“So — where does this leave us?” she asked, into the silence. “What should we do next?”
Kalfr shrugged, his eyes still blankly fixed on where Joarr had gone. “This news has changed naught, for us,” he replied, his voice stiff. “This is all as we already knew, all as Sybil has already sought to do. She has gained a few dozen more men, mayhap, and a few more days… but what does this alter?”
Right. Raye could almost taste his bitterness, his resignation, spasming at the back of her throat. He’d been expecting this, dreading this, all this time — and now it was coming. Not just for him, now, but for his band, too. His kin. His son.
And did that mean… it might give him even more cause to sacrifice himself to this, after all? More reason to hand himself over for his suffering, his death?
“Vörður!” called a distant voice, and when Raye and Kalfr both snapped to look, it was William, bursting out muddy and sweaty through the greenery, and flashing them a sheepish smile. “Could use you down below. Having some trouble with the well!”
Kalfr winced, and shot Raye a searching look, but she dredged up a smile, and waved him off toward William. “Go ahead,” she said thickly. “I’ll finish the survey, and let you know if anything needs your attention.”
Kalfr nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile in return, followed by a grateful squeeze to her arm. And then he spun and jogged off, leaving Raye standing there alone by the altar, her thoughts still spinning, her eyes again wandering to the ugly black stain upon the stone. The undeniable proof of Kalfr’s desperation, his loss — and that distinct proof of their pleasure, too, streaked all across it. Covering it.
“Please, goddess,” Raye whispered, as she traced her fingers against the cool stone. “Help me. Help us. Show us the way through this.”
There was no answer but the breeze, caressing her cheeks, tickling a few loose wisps of hair against her skin. But as she kept standing there, stroking her fingers against the altar, she could feel her heartbeat slowing, her breaths deepening. She’d sworn to do this. She’d vowed it, before the goddess. And Kalfr had seemed to think the goddess would hear her prayers, hadn’t he? So maybe there was still hope. Still time.
It was enough to settle her heartbeat a little more, and she set off on the rest of the survey, doing her best to check everything they’d noted the day before, and to follow up as needed. But nothing seemed amiss, and once she headed back into thebyrgi, she found Julian had just finished up the morning reading lesson. Predictably, Svein was full of excited news to share, while Gaelfr looked as though he’d just fought his way through a vicious battle.
“Thank the goddess this is done,” he muttered toward Raye, once Svein had run off to stash his prized new papers in his bedroom. “Also, did I scent you and Kalfr at the altar? Were you seeking another ploughing before the goddess, mayhap?”
His mouth quirked up, and he patted Raye’s arse, as if he fully approved of such an activity. And it took Raye a moment to collect herself, glancing around at where all the other orcs were dispersing, heading off to their afternoon tasks with thick slicesof Grum’s buttered nut bread in hand. “Well, Joarr stopped by with a report,” she told him, under her breath. “Ten days. And two hundred men.”
Gaelfr’s brows snapped together, his mouth tightening. “What else?” he demanded, in a low hiss. “Tell me all of this.”
He softened the order with a caress of his hand to her back, and Raye recounted the rest of the news as quickly as she could, while Gaelfr listened in silence. She even told him about how Kalfr had apparently been struggling to sleep, and how he’d been spending his nights attempting to pray at the altar instead.
“Ach, I thought I scented this upon him,” Gaelfr muttered, with a heavy sigh. “But you must not fear,sæta. We will hold fast to our goals. We will keep guarding and readying thisbyrgi, and training our band. And we will keep helping Kalfr in this, also. We will do all within our power to address this.”
Right. Yes. It settled deeper in Raye’s chest, and Gaelfr gave another reassuring stroke against her. “Now, this has been more than enough fretting for one day,” he said firmly. “You ought to finally take some time for your weaving, and forget all this.”
Raye rolled her eyes at him, but the idea of weaving did sound admittedly lovely, and Gaelfr thrust a slice of Grum’s bread into her hand before nudging her off toward the loft. “Also, Rurik wished to see Svein next,” he told her, “so I will take him to the sickroom now, whilst you begin your weaving. After this, I shall bring him out to the training-grounds with me, also.”
Even a few days past, Raye would surely have balked at the idea of Gaelfr taking her son to see a physician without her, and making plans for her son’s afternoon, too. But in this moment, she only felt an undeniable gratitude, and the awareness, strange but certain, that she could trust Gaelfr to take care of Svein. She could.
So as Gaelfr headed downstairs to fetch Svein, Raye polished off her delicious bread, and climbed up into the loft. With allthe activity of the past day, she hadn’t made much progress on her tapestry, but it was all still here, waiting for her — the warped loom, the yarn, the needles and scissors, the pencil and paper Kalfr had brought her the day before. Even her own lovely finished tapestry, looking down at her from its place of honour on the wall. And the sight of it prickled behind her eyes, deepened her breaths. She could do this. She would.
Her next task was to sit down and properly draw the design she’d been vaguely formulating, and it felt surprisingly easy to sink into drawing again, envisioning the final tapestry hanging before her. She wanted this piece to include flowers and greenery, following her family’s traditional style, but maybe she could include a few motifs from her time here at thebyrgi, too. Like the white trillium Gaelfr had tucked into her hair by the altar, and the pinecones she and Kalfr had harvested together, too. And perhaps even the moon, shining full and dappled through the trees.
She alternated the drawing with checking her newly warped loom, adjusting and spacing as needed, and wrapping up smaller bundles of coloured yarn. All such deeply familiar tasks, too, a quiet long-lost joy beneath her fingers, and once she finally began weaving, carefully guiding her tapestry needle back and forth between the warp threads, she could have wept with the wonder of it, and the relief.
But just as Kalfr had predicted when he’d offered Raye the role of watcher, it turned out that weaving here in the loft still allowed her plenty of awareness to monitor the goings-on around thebyrgi, too. Julian had set up at the table again with some books, seemingly preparing the next day’s lesson, Grum had begun pickling sliced vegetables in barrels, and soon Raye caught sight of Svein and Gaelfr out the window, Svein excitedly chattering and tugging at Gaelfr’s hand as they headed toward the training-grounds together.
Throughout it all, Kalfr had reappeared and disappeared multiple times, jogging up and down the stairs, becoming increasingly covered with mud each time. And whenever he appeared, someone else inevitably appeared to speak to him about something — Egil wondering where he could find more string for his bow, Grum needing more salt, Fengr demanding fresh lumber for the storage furniture, Skirvir complaining that Fengr had insulted him in the muster-room, and dared to touch his axe.
Kalfr handled all these interruptions with impressive efficiency and patience, and he seemed more settled than before, too. And once he’d sent Skirvir off to help with the well-digging, he glanced up at Raye in the loft, and gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. To which Raye chuckled and gave a commiserating grimace back, while warmth bubbled up in her belly. She could do this. They could do this, together.
It was perhaps mid-afternoon when Rurik appeared, first bending down to kiss Julian at the table, and next giving an imperious wave up toward Raye in the loft. “I am ready for your examination now,” he informed her. “And I will brief you upon Svein’s, also. Come along, at once.”
He didn’t wait for her reply before spinning and striding downstairs again, but Julian gave her an encouraging smile from the table. And though Raye smiled back, a low foreboding crept through her thoughts as she followed Rurik, and picked up her lamp from where they’d begun hanging it beside the stairs. What did Rurik want to tell her about Svein? And why hadn’t she thought of that, when she’d let Gaelfr handle the appointment? What if Rurik had been able to tell how Svein had gone hungry… or what if there was something even worse?
“No need to look at me thus, woman,” Rurik said, once Raye had warily stepped into the sickroom. “I have no dread news foryou. But I wished to speak to you of what I saw with your son, and what I have seen with you, also. Now come, sit.”
It all spiked Raye’s unease higher — what had he seen? — but she accordingly sat down onto his examination table, while Rurik washed his hands in a nearby basin. “With your leave, I will need to touch you,” he told her. “Healing is my gift, you see, much like Fengr with his dancing last eve — and when I touch you, I can see what is within you, and seek to heal you.”
Raye probably should have been more surprised by this astonishing revelation, but she only managed another nod, and sat there waiting, her heart skipping, while Rurik settled his cool hands flat against her head, her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones. And next further down, against her torso, and then for a long moment against her lower belly. “As I thought,” he said crisply. “You have been starving yourself, to feed your son. For years.”
Raye’s throat seized, the heat flooding up into her cheeks. Rurik could really see that? He could really tell that she and Svein had gone hungry? He could tell that she had failed, all these years?
