Rollback...

This story first appeared on Alternate Species in 2001 and was also published in the Alternate Species Print Magazine.

Hneftafl
by Dan Radlett

Part Two of Three

The warm water on her face was refreshing, but it failed to wash away her confusion as she'd hoped it would. She stood leaning over the hand basin, dripping water onto the light blue porcelain. The hot tap still ran with a gentle trickle. The striplight above the mirror hummed. She watched water swirl down into the plughole, into oblivion, then glanced into the mirror. Hers was a pretty face, or so her mother said. Colin hadn't, not out loud, not in words. She wasn't sure he'd said so at all, in any way. There was nothing she could see in her features that illustrated how she felt inside. She smiled, thinly. How did she feel inside? Ah, as the bard said, there's the rub.

She glanced down again at the stream from the tap, and then back into the mirror. I need to talk to you, my girl. Sort yourself out. What's going on, eh? Perhaps Colin was right. She wasn't used to being alone with a man, an eligible man, one she could not deny she found attractive. Perhaps she simply couldn't admit to what she wanted to happen now. A big step, and her first, one that she'd consigned so far to dreams, wishes, fantasies. That was in her grasp, the discovery at last of what all the fuss was about. It was safe, here. No one need ever know. The place was right, the time was suitable. Everything fitted. Or could do. She smiled broadly to herself, allowing that crude thought, and turned off the tap.

The other side of the coin. Everything fitted too well. It all seemed like less than chance. She felt she'd been trapped, by circumstance, by expectation. Laura had spoken of Colin in glowing terms, ever the matchmaker. Jenny had briefly met him, and welcomed the chance to get to know him better. But just to get to know him. If that had worked out, then maybe later they could have got together. This, here, now, felt as if they were the last two alive, and choice a low consideration. She didn't like the pressure. Pressure that she blamed on Colin, though to be fair it was hard to pinpoint just how he'd applied it. There was no crime in being open and amiable, in feeling that he could talk freely with someone who should be adult enough to listen without fear. 'You're a big girl now,' he'd said, and the words grated on her like a challenge, though he hadn't meant them so. She hoped.

She preferred the first analysis, that the problem was all hers. That she wanted to sleep with him, but wouldn't concede that even to herself, wouldn't allow herself desire. She searched desperately in the image in the glass for some sign of that admission, as it offered the easier solution. Just go out and do it, enjoy it. Didn't everyone, these days? For all her scrutiny, however, she found no trace of some hidden wish. Her lust wasn't focused on him particularly, she wouldn't toss and turn in bed for want of his touch. It wasn't her who demanded consummation, it was everything but. So she faced the real truth. She didn't have the strength to fight the cottage, the landscape, the snow, the isolation and Colin's presence. If she wasn't beaten now, then she would be soon. And if that was the case it was the hardest admission of all. She looked herself squarely in the eyes.

"If that's the case, I want it over and done with," she whispered. Then, at last, she briefly closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, before picking up the towel to dry her face and hands. Decision made, there could be a gentle tingle of excitement and anticipation as she left the bathroom and descended the stairs. A gentle creaking accompanied her steps. She smelt tobacco smoke in the air.

#

"Hello, I thought you'd died!" he joked as she entered the dining room. He was sitting back in the armchair, a makeshift ashtray on his knee. He glanced at the cigarette held between his fingers. "Hope you don't mind. It's been a long day."

Jenny shook her head, and went to sit at the table, turning her chair to face him. He stared at her, and she looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap, at her crossed legs, stretched out towards him. Where to start? She felt only foolish now. Looking back up at him, she brushed her hair back behind one ear.

"It's late," she said. "Were you thinking about turning in?"

"Did you have another idea?" He tapped some ash off his fag.

Jenny laughed a little, feeling herself blush, and self consciously unclasped her hands, and slid them into pockets. She shrugged, and sighed.

"I haven't got anything." Embarrassed, she avoided his eyes. "If we..."

"Fuck," he supplied, with tactless simplicity. It shook her from her coyness. She stared directly at him now.

"Yes."

She felt he was guarding a smile, and withheld any she might have been prepared to give. It made no other difference. He took another drag on his cigarette, and the ash at the tip glowed red for a second.

"With me." He exhaled smoke with the words.

"Who else?" she replied, lightly. That at least was true enough. He nodded, sagely, and she saw the flicker of a grin at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay." He stubbed the fag end out. "I've got something."

#

I watched them leave, in silence, her first and him following, subtly shepherding her. As he touched the wall, the torches ceased their burning instantly. The fire smouldered, forgotten, a hissing, glowing orange in the darkness. I heard their feet on the stairs. I didn't follow, not yet. She'd draw me soon enough: I had no wish to see it all.

I disrobed in front of Gathalwyn, stood naked, cold, before him. Wet turned soil and grass beneath my feet, between my toes. He studied me, my body. His gaze was like a touch, a cold, repulsive brush across my flesh. A pace between us. I kept my arms by my side and let him look, waited as he breathed deeply, and held me in his sight. When he had seen enough, he walked to the entrance to the tent, and pulled back the flap. I took the first steps to the outside, and to what awaited me.

"Will you give Gretnal shelter?" I said, pausing at the entrance, not wishing yet to see beyond. He sighed, and looked me in the eye.

"I will make no bargain," he reiterated. Did he see tears welling, held back by force of will alone? I clasped my hands together, and raised them in supplication to him.

"I ask it," I pleaded. "The night's cold. She's just a child. Have her witness if you will, but please..." I lowered my eyes. "Please let her have shelter. A tent."

My voice had dropped to a whisper: tightness in my throat not allowing me to speak louder. He said nothing. It was the most I could expect. My hands fell back to my sides. I felt his touch firm on my bare shoulder, and did not resist as he guided me outside.

I walked ahead of him, his prize, his trophy. I saw the Roman grooming his horse. Our eyes met, then he looked away. The others stopped and stared at me, as I walked slowly by them. My fists were clenched, my steps steady, and I held my head high. But if Gathalwyn had then put the blade into my hand, I do not know if love for my sister alone could have stayed me. I walked towards the fire and a horseshoe of men gathered around. They all looked at me, I felt their eyes on me as I approached. They ate, they drank, and watched me approach. The fire's flames leaped and cackled. Gathalwyn halted. I glanced back at him as I walked through his men, into the centre of the arena. Then I stood, facing them, the fire to my back. Hot or cold, I couldn't tell. It was as if I were dead already. Their faces, their looks, their lust became a blur. I held my breath and closed my eyes. Soon it wouldn't matter if I cried, indeed it would be expected.

The standing seemed an age, the years now passed are only half as long again. Then, at last, I felt their hands upon me, felt them pull or push or throw me to the ground. I held my tears even as they pinned me down.

I screamed.

#

Jenny held him tight and close, murmuring softly, wordlessly. Another's skin, against her own, his ribs seeming to move under her fingers. Together. One. The feeling quite unique. A poem for two people and a blanket. Moonlight through the window, her body in his touch.

'I never knew the pleasure of it,' a voice came in her head.

She smiled to herself, sighing with his heavy breaths. It's not so bad, she told herself.

'Mother said not to be afraid,' came the reply. 'She told me what to expect, that my wedding night should hold no fears. He was kind, and loved me, and I should not regret his bed.'

Mother! Jenny thought, stroking Colin's back. She almost laughed. Mother! All wedding bells, and church, and fantasies in white. That and be careful.

'Is this what you wanted?' the voice asked her, quietly, as if unwilling to offend.

Well, it's happening, she replied, kindly, arching her back under his weight as sensation surged through her. I don't mind. What more could I ask? She heard a soft laugh, perhaps her own.

For a moment there was nothing more, just him and her together in the bed. Then a soft breeze, not unwelcome, brushed across her forehead, played with her hair.

'I'm glad for you,' the voice said, and Jenny smiled at its return.

Tell me, she thought, clasping Colin tighter still. There was a noticeable pause. The air was still. But at last the voice continued.

'The eagles spared me some of it. Took me with them on their wings. Took me high, and showed me snow on the hillsides, deer feeding in the valleys, otters breaking ice on frozen streams. We flew above the clouds, and far away, far, far away, far...'

Sounds wonderful, Jenny agreed, although the voice was so quiet, as if of someone close to tears.

'My body screamed and took the pain,' it went on. 'My soul merely was spared, and given different memories. A kind of mercy, if you like.'

Don't, Jenny said. Feel it now. It's good, it's okay. It's more than okay. She kissed and tasted Colin's shoulder with her tongue, glad she'd made it happen for him.

'Your way is better,' the voice said. 'If it has to be.'

Nothing's perfect, Jenny thought, and that's good. They lay side by side. Anyway, that was all just me. Just because I was afraid. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, and kissed his cheek. Afraid! Stupid.

'I saw his hands,' the voice said. 'I saw his fingers clench, ready to grasp the victory he knew was near.'

When? Jenny demanded, even as she lay back on the pillow, in his arms, as she studied his silhouette against the faint glow of night.

'While you stood before the looking glass,' the voice said. 'Where the water flowed.'

"Bathroom?" Jenny muttered.

"What?" Colin said, wearily. She stroked his cheek, and quickly kissed his forehead, felt his fingers touch her breast. For a moment, she wanted to end the internal conversation, not liking the direction it was taking.

'I saw it,' the voice insisted, without reproach.

"Nothing," Jenny whispered, feeling his thumb on her.

'I saw it, knew it, for I'd seen before,' the voice continued. 'I tried to warn you. When you looked into the glass, one way or another you looked into my eyes.'

But you are me, Jenny protested.

'I hope not,' the voice said.

Jenny released a deep sigh, and let her hand rest on Colin's side. He lay still, was perhaps asleep, her flesh still held in his fingers. She felt herself frown, and buried her face in the pillow, not wanting him to know her sudden feelings. I don't want to know, she thought.

'And I understand,' the voice replied.

Jenny felt the flood of words held back by those few. Then she became aware that the voice had gone. She lay back, snuggling closer to Colin, and then glanced at the door, wondering if it was the source of the draught. And screamed.

"What!" Colin yelled, throwing off the blanket.

"Someone." She was sitting up, shaking. "Someone's there!"

Colin was out of bed in an instant, and across the room, at the door, before she knew it. Sudden light blinded her, and she blinked painfully. He was gone, and she alone, now on the edge of the bed. She waited, staring at the carpet, at her clothes lying where he had left them. She heard doors open, slam closed again, heard Colin's footsteps (please God just Colin's footsteps). Her heart was still pounding, and she closed her eyes, and fought for breath.

"No-one," Colin said, suddenly once more in the doorway. She looked at him, and smiled, weakly. Her gaze seemed inevitably drawn to his genitals, before she quickly glanced away, embarrassed.

"I saw " she began, in a voice as weak as her smile. Her gaze fixed on her knickers, lying across her jeans. She wanted to explain, but no words came out, and she ended up just shaking her head. The bed jerked and creaked as he sat beside her, and she felt his arm round her shoulder.

"What did you see?"

There was an attempt at kindness in his tone, not an entirely successful one.

"Someone." She spoke softly to her clothes. "A girl, I think. Long hair. Dirty blonde. An odd, long grey dress, with a large black belt."

"There's no one in the house."

"Sandals," Jenny continued, frowning. "Thong sandals?"

He squeezed her.

"No one," he repeated. "I've looked everywhere. I even had a peek outside."

"But she wasn't real. Wasn't there."

Colin sighed.

"I know she wasn't there." He tickled the back of her neck with his knuckles. "As I said, I even checked outside. Front and back. Unless your girl's an Olympic runner, well..." He sighed again, and began stroking her shoulder. "I'm lucky my balls didn't drop off." Jenny laughed, and looked at him, her blue eyes still wary under her dark fringe.

"I did see something," she said, as firmly as she could. But she held her peace about what she also thought was true, that the figure was that of the person who had been talking to her. Colin doubtless thought her crazy enough already. She looked down from his gaze, back to the carpet. After all, he might ask what the girl had said.

"So we've got a ghost." He spoke carelessly. He sat closer to her, and she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was aroused. She turned her head enough to move his erection out of her view, and felt his other hand run lightly over her. "Let's give it something worth looking at."

He kissed her shoulder. Jenny felt her body tighten, but she didn't try to stop him.

#

I awoke to find my head cradled in Gretnal's arms.

"It seems so dark," I murmured. "Is it night?"

"No," she said, softly.

I closed my eyes again. Wind howled in my ears, and I felt snow on my cheeks. Then I slipped into unconsciousness once more, and received another mercy: I did not dream.

"Is she awake?"

I heard the voice, and opened my eyes. Gretnal's face still looked down at me, half in shadow, half in flickering firelight. Another pair of hands put a vessel to my lips. The taste was bitter, and at first I spat it out.

"Mead," the man said.

I saw only his large hands, holding the skin bottle to my mouth once more. I drank, enough to kill the thirst, the dryness of my throat. I saw stars in the sky above. So it was night. The fire still cackled, and a wind still howled around us. Gretnal pulled the blanket more closely around me.

"Would he not give you shelter?" I asked her, quietly.

I thought I saw a smile, I know I felt her warmth.

"I wanted to stay with you," she said.

I reached up, and touched her face. Her skin was damp, and not just from the light snow. She was crying, as softly as she could. I stroked her, felt her smooth beneath my fingertips.

Then I looked at the man's face. His features too flickered in the firelight. His hair was red, the more so for the flames' illumination. A heavy fur was around his shoulders, and there were tiny droplets in his beard, sparkling. He was a large man, and his breath condensed like steam blowing from his nostrils. He offered me the bottle once more. I shook my head.

"Were you one of them?"

I could not make out his face enough to find an answer. His silence told me more. I looked away from him, and moved to sit up, slowly. My body ached. I could not help a grimace, but I did not flinch. They'd have no more from me than I could help. I knelt close to Gretnal, my knees feeling the damp earth, and pulled the blanket more tightly around me.

"I had children," the man said, then hesitated, his breath dissipating with the wind. "Gathalwyn avenged me."

Perhaps it was an attempt at a declaration. I regarded him severely.

"Did I kill them?" I asked him, bitterly.

He looked away, and then staggered to his full height. I stood too, with grace as I'd been taught, burying the stabs of pain. He took a step or two away from us, great lumbering steps. I saw other fires in the camp, Gathalwyn's men huddled around their warmth. I took further survey, and saw lights on the hillside, where he'd placed his guards.

"I bring a message," the man told me, loudly, over his shoulder. Then he turned to face us once again, his boots squelching on the muddy ground. "I bring two messages." His voice was lower, gruffer.

I continued staring at him. He fidgeted, unable to hold my gaze, and started playing with the belt around his ample waist.

"Gathalwyn sends me." He raised his chin and, finally, looked down at me, using his errand to protect him from my eyes. "He says that he will come soon. For you or the other, he doesn't care." Each sentence was a declaration. The words came loudly, but uncomfortably, from his throat. I did not move, nor let my face towards him change. "Gathalwyn says." The repetition of the name gave him the power to continue. I saw his large hands clenching into powerful fists. "Gathalwyn says he hopes you will not make him choose." I watched him. He fidgeted some more. I let my fingers clutch the blanket to me, but made no other response.

"That is what Gathalwyn says."

I said nothing. Let that be my reply. She says nothing, sir, nor flinched an inch, nor made a noise. My silence broke him once again. He looked down at his feet, shuffling them while the cold wind blew.

"I bring a message from the Roman." He was speaking to the ground. Reaching under his fur, he drew out a woven blanket, folded over itself into a roll. "He sends you this."

He threw it, tossing it forward. It landed before me with a thud that told its true weight. I glanced at it, then back at him. He wiped his nose and coughed into his hand.

"He says with stealth you may escape. He says the north may be a way. He says he can do no more than he has done."

There was a pause. I could guess what the roll contained. I could feel Gretnal's hands itching, but we kept our place, and held our peace.

"That is what the Roman says."

"Thank. Him," I said, each word carefully enunciated. He nodded.

"I wish you well," he concluded, and made to leave us.

"Wait!" I praised the spirit guiding me, for with that one word I made him stop, and turn back. "When the chase is on, and if your hand falls upon this child's shoulder." I saw him glance at Gretnal, her face one that melted lords, softened our father even in the worst of rages. "How tightly will you hold?"

He stood, as I watched him, unable, until I released him, to move. I looked for his reply. He had not the courage to put it into words. I turned my back on him.

"Go." My voice almost broke, but my contempt was certain.

"You have a chance," he hissed.

"Go!"

I felt him leave us. Throwing back my head, I faced the wind, stared at the stars, fought the urge to scream. I sucked freezing air between my grinding teeth, deep down into my lungs. My fingers clutched the rough blanket material about me. The feeling passed. I had back my reins. I turned to look down at Gretnal, then knelt beside her once again. I pulled her close, or she pulled me, it hardly matters. We huddled together, and I held her head against my chest and rocked her. Rocked myself. I hoped she wouldn't feel the tear coursing down my cheek. Or the next one. Or the next. I kissed her hair, and held her closer still.

"Where is Gathalwyn?" I asked her. "Did he leave camp?"

"No." She kept her voice low. "I saw them take him to his tent. He was holding his head, while they...while..."

"I know." I soothed her, then sniffed and wiped away my tears, and swallowed. I pulled the blanket roll closer. It was a fine blanket, not made in these lands. Perhaps from Rome itself, or further even than that. "He's well enough to boast, anyhow." I was whispering, not wanting to hear my own words. "We've not much time."

"What's there?" she asked, as we looked together at the package.

"A sword. A dagger. Maybe two." I held her tighter still, smelt her hair, closed my eyes. Tears welled, escaped, and ran once more. She rubbed her face, and clung to me, her hands slipped under the blanket to encircle my waist. I touched her cheek, and, as I had guessed, found she was weeping too. I wrapped my blanket around her, pressing her head down between my breasts, feeling her hair against my chin. "I can't run." I kissed her, stroked her. "They'd hunt you down bring you back."

I tried not to sob, inhaling sharply, my eyes screwed tight shut. Alive, I thought, they'd drag her back alive. My sister clutched at me, and my skin was dampened by her tears.

"I see it clearly," she said, so softly I could barely hear.

The wind seemed to blow harder, the fire cracked more loudly. We clung to each other for a short while more. Then, when I could hold back my tears once again, I reached out, and felt for the bundle.

"Come," I said, sniffing, tugging at a corner of the roll. "We need all the warmth we can get. Let's have this thing around us, at the least."

#

Jenny found him, eventually, outside, under the car. All she could see were his legs, one bent, one straight, and she heard the sound of tapping. She squatted down, and peered beneath the vehicle.

"Is it the gearbox, then?" she asked, keeping her tone light, brushing her hair back behind one ear. Her other hand pulled her anorak more tightly around her. The tapping stopped, and Colin scrabbled out into the open.

"You're awake, then?"

His hands were black and grimy, and he wiped them quickly on his jeans. Jenny smiled.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." Her tone now held mild reproach. She nodded towards the car. "What's wrong with it?"

Obviously irritated, Colin sucked his teeth.

"Nothing, yet. I think the clutch is about to go, though."

"Can't we get the AA?"

"How?" Colin said, just as she remembered how totally isolated they were. He banged lightly on the nearest wheel with his clenched fist. "Phone and garage are in the village. I'm not sure she'll even make it down the hill. I certainly don't fancy getting caught halfway, not in this snow."

Jenny looked around at the thin sprinkling of snow on the ground.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Look east. Those are snow clouds." He smiled, and then put on a yokel accent. "Trust a country boy." His expression turned more serious. " Forty minutes, and we won't see past our noses." He shrugged, then. "I'll put it up on the jack. If I can do a patch job, we can race the weather to the village. Otherwise it's sit it out and hope Mark brings a tow rope." He hesitated, and reached under the car to flick off the torch he'd been using. "That's if he bothers to come."

As she knew nothing about cars, Jenny felt she had to trust his assessment.

"Don't you need something to lie on?" she said. "A blanket?"

Colin laughed, just for a moment.

"Could do with a coffee."

"How long have you been up?" She returned his smile.

"Fair time." He wiped his hands again. "Before the sun, anyway. Not that that's difficult, this time of year."

"You should have woken me."

"What for?" he said. "You need your rest."

Jenny shrugged. She hadn't liked finding herself alone, calling for him, getting no reply. She'd had such a strange dream, too, an episode from long ago. Fortunately, it had mostly dissolved on her return to consciousness, and left her only somewhat disturbed. She became aware that Colin had spoken.

"See any more ghosts?" he'd said, teasing her. She frowned as if in pain.

"Don't." She rose to her feet. "I'll make coffee."

She started walking back to the cottage, her hands in her jacket pockets .

"As it comes," he called after her.

She glanced back, in time to see him sliding under the car. Beyond him were the hills, and there to the east the bank of dark clouds he'd mentioned. They didn't look threatening, but how to know until they were upon you? She went through into the kitchen, and quickly rinsed the mugs they'd used the previous night. Having set the kettle on the stove, she went to look out of the window. Everything seemed sprinkled with that thin covering of snow, save the odd patch of green or grey swept clear by the wind.

Laura would be a help, if she ever arrived, but even if she didn't then things wouldn't be so bad. Jenny smiled to herself. She had quite enjoyed it, after all. Maybe now there was something she could see in the thin, translucent reflection in the glass, something that said she hoped Mark and Laura wouldn't come. As long as there were no more apparitions, no more fear. And maybe next time Colin would talk to her, not leave her alone with the voices in her head.

"Are you there?" she softly asked the silence.

No reply. She felt suddenly very foolish. Of course no one was there. Her mind seemed to stop at nothing to prevent her admitting that she'd liked it. Even to the point of special effects and lifted TV shows, or whatever it was she'd dreamt of. She turned away from the window, and ran her hand over her hair. She'd better put some coffee in the mugs. The kettle would be boiling soon. Perhaps she'd try it black, this time. Or at least with no sugar.

Colin was obviously expecting Mark and Laura soon. He'd written out cards, and left them, in their envelopes, lying on the table, next to their nearly full box. She grinned: a hundred cards for £1.99. Romance obviously wasn't his strong point. She flicked through the small pile and checked that one was for her. There were two envelopes fully addressed and needing only stamps, and, yes, one with just her first name. And one each for Mark and Laura. She turned her envelope over. Was it sealed? No. Good. A little vice she couldn't resist.

Mistletoe and Robin Redbreast. To Jenny. Seasons Greetings and a Prosperous New Year. Colin. The message was printed, of course, so what it amounted to was: To Jenny. Colin.

She suppressed a twinge of disappointment. The fact that their relationship seemed doomed to failure didn't worry her unduly. She couldn't see that hurting her, and there were plenty more fish in the sea. Perhaps it wouldn't even last longer than this holiday. But he could have written 'Love, Colin', or 'Best Wishes, Colin', or even 'Thanks, Colin.' Or at any rate, simply something more than just his name.

The kettle whistled. Jenny slipped her card back into its envelope, turned off the gas, quickly spooned coffee into the mugs, and went back armed with an oven glove to get the kettle. Returning, she paused by the table. If he'd written something more to Laura, she'd be really angry. Well, that was her excuse. She set the kettle down beside the mugs, and picked up Laura's envelope. Deer beneath pine tree. And no, he hadn't. To Laura. Colin. She replaced the card, and picked up Mark's, thinking 'what the hell'. Victorian drinking scene. She opened it.

She read the message, then sat down to read it once again. On one side, printed, Have a Very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year. There, he'd signed it. On the other side... She read it yet again, then set the card open on the table, and stared at it. 'Vidi Vici Veni. Here on time. In on time. £10.'

#

When it was over, when I knew that it was over, and there could be no doubt, I wrapped the Roman's blanket around her, and stood. I cradled her, carried her in my arms, resting my cheek against her hair. They would have no part of her, I'd promised that. As close to what she was entitled to, she would receive. I walked, holding back my grief as best I could, but some tears flowed down my cheek, onto her face, onto her closed eyelids.

"Hold!" came a cry behind me.

I turned slowly, fingering the handle of the blade concealed beneath her blanket. A largish man stood, perhaps a yard away, his hand on his sword. He looked at me, and at my sister in my arms, but came no nearer.

"Is she sick?"

"Yes," I replied, softly. Then, more loudly. "She's ill with the cold." The guard stepped towards me. "A fever." I pulled the blanket around Gretnal's face. "A number of our people had it, before we left." He halted. I hoped he could not see my tears.

"Should you not bide where you are?" His accent was thick, but his voice uncertain. To keep me, he'd have to come closer.

"Our fire is no use," I said. "The wind kills all the heat of it. Outside Gathalwyn's tent, the fire burns high." I looked down at my sister's pale face, tucked between folds of red and gold. "And there he'll find me, easily enough." I looked back at the guard. He hesitated, but then nodded.

"Go your way," he said.

I nodded with gratitude he couldn't understand, not yet, and turned to continue walking. Each step pained me, but I kept my gaze fixed on the fire ahead. It was the largest of them all, at the place where I'd suffered. Gathalwyn's tent was pitched enough away to keep it safe from sparks. I saw his servants huddling at his door. By the fire sat some more of his men, furs pulled around them. They looked at me, but were too cold to bother with me, content to sit and share a skin of mead. My hand was wet with Gretnal's blood as it seeped through her coverings. I stood for a while and watched the flames leaping high, felt the heat warm my face and fingers. I needed its strength. I saw the bundles laid at the fire's base, torches ready should the alarm be called. Well enough, I thought, scheming.

I pulled the blanket back, slightly, and gazed one last time at my sister's face, my sister who'd held me tight and stayed silent as I thrust the dagger into her. Now, I recited, the flames will bear you to the gods. I kissed her forehead, closed my eyes, and summoned all my power to thrust her body high and forward into the fire.

There was a scream I realised was my own. My eyes open, I saw Gretnal's body askew, her wrappings already smouldering. Then I saw the men rising, their mouths agape, the skin bottle dropped. I snatched up a torch and lit it before they could get to me.

"Stay back!" I cried, waving it at them, sparks flying fast in the wind. I whirled around and halted others in their approach. It was a good defensive position, my back to the fire. They could only come at me from the front or side. Soon I was surrounded, though not one of them came closer than beyond my reach, and more. I laughed. "Stay back!" I snarled, feeling satisfaction in their fear.

Glancing behind me, I saw the blankets catch. I just needed a little more time. I thrust the torch at the two or three who'd edged forward, seeing a chance. They retreated quickly, scared. The beauty of it. Scared.

"And what is this?" Gathalwyn stormed, his men parting to let him through.

"Come close, Gathalwyn! Give me a chance at you!"

He halted. I saw the fire's reflection burning in his eyes. To his side quickly came the Roman. He looked at me, and then past me, at the flames. Closing his eyes, he muttered something.

"I can wait," Gathalwyn said, calmly. He turned to his men. "See what they do, these beasts! Slaughtering their own! A child!"

"I saved her from you!" I screamed, furiously. I smelt the smoke of burning flesh, and felt both joy and sorrow. "Is this what you want?" I taunted him, dropping the blanket from one shoulder, baring half my body to him. "Come closer!" I thrust the torch at him, and saw him back away. I waved it at all who were near. "Not one of you?" I let the blanket fall to my feet. "Come on, I'm as I was! Open! Available!" I stood straight, but ready. "Is it just that I have this?" I waved the torch, the fire in my hands. "Who had the longer straw, before? Will he be first now?"

I turned back to Gathalwyn.

"You've no hold on me," I sneered. "Your hold burns, and brave she was, too. Come, now is the time for honesty. Tell me she'd have walked!"

"She'd have walked," he said. Then I saw his face soften, perhaps with admiration. "Like you. Though my words were true. The chance was there, but infinitely small." He drew closer, just enough to separate from the rest, while keeping out of reach of my burning torch. "But you knew that." The realisation seemed to come suddenly to him. I felt satisfaction in his surprise, however tempered.

"I needed just a little space to snatch her clear."

"A trade after all." He smiled. He'd gained composure, and stood straighter. "I'll offer another. Put down that torch, and you'll be dead by dawn."

I grinned back at him.

"I will be dead by dawn."

"How?" He spoke simply. "I can wait, as I have said. You've no means of quick despatch. And quick you'd need to be." Reaching into his belt, he drew his sword. He held it before him, in both hands, then threw it at my feet. I felt a fool for letting the dagger burn with Gretnal. "Of course, you'll have to kneel, to pick it up. Then we'll have you. Or the torch will burn down, eventually, and die. And that way, again, we'll have you. Helspath, you have not escaped. Whether you will or no, you'll be once more under my hands. And any others here that wish it." He sighed, heavily, and then shrugged, as if in sympathy. "You hope for death. I promise it, but at a certain time. I am bonded by my word before my men."

He stared coldly at me. I raised the torch, a little, glancing left and right. No one else moved.

"Choose to stand and wait, and fall into our hands once more, I'll make you an equal promise. Not only till the sun rises. And then not quick. You'll beg and plead each day until I tire of you. That alone will stay your death." He turned to his men. "Guard her, don't let her leave." Then, he turned back to me. "Be glad if my offer is still open, when you decide."

I smiled broadly at him. Did he think I'd bared myself simply for his excitement? I'd planned to die, for sure, and this variation on my scheme was only minor. Gathalwyn made to leave. I called his name. He turned once more, and I saw in his eyes and smile his sense of victory. I stood straighter, and more proud, and let him view the flesh he thought he'd touch, the form that so enthralled him.

"You are right," I said. "I'll let you take my body. See what you can do with it."

As the torch flew at him, they all jumped back, and I leapt away myself, into a sanctuary of flame.

Copyright 2001 Dan Radlett