Aeva The Wild Read online

  ÆVA

  The Wild

  Claire Marion

  Copyright © March 2020, Claire Marion

  All rights reserved.

  Except for brief quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form with express consent from the author.

  Although based on real historical events, Æva: The Wild is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jenniely Graphic Design

  Contents

  ᚠ

  ᚢ

  ᚦ

  ᚩ

  ᚱ

  ᚳ

  ᚷ

  ᚹ

  ᚻ

  ᛀ

  ᛁ

  ᛄ

  ᛇ

  ᛈ

  ᛉ

  ᛋ

  ᛏ

  ᛒ

  ᛖ

  ᛗ

  ᛚ

  ᛝ

  ᛟ

  ᛞ

  ᚪ

  ᚫ

  ᚠ

  The flames crackled in the fire, licking at the thick, gnarled chunks of wood. It was warm, inviting. Sparks floated lazily upwards, for a moment brilliant against the backdrop of impenetrable black before turning to ash and drifting away on the light breeze. Three men sat crouched around the circle of light. Though outside the glow of the fire the night was chilly, their arms were bare, showing thick bands of muscles. All three wore leather cuffs around their wrists and close-fitting woollen tunics, revealing broad chests. Their hair was thick and matted, falling in tousled curls. Two were dark, the other a copper red that glinted in the firelight. Long-healed scars criss-crossed their skin, but their faces were young, only one showing the first signs of age. Weapons littered the ground at their feet.

  One man reached out and poked at the flames, sending a shower of burning embers skywards. Above the fire a small deer hung on a crudely made spit. The aroma of smouldering flesh wafted out across the rugged terrain.

  A slight noise in the cloaked landscape made one soldier - the tallest and eldest looking of the group – whip his head round and peer into the dark. His eyes squinted, struggling to turn the jumble of shadows into identifiable shapes. Wolves hunted here, he knew. Wolves who would be tempted by the mouth-watering scent of deer; wolves who may even be tempted by the flesh of man if they were hungry enough.

  Nothing moved in the black, but the flickering light behind him cast both shadows and doubts. Unassuaged, he rose and took a step away from the flames, listening. Silence. His hand clenched into a fist, thinking of the spear lying behind him in a careless bundle with his other possessions. A small blade was tucked into the leather strapping around his lower leg. He considered drawing it out, but as the silence continued, he gave the night one more, searching stare before turning back to his friends. They sat watching him, waiting. He shrugged and grunted before resuming his seat on a small rock.

  The girl, hidden in the depth of the undergrowth, sighed with relief. In her fingers she held tightly to the traitorous twig which had so nearly given her away. She was tall, her limbs folding under her as she squatted beneath the protection of thick foliage. Her dark hair was long, scraped back and held at the nape of her neck by a leather thong. She wore a ragged tunic, torn at the neck and the sleeve. The night air slithered into tiny gaps in the cloth, chilling her until she shivered. She was thankful for the leather breeches she wore, stolen from the dead body of a young warrior, no more than a boy. The rough fabric chaffed, but they were warm.

  Another waft of the men’s meal drifted towards her, making her stomach clench. She hadn’t eaten for two days, and that meal had been little more than a handful of berries plucked from a bush dying with the onslaught of winter. Her eyes feasted on the flames and the meal hanging above. She could almost taste the juicy meat; feel the warmth of the fire. The two desires had driven her this close, to within twenty yards, and urged her closer still. But she was afraid of the soldiers.

  She knew she should follow her instincts and run, but she was so hungry, and so cold. Perhaps there might be a chance, if she waited, to grab some scrap of food or luxuriate for a moment in the heat. That hope pinned her there, legs cramping, every muscle trembling, eyes fixed.

  She watched as one man, the copper haired one, lifted the skewer and used his blade to hack off moist slabs of meat. He passed portions to his friends before pulling off a leg for himself.

  They fell upon the meal, grease and juices dripping from their fingers and coating their faces. As they sated their hunger, they became more relaxed, laughing and talking. The girl saw the contentment that came with a full stomach spread across their handsome faces and tears smarted in her eyes. The need to eat urged her to approach them, but she resisted. Men could not be trusted. In her desperation, she considered running, grabbing a handful, and hoping surprise would be enough to grant her escape back into the dark, but she hesitated. Her eyes picked out the sharp points of their weapons, discarded, but within easy reach, and then, raking over their bodies, saw the sculpted muscles of their legs coiled beneath them. No - they were strong; they would catch her.

  Even when the men had eaten their fill, meat still clung to the frame of the deer. Enough to fill her stomach. Hope buoyed again. If she was patient, then maybe. One man pulled a leather flagon from his satchel and drank deeply, passing it to his friends. She stared, breath baited. If the men drank until their cheeks reddened and their laughter turned raucous, then their sleep would be a stupor. If she kept very quiet, she might be able to sneak in and steal enough to quench the gnawing pains that almost paralysed.

  Just moments later, however, her eyebrows drew together with disappointment. The tallest one, the one who had heard her before, held his hand out for the flagon. His friend, the copper-haired one, shook his head and said something, pulling the leather vessel closer to his chest, his expression defiant. The tallest one retorted angrily, face curdling, and the copper-haired one reluctantly handed it over, where it was stoppered and stowed away. The girl eyed the tallest soldier thoughtfully. He must be the leader, she thought. Certainly he looked the strongest and there, gleaming beside him, was a sword. She stared at it. Only the richest, most powerful warrior could afford a sword. More reason to be afraid of these men. She shifted, uncomfortable in the long crouch, just as one of the men, the third one, stood. For a second her heart stopped, certain he must have heard her slight movement, and then began to beat double time as he turned and stepped towards her. But he advanced only a yard or two, pausing to urinate before returning to the dying flames.

  It took a long time after the men had lain down to sleep before the girl could force herself to step out from her hiding place and approach them. They snored softly, but she was wary in case it was a trick to lull her into a false sense of security before they pounced on her.

  But she had to eat.

  Cautiously, she inched forward. Her bare toes made no sound on the dank earth, each foot seeking out branches or leaves that might announce her presence before she took another timid step. Fear and anticipation made her want to gasp, but she clamped her jaw shut, breathing through her nose and ignoring her body’s frantic cries for more air.

  The men had made their camp in a small clearing, precisely to stop anyone sneaking up on them as she hoped to do. To reach the food, she had to step out into the open. The sky was still pitch black, a long time from the first rays of dawn, and the fire had died down to a dim glow which barely illuminated the outline of the men. The clearing made her feel exposed; but she saw no other way to reach the food. Before they laid down to sleep, the men had tucked the carcase into the base of a tall outcrop of rock and positioned themselves around it, protecting the remains of their meal from wolves. Sh
e was going to have to step right over one of them if she wanted to reach her goal.

  Closing her eyes, her lips trembled as she said a silent prayer, fingers grasping a small bronze crucifix at her neck. Then she lifted her gaze and fixed it on her goal.

  Every muscle in her body tensed to spring as she crawled from the undergrowth. She fought the desire to bound forward, knowing stealth was the best way to remain undetected. Step, pause, listen; step, pause, listen. Her eyes darted at each man in turn; wide, catlike, and wary. Every twitch of their fingers, every break in their breathing caused her to freeze.

  On the outskirts of the fire she stopped, deliberating. The tallest one, the one she thought the leader, was the closest to her, the most direct route. Going by him she was only six steps from food. But her stomach twisted nervously at the thought. He was huge, the most battle scarred. He scared her most. Next to him was the copper-haired man. His face seemed somehow amiable, cheerful even in sleep, but he too had thick muscles. The third, the slightest, looked the youngest. Perhaps the least experienced. Even if he awoke, he might make a mistake and give her an opportunity to flee. She would have to skirt all the way round the fire, but it seemed her best chance.

  Keeping her back to the night, momentarily forgetting about any threats which might come from that direction, she sidled around the camp. Though some residual heat still radiated from the smoking wood, she trembled. Feeling clumsy and ungainly, she slipped around the sleeping men.

  At last, she was in position.

  Æva stepped over the man and crossed by the fire circle. Now that she was close enough to inhale the scent of the meat, it consumed her senses. She had eyes for nothing else as she approached, saliva flooding her mouth in anticipation. Her steps pulled her silently closer until she reached out, hand shaking, nails bloody and torn, to seize her prize.

  As her fingers closed around one long, delicate bone, a much larger hand clamped around her wrist.

  She barely had time to let out a single, frightened whimper of a gasp before she was yanked up and around, the muscles in her shoulder screaming in pain. Then the breath was knocked out of her as she slammed into the rock wall. The jagged stone surface scraped against her back. Rough fingers wound their way around her throat, constricting her airways as she tried to haul oxygen back into her winded lungs. Automatically, her hands reached up to grasp the arm that trapped her, pulling futilely in an attempt to free herself. Her eyes, wide with fear, began to water as they stared into a face twisted with anger.

  It was him, the leader. As he drew his face closer to hers, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her cold skin, to smell the grease from the meal and the pungent aroma of beer, she stopped struggling. Fear paralysed every muscle. Like a frightened rabbit, she stared into the dark pits of his eyes, and waited for him to kill her.

  “Who are you?” he growled.

  Æva didn’t answer. Her lips moved, but she couldn’t form any coherent words. Her body felt numb; her arms dropped lifeless to her sides.

  Impatiently the man pulled her forward and then slammed her back against the rock. Her head swung limply, smashing her skull into the stone and forcing a cry of pain from her mouth. She was sure he was going to kill her, to choke her until the life dimmed from her eyes. Panic burned in her veins, anticipating pain. She could not even think clearly enough to hope that it would be quick. Somewhere in the back of her mind she became aware of warm liquid sliding down her neck as blood seeped from under her hair.

  “I said, who are you?” he repeated.

  She didn’t dare deny him a second time. She swallowed, trying to force the word from her constricted throat.

  “Æva,” she whispered, barely audible.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Æva,” she croaked, forcing volume into her voice.

  “And who are you, Æva?”

  Her stomach turned as she heard the tone in his voice. It was taunting, playing with her. And when he was done with that...

  As the realisation hit, the numbness that had enveloped her body disappeared, replaced with a hyperawareness that made every nerve tingle. She could feel the length of the man’s body pinning her to the rock, the heat rolling in waves off his skin. The hand that wasn’t encircling her throat grasped her upper arm. She imagined that hand moving over her body, roaming freely, violating her. As she looked into his eyes, Æva thought of nothing to say which might stop him.

  She watched one eyebrow slowly rise and panic overwhelmed her. He was waiting for an answer, and if she did not give one quickly more pain would follow. What words would not provoke anger?

  “I’m no one,” she whimpered.

  He smiled; a twisted, unfriendly smile that made her breath come faster and nausea swell in her stomach.

  “What are you doing in my camp, little nobody?” he hissed.

  “I’m starving,” she stuttered. “I smelled your meal.”

  “So you’re a thief...”

  He tailed off, and Æva knew it was about to happen. The pain would start. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and running down the smooth skin of her cheeks, tiny rivers carving tracks through the dust coating her face.

  He shifted his weight to the side and the faded light from the last embers of the fire illuminated her face. Her eyes, a brilliant green, shimmered with moisture. She opened her mouth to beg for mercy, when his expression changed before her, stopping her tongue. The fierce glare dimmed and the deep, menacing furrow of his brow softened. He stared at her for the longest moment, and she gazed back, frozen once more, hardly daring to breath.

  Without warning he threw her to the ground; pointed to the remains of the food.

  “Eat,” he said.

  He turned and sat a few feet from her, watching, his face impassive. Æva lay motionless where she landed. Was this a trick? Her eyes flickered to the other two men. They, too, remained immobile, sitting up where they had been sleeping. Their eyes moved in tandem, staring at her, and then looking questioningly at their leader, then back to her.

  “Eat,” the man repeated.

  Hesitantly, Æva reached for the meat. Never taking her eyes from the man, and trying to watch the other two from the periphery of her vision, she lifted a bone to her mouth and cautiously took a small bite. Flavour burst across her mouth, coating her tongue in grease and juice. Unable to stop herself, she snatched at the carcase, tearing the tender venison from the bone, stuffing handfuls of meat and fat into her mouth. She barely chewed each bite before forcing it down her bruised throat. For a moment she forgot the existence of the three soldiers as she gorged on the food.

  The leader watched the pitiful display in silence, an unfathomable expression on his face.

  ᚢ

  “What are we going to do with her, Wulfram?”

  The voice was soft, spoken at a whisper, but it broke through the thin veneer of restless sleep. For a moment Æva was confused, lost. After eating so much rich meat she felt sick, she had crawled as close as possible to the remaining heat and, exhausted, fallen asleep. Now the dawn tickled her eyelids, encouraging her to wake, and as she remembered where she was, fear returned. What would happen now? Fighting against the impulse to open her eyes, she continued to breathe evenly, listening intently to the voices of the men around her. She didn’t recognise the speaker, but something in the intonation and the gentle cadence of the speech made her think of the youngest of the men.

  “What do you mean?”

  The deep rumble of this second voice caused a tremor in the deepest pit of her stomach, and it took every ounce of her control to keep her muscles still. It belonged to the leader. Wulfram - a good name, strong. It suited him. Travelling wolf. And in this group: Alpha wolf. She waited, heart thumping, to hear her fate.

  “She can’t come with us,” the soft voice persisted.

  “You forget your place, Idin.”

  The response was swift, final. Authority rang in every syllable. Conversation closed.

  Nerves flutt
ered in Æva’s stomach. She was afraid to open her eyes, to face the men. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she knew she was powerless to decide. Whether killed, discarded, or forced to accompany them; the choice lay in the hands of the men who surrounded her. She wondered what had brought them here, where they were going. Three strong warriors, one with his own sword. They were not mere travellers.

  “How far do you think we still have to travel?”

  A new voice - the copper haired man perhaps? Æva had thought he appeared friendly in sleep, and his voice, too, seemed affable and good-natured. It seemed that he spoke now to dispel the tension. Breath held, she waited, eager to hear the answer, to unravel the mystery of these men, but the question was met with silence. Æva’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily in frustration before she could smooth her features back into an expressionless mask.

  Wulfram watched the girl. He knew she was pretending to sleep. There were slight changes in expression that she didn’t quite smother in time. He supposed she was afraid to wake, frightened of them and what they might do to her. She need not fear; she held no interest for him. Only pity had stayed his hand last night. When he held her throat in his hand, knowing he could end her life with one powerful squeeze, he had seen something in her eyes. Wide with fear, tear stained, begging him not to kill her - or at least to kill her quickly - they had not moved him. But the light from the fire had flickered across her face for the space of a heartbeat, and he had gazed into a vibrant sea-green that had frozen his breath in his lungs. Flashes of memories had blurred his vision: blood, screaming, violence, chaos. And then a bolt of sea-green in a heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of black hair.

  He shook his head, chasing the thoughts back into the dust of time where they belonged. Staring at the girl now, curled into a fragile ball beneath a scrap of wool Idin had had the compassion to give her, he felt nothing for her. They had an important mission. There was no room for charity. He cleared his throat.