DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (3 page)
“I’m off.” Benoia hefted a basket stocked with ointments, tisanes, and powders as she announced her departure.
Annikke glanced up from the dried herbs she was grinding. “Be back before twilight.”
Her foster daughter chuckled at Annikke’s standard warning, but nodded. “I only have three visits to make. I’ll return long before then.”
It had been five years since the Elves had settled their debt with Annikke and promised to leave her and Benoia in peace. They’d kept their word and stayed away, but Annikke suspected they still watched her cottage and never felt easy being out and about past sundown.
“I could go with you,” Annikke offered, even though it was foolish of her to think of it. At seventeen summers, Benoia was a woman grown. She was well able to make these visits, and there was work enough to be done here at the cottage. The weeds in the herb patch required her attention and Benoia’s circuit included a stop at Granny Mallow’s, who was so set in her ways she still made the ward sign whenever she saw Annikke’s silver hair.
Benoia’s lips thinned and she tossed her long brown braid behind her back. “I’m delivering potions near the village, not going all the way to Quartzholm. And even if I were, you’ve taught me well. I can do whatever you could.”
“Aye, you could. But don’t.” The girl was skilled in the use of the healing magic the Elves had given them, perhaps even better than Annikke, but Benoia was young and full of spirit. She itched to use her Fey gifts, even though the villagers would shun her for it if they understood what she was doing. “Just—be mindful of an old woman’s fears and be careful. Please?”
“Old woman? Pah! You’re no more an old woman than I am.” Benoia dropped a quick kiss on the top of Annikke’s head. “You worry too much,” she said as she slipped out the door left open to the early summer breeze.
Annikke stared after the girl, a little envious of her carefree youth. She was barely ten summers older than her foster-daughter, but she felt older. Benoia’s soul was still light, carrying no shadow from her father’s indifference and neglect. “Perhaps I do worry too much,” she murmured, “but I have reason.” She lifted the mortar again and continued grinding the dried fevercool leaves into dust.
*
Annikke had just finished sealing several pots of ointment with wax when thunder rumbled overhead. She looked up, realizing that the small main room of the cottage had grown as dim as twilight, though it was only mid-afternoon. Then she saw Benoia’s cloak hanging from its peg by the door. Summer storms in the mountains could be icy and violent. The air already held a shiver. The girl would be drenched without her wrap.
Benoia has sense enough to wait out the storm.
Nevertheless, a creeping unease crawled up the back of Annikke’s neck.
She promised to be home before twilight. She could be caught in the downpour trying to hurry home.
But it wasn’t fear of Benoia taking a chill that drove Annikke to snatch their cloaks and hurry out. Just off the porch, she paused. The sky was grey and heavy with unshed rain and shadows writhed beneath trees tossed by the wind. The path that led through the forest, where the Elves had stolen Annikke years before, was dark with the storm-wrought gloaming. She’d neither seen nor heard from them since they’d paid their debt to her, but even now she felt their eyes upon her—though it was probably only her imagination.
“Damn them. Let them look.” Annikke tightened the drawstring of her hood, and hurried to find Benoia.
The girl would have gone to Farne’s home first to check on his wife. Elin had borne the blacksmith a fine strapping son two weeks back. It had been a hard delivery, but both mother and son were strong and doing well. The visit was more to reassure the blacksmith than anything else. Farne was maybe two summers older than Annikke, and he’d never teased her about being Fey-marked when they were children. For that alone Annikke would check on his wife until the lad was grown and married if that would ease the blacksmith’s mind.
From there, Benoia would have gone on to Granny Mallow’s farm as it was the farthest away, before stopping at the cottage of Lord Tholvar’s dairyman. The man had come out the worse from an encounter with a bull. It had taken all of Annikke and Benoia’s herbcraft and Fey gifted magic to save him, but he was on the mend now and only needed his bandages checked and a potion for his pain.
The track to the dairyman’s croft split off to Annikke’s left, and though the path was dark and overgrown from little use, Annikke gritted her teeth and strode forward as if she felt not a whit of fear. If the Elves were watching, she wouldn’t let them think her cowed.
The roar of the wind lashing through the branches overhead nearly covered the scream. Fear jolted like lightning through Annikke’s breast, stealing her breath.
Benoia!
Without a thought, Annikke hiked up her skirts and ran.
Closer now, Benoia’s angry screams were clearer.
“
No! Get off me!
”
A cry of pain cut through the wind.
Annikke barely slowed as the path curved hard to the left and then back to the right circling an ancient oak and her children. The screams grew louder, filled with agony and terror. Annikke rounded the thicket. Fifty feet beyond, a man lay on top of Benoia, with her skirts shoved up to her waist.
Rage crashed through Annikke, more violent than the coming storm. She charged forward, heedless that she had nothing but her empty hands to protect Benoia with. She was almost upon them when she realized it was the man who was screaming.
Annikke didn’t stop. With strength she didn’t know she had, she jerked the man away from Benoia and flung him to one side. He didn’t resist, just curled into a ball as his screams subsided to moans. When Annikke saw he wouldn’t renew his attack, she turned her attention to her foster-daughter, quickly searching the girl’s body for wounds, but finding only scrapes and the beginning of bruises. With a tender touch she brushed hair from Benoia’s purpling cheek.
“Oh, my sweetling. You’re all right now,” Annikke murmured. She prayed to Freya she spoke the truth. Benoia’s heart might be more wounded than her body. She’d been timid and beaten down that first day she’d come to live with Annikke. Would this attack drag her back into her childhood fear?
The worry had barely formed before Benoia sat up, then stood, pushing Annikke’s hands away. Benoia held her fists rigidly at her sides as she glared at the young man still rocking on the ground, clutching his privates.
“My balls!” He groaned.
Benoia must have kneed him.
Good for her.
“Nothing a cold soak and a few days of rest won’t cure,” Annikke said. “You’re getting away with less than the beating you deserve.” She put an arm around Benoia and realized the girl was shaking—just as she did after using her healing magic. She needed warmth and hot food. It was only then that Annikke noted she’d dropped Benoia’s wrap back by the oak. She wrapped her own body-warmed cloak around the girl’s shoulders and turned her toward the path home.
“What did you do to me?” Anger, fear, and pain mingled in the man’s voice. He rolled up to sit, then struggled to push himself another few feet away from them, using only one leg.
A tremor ran through Benoia’s slender frame and Annikke tensed, ready to defend them against a renewed attack, even as the shock of recognition speared her heart with fear. This was Sveyn, Lord Tholvar’s heir. He had a reputation for taking what he wanted, but whether he was at fault or not, his father would not let his son be harmed without raining retribution down upon them.
Heedless of the staring women, the young lord pulled down the open flap of his trews, revealing a shrunken cock so dark with bruising it was nearly black.
Sveyn screamed and clutched at it. “Oh gods! Oh gods!”
“Oh my dear girl, what have you done?” Annikke murmured.
“He was hurting me.”
“Yes, my dear. You had to protect yourself. But what did you
do
?”
“I stopped him.” Benoia’s voice was cold.
“You crippled me!”
Despite the tension and purpose in her posture, Benoia’s simple answers revealed how shaken she was. Annikke needed to get her foster-daughter away from here. She left Sveyn rocking back and forth in the leaf mold, and guided Benoia back through the forest to their home.
Annikke swept up and donned Benoia’s cloak as they passed the oak, then kept her arm around the girl all the way back to their two room cottage. The trees continued to lash their boughs overhead in the wind, their leaves complaining noisily. She wouldn’t be able to hear if someone pursued them, and a follower would be hard to spot among the shifting patterns of dark and darker.
The track was narrow, not really wide enough for two abreast. Low branches and bushes tried to clutch at their cloaks but Annikke invoked her Talent for influencing plants, waving them back until they passed. The single magical Talent that all developed in youth came as effortlessly as sight or hearing. Hers was best suited for making plants grow strong and healthy, but it could also discourage weeds from taking up residence in her garden. Pushing these bushes back didn’t harm them. They merely pulled back to give them room to go by. In fact, as she and Benoia progressed, the undergrowth began to anticipate them, withdrawing before Annikke needed them to, then relaxing after they’d gone by. Annikke noted the oddness, but gave it little thought. Her concern was all for getting Benoia home.
Benoia continued to shiver as she did when she’d used the healing magic, but whatever her foster-daughter had done, it wasn’t healing. Now was not the time to question her, however. Her pace slowed them, but at last they stepped onto their porch and into the cottage. Stillness fell around them like a warm blanket when Annikke shut the door behind them. She gently pushed her daughter into the rocking chair, and set about making tea. The routine of building up the fire and filling the kettle soothed her nerves. Gradually, the stark reality of what they must do asserted itself despite the calming routine of pouring steaming water over the herbs.
As soon as Benoia steadied, they had to leave. Given the way Sveyn had been moving, she thought his leg might be withered like his cock. That would slow his return home, but despite that, it wouldn’t be long before Lord Tholvar sent men for her and Benoia. He was the ultimate authority in this province. No one would intercede for them, and Lord Tholvar wouldn’t care that his son had been about to rape Benoia. If past history was any indication, he would think the girl ungrateful for the honor of his son’s interest.
The storm broke at last, drumming the roof with furious rain, echoing Annikke’s anger.
The healing skills she and Benoia had been given had gradually overcome most of the villagers’ fearfulness of her Fey-marking. The two of them had hidden the source of their skill, and the villagers hadn’t asked questions, not when their loved ones survived injuries and illnesses that would have felled them without Annikke and Benoia’s care.
Now that hard won acceptance had to be cast aside, thanks to that selfish, spoiled, lordling.
Benoia stilled her rocking when Annikke pressed a mug of honeyed tea into her hands. “Drink, my dear. You’ll feel better.”
Her foster-daughter sipped, then drank half the mug. Annikke sat at the table, sipping her own tea, watching the younger woman as color returned to her cheeks. Her shivering stopped, and eventually the girl raised her gaze to meet Annikke’s, but she quickly looked down again at the amber liquid in her cup.
“I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”
Annikke’s heart clenched, hearing the girl’s bleak tone. “No. It was Sveyn. The fault lies with
him
, and only him.”
“But I ... I
hurt
him.”
Annikke recalled the sight of Sveyn’s shriveled cock. “It was no more than he deserved,” She said fiercely.
“But if I hadn’t—”
“Look at me.” She waited until Benoia raised her gaze to meet hers. “Do not suggest that you should have let that—that Loki-spawn take you by force. Do not even think it.”
“But I used magic against him. I didn’t know I could do that! It just happened when he … when he tried to…”
Annikke hadn’t known that their magic could work in reverse, causing harm instead of healing, either. The Elves hadn’t told them. She and Benoia had used the gift intuitively, helping where they could. They’d explained away the effects of their magic as herbcraft for the last five years, and the villagers had accepted that because it had helped them and their loved ones. Now it would be seen otherwise. Even those they’d healed would fear them, assuming they lived long enough to be feared.
“We have to leave here,” Annikke said.
“But where will we go? Once Lord Tholvar names us Outcasts, every man’s hand will turn against us.”
Annikke remembered a debt still owed her. She hoped the young lord who’d made it would keep his word. “To Lord Fendrikanin, in Quartzholm.”