choked, before raising the question, "Who are you?"
This Liv doesn't answer right away. When he does respond, it is in the form of a question, "Where do you think you are?"
"Somewhere in-," I think over this carefully. There isn't nearly enough noise here to be a commerce like Riga, but he is in a great hall, which tells me he's of importance enough to be recognized by both the militant fleet that took out the dromon I voyaged in and have the community support his claim to this luxury. "Maybe someplace in Muhu."
This brought a surprised expression to his face. "That... That would have been correct a year ago. Muhu is contested between us Livonians and the Swedish." He sweeps his hands across the table in display, "We sit in my hall and home in Lemsalu." Lemsalu, that would be in the Livonian region of Liivimaa. One could not be closer to the homeland of a Liv than here. If this is his home, that makes him a part of House Vaiga, the ruling family of Livonia.
"Vaiga?"
"Call me Vloros," he says this while casual and giving me a shrug. "I've answered three questions. I think it is fair you give me two." I'm his hostage. Why is he care about being fair when he could demand I answer regardless of the count? "Now, I am very curious about this next little bit. Why am I sending a ransom to Gyrid Hremson in the first place? Shouldn't I be requesting the funds for your safe return from your husband?" I'm not sure what he sees on my face, maybe something connected the dots in his mind, but it certainly makes him sit up straight in his seat. "You're not married." Then his features change into someone who had been cheated, angry, and ugly. "I think our discussion ends here."
Without giving me a chance to ask what I had done to offend him, he jumps out of his chair and grabs me by the top of my head, yanking me to my feet from the sharp tug on my hair, and whips me around until I stand in front of him with my back pressed into his thrusting arms. His fist is tied into my now knotted locks while he reigns my movements towards and up the steps.
A yank towards the hall causes me to cry out before I'm thrown into the room. I recover from the floor, feeling the burn on my hands and knees where I caught myself, knowing that the sheet that had been held on my shoulders had slipped off in the tussle downstairs, but I am more angry than ashamed.
"YOU GOD DAMNED BASTARD!" I literally scream this out at him.
He had been about to slam the door again, seeing how quickly he had been steering the portal close, but stops, "No, I'm an Earl. Livonians don't vie bastards with titles. We also don't get paid for ransoming liars and impostors." I'm a bit clueless at this one.
"What have I lied about!?"
"Gyrid's daughters, those still alive, have each secured him an alliance with someone. That means they are all married. You, I can tell by how untamed you are, certainly are not." With that said, the door manages to still slam shut despite the limited space he had propped open enough to conclude our conversation.
Now I feel really stupid.
I'm a warrior, not a courtesan. If I had paid more closely attention to what I have been playing myself into, I could have avoided the blow to my trustworthiness, maybe gain respect for my honesty, but that would be very hard pressed considering that I don't even understand the truth of my circumstances.
Wait... Did he just say he's an Earl? As in, not only is he a part of House Vaiga, but he RULES Livonia!!? This makes him equivalent to being powerful enough to be compared to all of Scania. Not Denmark, but definitely would be trumping our own forces on the field in Skane. Maybe we would equal him with the alliances we've made? I don't know.
He said, 'Surviving daughters.'
Last time I recall, all seven of my sisters lived...
