That cold night had taken its' toll not only on Najla, but also on Ketill. He laid there, huddled under a set of furs, his eyes closed but his mind working at full power. For hours on end now he had felt uneasy - an uncomfortable feeling, something similar to what he'd felt before during visions but this time, much darker, more brooding. Were the forces of Hél arriving to unleash the Worlds End? The sound of metal scraping against the floor could be heard, though neither Najla nor Basim was awake at that time to hear it. Someone else, however, was. When the feeling became too much, Ketill would slowly open his eyes, looking in the direction of Basim. Where any man would have been startled, and screamed, Ketill kept his peace, even when he stared directly in this monsters' eyes. What it was he could not tell - it resembled nothing like any of the creatures from Audrun's sagas. It was tall, hunched and it seemed clad in shadow. It almost seemed like it wore the shadow or darkness as a cloak, manipulating it to hide itself from all but the most discerning eye. And now, it was hunched over Basim.
Ketill's grip on the axe tightened, though he had no intent to get up and fight this beast. Bear or not, he was no match for the supernatural. But close his eyes and go back to sleep? That was something he could not do either. Slowly his breaths slowed down, either from paralysis or fear. But then Najla got up, and in that brief moment where Ketill's eyes moved to see Najla, the figure disappeared. Najla moved to the door, and Ketill's eyes remained locked onto her, unable to move, the axe still close to his body. She felt it too? After a brief moment, where Najla opened the door, spoke some words, and then closed the door.
When Najla turned to the point where she could see Ketill, he closed his eyes quickly. There was no reason for her to know what he'd seen or that he was awake - rather, she focused her attention on Basim, who seemed to have awoken when Najla moved around. Though the creature was gone now, Ketill would not find sleep nor rest that night.
Ketill held up a dried root to his mouth while he listened to Najla and Basim go back and forth. He pushed it into his mouth and chewed on it, slowly, while Najla voiced her concerns. Typically he'd have told her to keep it to herself, but he could no longer command her in that way, and since she was living there now, it'd feel dishonest to ignore her feelings - trivial as they may have seemed to him. She did not think he was a fool - that much was certain - so she was only stating her feelings to make them clear, not to give him advice. She spoke of trust and Ketill did not react, though he disagreed with her. He did not trust them, but he needed them. They were manpower that they did not have before. While these men hunted or farmed, he could tend to other things. It was that simple in essence - but would it work out that way, that was the question. Ketill had been gone for so long in these regions that he could scarcely remember how to ensure loyalty from these men. But that did not mean he did not have an idea.
“You should know before anyone else, Najla,” he responded to her notion that it was not the strength of his decisions that would determine the outcome in this situation, continuing swiftly as he removed the root from his mouth, “Djinn's do not sleep. If you are afraid of a dagger across your throat in the middle of the night, rest easy.” His mouth curled into a grin - not the humorous kind, but the kind that was intended to mock or show off some personal enjoyment out of what was said. “I'd rather die to a sword or knife - fast and with honor - than starving to death in the winter because our farmland did not have enough hands to produce enough food. I do not expect a sultana like yourself to know, but starving is very... very slow. And painful.” He extended his hand and made a claw-like gesture, gripping the air and slowly pulling it out towards him. He was mimicking something, clearly. “Like a bear pulling out your innards one inch a day.”
The entire situation was a simple equation, one that both Najla and Basim could understand - especially because someone simple like Ketill understood it. Whether they took these people in or not, sooner or later they'd have to gather more people. Either that or.. start a family. With that thought Ketill glanced at Najla, but pushed that thought away quickly. No, taking people in would be easier. Besides, it wasn't like these people were going to live on his lands for free. That much was understood, whether it was said or not. But that raised a whole other set of problems.
When the men returned they did so with a bountiful amount of meat. At the very least they could be sure that they weren't freeloaders or amateurs. These men had survived the winters so far, perhaps by going to Broacien, but they had also picked up the northern skills. A valuable asset, especially in the time period to come. They also brought with them the partial solution to the new 'problem' Ketill had found. Farming in the heath would be time consuming, as they'd have to clear the heath and with the ground still hard, that would prove to be a problem. Furthermore, the lack of water would also prove to be problematic - although not a farmer, Ketill had been in Broacien for most of his life, and any Broacienien can tell you exactly what you need to farm. It was their lifeline, after all.
“We found a suitable place to live,” Grettir, the leader, told him. “Not too far away - with a river, and also plenty of forest to cut down for the houses.”
Ketill had originally intended to just build a new house next to the old one, and use that new house himself alongside Basim and Najla, but the thought of such a location was a bit too enticing to pass up on without investigation. He nodded at Grettir, and gestured to Basim and Najla. “Your brother and friend can stay with them for now, you and me will go see this location.”
Grettir nodded at this and gestured to his own companions while Ketill went to get his bearcloak. Although he was far from it, in his mind he had already established himself as the leader of these regions - not that there were any peasants to defer to him as such. One could call Ketill many things, but for once he had a long term plan in his head now. And that plan included gathering land, men, boats and weaponry.
As he gathered his items, he briefly went by the stash the three men had brought along from Broacien. Without glancing back, and with no second thoughts, he pulled an item from the stash, before walking along to Najla and Basim.
While he gathered his items, he also kneeled close to Najla and Basim. Without saying anything he clandestinely passed along his seax to Najla. He was sure there were some questions as to how he obtained it, but those would have to wait. These knives were a staple tool in Broacien, but a valuable commodity in the North, where iron and steel tools were rare. Whether Najla or Basim had seen him take it, he didn't know, but he simply raised his finger to his mouth to shush them. “Hide it,” he urged her, though he also knew she didn't need to be told twice. After that, he rose to his feet and looked over at Grettir. “Ready.”
The two of them moved out and made their way to this location, which would be a long walk away. An hour was relatively 'short' for the north, however, so Ketill knew not to complain. During the trip, the two conversed idly to keep themselves occupied, stopping briefly to look at some tracks, before continuing on their way.
“What are your plans?” Grettir asked, causing Ketill to pause a moment as he glanced to the right, away from Grettir. Ketill wasn't sure about the man yet, and he knew better than to give away the details of his plans to everyone. However, it would also set bad blood by keeping the men in the dark, especially the leader of this 'pack.'
“For now I wish to build a home. Some place that isn't just a house, but is mine. Stake a claim, that sort of thing.”
Grettir nodded at this, prodding at the snow underneath his feet with a stick he found on the way. “When we met, you said you fought for this land. I won't stake a claim here out of respect for your battle - and also, because I know I can't fight you.”
“Much appreciated,” was the only reply Ketill could come up with then. He wasn't sure what the man was going for or trying to say. A brief pause followed, until the man continued.
“As we live on your land, I suppose that makes you our 'chief.' I don't know about the others, but I've never lived under a chief before. Always been a free man, myself.” Grettir paused briefly, a mist coming from his nose as he breathed out. “I suppose that also means that you will give us orders now. I have nothing against that. As long as you are fair.”
Ketill's face remained stoic, as if he'd already seen this coming, or already knew the answers. “That is for Audrun to decide,” he began. He was clearly a very loyal man, first to the Monarch, and now to the Old Gods. Maybe the same could be said for his companions and followers - maybe. “I am not one to take away your freedom. If you decide tomorrow that you will leave, I won't stop you. And if I need your council I will seek it.”
“Very well, chief,” Grettir answered, face still as solemn as when he started the conversation. “We're here.”
Not a word had been lied about the area - it was suitable as could be. Ketill had to look around briefly, checking the soil mostly, and noted that it was fertile and easy to work with. However, it wasn't exactly Broacienien soil - plentiful, that is. It came in small patches, the rest of the soil was average at best. However, there was ample clay near the river, which was always useful. The location was kind of impressive, really. Much better than their current location, and if Ketill managed to get a powerbase, there was lots of space for expansion.
Upon the low hill in front of him, that's where he'd build his house. So, then it was decided - they would go here together to build the new house. And then they'd build the house for the others.
The journey back to the homestead was much more lively, as Grettir felt more inclined to converse with Ketill about the future mostly, and Ketill was more willing to indulge him, if only to keep him content.
During the time Ketill and Grettir spent away from the homestead, one of the two men that stayed behind had taken to preparing food. For once it seemed neither Najla nor Basim would be forced to do it - either a good or bad thing, depending on your view on the matter. It left them with free time to do something, but the truth was becoming more and more plainly visible - there was not much to do. Unlike the sultanate, it wasn't possible to indulge in the usage of mind altering herbs, or drinking alcohol. Ultimately the boredom proved to be too much for Basim, as he got up and went to help the man with the cooking.
Although interactions were minimal, they were friendly enough. The man mostly asked questions about the sultanate, although it seemed more like he thought Basim was lying, and that he was simply indulging into Basim's made up fantasy story. It made sense, though. For many northerners, even the existence of Broacien was a half-myth. The fact that there was a land with no water and only sand was hard to believe, let alone that people lived there. “And these horses with two bumps on their back, you ride them into battle?”
“Sometimes. Mostly they are for the caravanserai.”
“The ca-ra-van-serai..?”
“It's like a marketplace, but bigger, and its' used to trade with other cities, not just your own city.”
“Right, right. You expect me to believe that there are places where everyone lives together, in a small area, and the owner of that land is okay with that?”
“Well, he is okay with that because he levies a tax. And they are his citizens, and he is their ruler.”
“.. taxes?”
“They... pay him money, or other goods. Some families give him a sheep, or a horse, or multiple.”
“Ah! So like a tribute!”
“I suppose you could say that - though, its' more the tribes that pay a tribute.”
“There are sand-tribes?”
“Quite a few. Ketill himself has seen them, and fought against them. You can ask him.”
Grettirs' brother Arngeir had been the one conversing with Basim, but at the mention of Ketill, it was not Arngeir, but Hádski who piped up and replied. The man had been busy carving out a long stick into a sharpened stake - for a pitfall trap, but neither Basim nor Najla would be expected to know that - and with a firm and strong pull he carved out a long piece of wood from the end. It seemed the mere mention of Ketill bothered him. “Oh, he did, did he?”
Arngeir glanced at the man, before looking back at Basim. “Just ignore him,” he remarked, passing some of the meat to the boy. “He's got a temper. He's got something against those from Broacien. Thinks Ketill is more Broacienien than Northern. As far as I'm concerned, it's your blood that determines where you are from, not where you live.”
“I see,” Basim replied, carefully glancing at Hádski before looking back to his cooking. “Well, anyway, yes, he did fight them. Once while I was there, and I suppose before that as well.”
As if on cue, the conversation was cut short when Ketill and Grettir entered the home again. They'd been gone for a while, and it seemed they had taken their time too. Supposedly that was part of the Northern life as well, since everything happened slowly and deliberately.
That same night, when gathered around the fire to eat, they would discuss the future plans. Ketill took the forefront, laying out his plans so that everyone knew what to do. As the 'chief' it was sort of expected of him, although Najla and Basim would surely not see him as a chief - at least, he thought so.
“There's a hill there, which I want to use for my house. The location is suitable enough, and the raised nature of the hill gives it a good defensible position. But besides that, the land behind it is fertile.”
“Defensible..? Against what?” Arngeir asked, raising a root to his mouth immediately after to chew on it while listening to the explanation.
“Right, you've been to Broacien, so you have seen at the very least the large stone castle. I want something like that - it'll be impossible to have a stone castle, obviously, but one of wood should be doable. Not quite as large. Just a fortified longhouse. The hill would make it harder to climb up, and it will allow us to shoot down with bows and to throw stones and javelins if we need to.”
“Right, but who in this area would even be bothered? Nobody lives here for hours on end,” the man continued. His logic was sort of sound, but Ketill knew from his own experience that 'new' power in a region typically attracted more than a bit of unwanted attention.
“Raiders, chiefs, anyone. More people live here than you'd think - remember that the man who lived here originally managed to get friends together within a day or so, so clearly there are more people around here. It might seem long on foot, but with a horse, who knows?”
Arngeir nodded at this, and Grettir seemed satisfied too. But Hádski seemed bothered at it all. “Right, so you get your new house, what about us?”
“What do you mean 'us?'” Grettir interrupted, his eyes fiercely on Hádski. Ketill knew better than to stop them now. He'd sensed some hostility from Hádski before, but hadn't said anything about it - neither had Grettir or Arngeir, possibly hoping that Hádski would settle down. But it seemed that Hádski had more than a few grievances. “You can have your own house - me and Arngeir will live together, and you can live on your own. Isn't that what you wanted? A place for yourself?”
“And who are you to decide? Weren't you, Arngeir, the one who said we'd defer to Ketill? I thought you'd given up your leadership, but here we are, listening to some Broacienien swi-”
“Hold your tongue, Hádski. That's no way to speak about our chief. Continue and I'll be forced to invoke holmgang..” Grettir seemed certain of his choice, and the threat of holmgang seemed enough to stave off Hádski's insults, but not his critique.
“Fine, I'll live on my own. But I never swore an oath to this.. Ketill. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a karl, a free man. I'll do as I please.”
Now it was time for Ketill to finally speak up, his voice strong as ever. Unsurprising to Najla and Basim perhaps, he spoke in that fashion which he had used against them before - full of conviction, with something that said it was either his way or no way at all. “I never said you weren't free. I told Grettir the same - if you decide to leave tomorrow I will not stop you. If you stay, I expect you to pull your weight. Nothing more and nothing less. Whether you live with Grettir and Arngeir or alone is up to you, but for the sake of efficiency, we will still end up sharing a house for a while.”
“Right,” Hádski begrudgingly answered, seemingly having given up his chase of confrontation and being content with what little he had achieved here. At the very least he'd made it clear where he stood specifically. And so had Grettir. Arngeir seemed caught in the middle - he resembled Basim in that same way, not being able to pick a side, though ultimately it was only natural that Arngeir would side with his brother. Anything other than that would be like betraying your own blood.
“And, what about our roles?” Grettir asked, poking the fire with a half burnt stick.
“We just do what it takes. First, we should get a house up. After that, I suppose I'll work on the farm - I've spent enough time in Broacien to know how it works, give or take.” Ketill's eyes glanced over Hádski momentarily, wondering whether he should ask him to teach Basim to hunt, but that seemed like a bad idea. It was an accident waiting to happen, so he turned to Arngeir instead. “If you have time, please take Basim hunting. I taught him the basics of how to track animals, but he needs to learn how to shoot a bow too.”
Arngeir nodded at this. He was a capable hunter, perhaps not as good as Hádski, but more than good enough to help Basim on his way. Hunting with a bow was either something you could, or couldn't do. It was now time to see if Basim was capable beyond the basics.
“Then it's settled,” was all Ketill had to say in conclusion.
It took them a week to fell the trees they needed to clear the area, an additional week to gather more logs, and then two weeks of labor to put it all together. In the end, the house was ready - it was similar in style to the former home - but larger and with separated rooms. The woodwork was simple for now, but they could easily improve it later, when they found a craftsman. After all, neither Ketill, nor Grettir, nor Arngeir was a skilled woodcarver, and even if Hádski had been, there was no way he would've helped them. The house was carefully built up from a set of wooden pillars they'd driven into the ground - this was the most backbreaking and intensive work, because the poles had to be set into the ground to provide any sort of strength to the longhall. The one thing that set it apart from the old house was that they gave the building a wooden floor - if not for comfort then for the sake of preserving the warmth of the fire.
The house consisted of a large entry hall, with a stone firepit in the center. Ketill was rather proud of it, for he had meticulously measured it out three to four times before digging the first moat that would later become the pit. It was about five meters long and exactly one meter wide. However, it wasn't meant for cooking - more so illumination and comfort in the winter and during feasts. The wooden flooring merged almost seamlessly with the stone pit precisely because he had measured it out so carefully. Even if he wasn't a craftsman or a builder, it could not be said that he was an expert amateur. From the pit there would be about three meters to the wall, giving ample space to put benches and tables later. For now, it was empty space, as they'd had no time to build furniture yet.
On the far side of the hall was a small alcove, with empty space. The space was about a meter deep and four meters wide, though there were two pillars constructed there to hold up the roof. In the alcove Ketill intended to build a raised platform for his throne, and a potential other throne. However, for now the space remained empty.
To the left of the hall would be a door leading to a five by three room - later, the guest room would be constructed here. For now, it was used as a temporary storage for any items they had brought over from the old homestead. Further down the hall, a second door led to the makeshift kitchen, which had a pantry attached to it for convenience. Although it remained empty for now, it was clear that the rooms had been carefully planned.
On the right side would be a door in the middle of the wall, which led to a hallway that was host to the various rooms that were needed. Najla and Basim each had received a private bedroom, which was a definitive step up from the communal 'rooms' they had before, which were barely rooms at all. The wicker woven walls had been exchanged for real, hard wood walls.
The outcropping that was the hallway also led to a rather natural location for a farm. In the corner outside between the hallway and the main hall, Ketill had begun a farm plot that he deemed large enough for those living with him, and then some. Although it wasn't for a lack of space that he couldn't do anything with it yet - more so, a lack of seeds. The limited amount of foods the three men had brought down from Broacien with them offered enough to build a meagre farm with for now, using leftover rye, oats, some cabbage and even leeks and turnips. And although it was neither the luxurious foods from the Sultanate nor the large amounts from Broacien, it would do its' job of getting them through the winter.
Hádski had already gotten to work on his own home, foregoing to help of the others. He decided to dig out a rather shallow home for himself in a small hill near the forest. It was certainly smart, Ketill had to admit that - it meant a lack of work for him, since he just had to dig it out, build it up with wood, and then throw the earth back onto the roof. It was excellently insulated, which provided him with warmth during the winter. Admittedly a design like that would've been impossible for Ketill, since there were too many people he needed to host.
The man continued to isolate himself, often taking off to hunt on his own, sharing the meat only because he had to and not so much because he wanted to. It was not quite a problem yet but Ketill knew that at some point it would be a problem.
The brothers Osmundrson however had become great helps, with Arngeir frequently taking Basim hunting. Whatever labour was lost because of Basim's absence was made up for by Grettir, who seemed more than eager to help Ketill. Together they worked on the farm, and began construction of the house for the two brothers. They needed a much smaller design and so, it would not take more than two weeks to construct the basics. For a lack of nails, they simply had to use northern woodcarving methods to construct the houses - truthfully it was hard labour, but it paid off, as the houses were just as strong if not stronger than those built with nails. Ketill had not known this technique, but after Grettir had shown him, picked it up rather quickly. Making the logs interlock was rather clever, and also meant minimal work in terms of upkeep.
As for Najla, Ketill left her to her own devices as much as possible. Although he wasn't hateful to her, he still only barely managed to tolerate her presence. He kept a careful eye on her whenever he needed to, as he was afraid she'd simply fall back into her lazy attitude, but this seemed unwarranted for the most part. For the most part, now that the work was picking up, she would be left on her own for a lot of the time.
It would be three months total before the work had been completely finished for only the homes - with both Ketill's long hall completed, the Osmundrson brothers home, as well as Hádski's small shack. The farm was doing well enough, and Ketill had even managed to get Najla to do some work in it - whether it was willingly or because of him ordering her, he wasn't sure. The pantry was well stocked, and for once Ketill had no reason to worry about the winter.
Ketill was about to work on a new bed, to replace the makeshift stack of furs he'd been sleeping on, when excited yells from outside alerted him. “Ketill! Ketill!” the voice yelled, though the distance and walls prevented him from hearing who exactly it was. He held on tightly to his axe as he moved to get outside, and as he got closer, he realized it was in fact Basim yelling out to him. Close behind him was Arngeir, who had taken Basim hunting for the fourth time this week. There was no rush in Arngeirs walk, so Ketill realized that nothing dangerous was happening. Closely behind Arngeir walked a third figure - one that he didn't recognize. A newcomer? “Ketill, we met someone while we were hunting. We went to some new location to check for tracks, and stumbled upon him there at a river. He says he's a craftsman!”
“I see, good job then,” Ketill replied, still warily looking the man up and down. But even the extra attention was unwarranted. The man was old, too old to pose any real danger right now. “Heill og sæll, what brings you here?” Ketill asked the man as he came closer, his mind already wondering whether the man wanted to trade or live here.
“Heill og sæll,” the older man replied, extending a hand to Ketill, who took it and shook it firmly. All the commotion drew out Grettir, who had been working on the inside of his home. “Your friends here told me you were building a village.”
“You could say that, yes. Why, are you interested?”
“I am, though I must admit it has been a long time since I have lived close to anyone but my wife. Our last neighbors were taken by a band of raiders, and ever since then I've not heard of a soul.”
“A nasty fate that is,” Ketill answered, “though the Gods favored you for allowing you to remain unharmed.”
“Indeed, it is so. I haven't much to offer to your village I'm afraid - I'm not wealthy, nor do I have a large family to provide hands for your farm there. But I can carve wood, and I know my way around a hammer and saw.”
“That's good - I can neither carve wood nor am I exceptionally proficient with a hammer and saw. You said you have a wife - no children?”
The older man smiled at that and shook his head - no children. “Me and her are quiet folk, we don't like to have too much company, but I'm afraid I'm getting older and if I die, there won't be anyone to take care of her. I'm afraid children were never destined for us - it seems the gods had different plans for us. We live a ways to the north, if you follow the river it should not be more than a half-day travel.”
Ketill nodded at him, then gestured to Grettir. “Go with him and help him carry whatever he needs to take here. He can sleep in my house while we build a new house,” he ordered, and Grettir gave a firm nod before stepping over to the old man. Ketill then looked over his shoulder towards the farm, hoping to find Najla there. He called out to her if he had to so that she knew she was required. “Najla, prepare some furs in the main hall - two sets to sleep on would be enough. Basim, you make some space in the storage area for his items. I'll go and see where we can build this new house.”
And so, they added another face to their growing village. It would be late after sundown when the two newcomers arrived alongside Grettir. They gratefully took their space and loaded off their items quickly - mostly tools for the mans' carpenting work.
The addition of a carpenter made work all the more easy - besides a supply of nails the man had salvaged from his home, he was also far more proficient at carpentry and as such, was much quicker when it came to making furniture. Within two weeks he was able to fill Ketill's house with furniture - a very large bed for Ketill, and two decent sized beds for Najla and Basim each. Each of them also had a set of shelves made to store items in - not that there were many items to store yet - and a table with two chairs each.
During these two weeks Ketill would get Arngeir and Grettir to work on the mans' new house, which was halfway its' completion when Ketill and the carpenter got started on his alcove. The raised platform was easy to make, but the throne would prove to be much harder. The carpenter's skill was not in question, but in order to make something worthy of a chief, he'd need at least more time - to find the right wood, etcetera. At least, so the man claimed.
The carpenters' wife had been helping in the farm, as well as assisting her husband. She primarily occupied herself with tasks that Najla was also performing, so it was only natural that she was often around Najla, whether it was during the time spent on the farm, or cooking.
Although it went rather awkwardly at first, the woman was quick to introduce herself. “I'm Síf,” she told Najla while emptying a wooden bucket of water over the farm, spreading it as much as needed. “Since we'll be staying here, I suppose it'd be good if the two women here got along - I suppose having been with the men for so long must've been... interesting.” It was clear from the tone that the woman still wasn't quite sure about living in this place, perhaps because she wasn't sure if she could trust these people.
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Dion THE ONE WHO IS CHEAP HACK ® / THE SHIT, A FART.
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Dion THE ONE WHO IS CHEAP HACK ® / THE SHIT, A FART.
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Despite having made her feelings heard quite clearly, Najla found that there was no satisfaction to be gained in this. Rather, she was treated to Ketill’s imitation of starvation, performed with that cursed grin on his face. As much as she would have liked to ignore his words as she could have before in the Sultanate, they held a direct influence on her life now. Still, they did little to influence her thoughts, even as she responded with silence. Starvation wasn’t the death that awaited her.
Najla had no intention of explaining her thoughts on this matter in front of her brother. Basim already had plenty to worry about in regards to her safety, adding her own fears onto it would only make it worse. A cut throat was one thing, starvation another, but a death preceded by violations and humiliations was a death Najla was not prepared to tolerate, nor explain to Basim. Rather, she kept silent about it, her eyes remaining on Ketill just long enough to constitute a glare before she tore them off. It wouldn’t have mattered even if he knew the truth, it was Ketill’s decision to allow the men in. He didn’t care enough for her wellbeing to change his mind for that reason. Rather, Najla simply tried to occupy herself until the men returned from hunting, holding her promise not to speak on the matter any longer. Instead, she simply spoke to Ketill, responding to his comments on starvation without even looking at him.
“I’d rather not die at all.”
These words were spoken somewhat naively, more so for the satisfaction of speaking than the substance itself. She was no longer able to simply hope that death would not find her, now she was in a position where difficult decisions would have to be made to ensure that. Najla had been made well aware of that, but hoped that she would have some say in the manner of her death, at the least. Even that would be a blessing, and so she fell silent, keeping to her promise until the men returned.
They did so long after she had initially fallen silent, and though they did not return empty-handed, it did little to ease Najla regarding their return. Rather, it’d made it quite clear that these extra hands might be a necessity in this land, an easy fact to understand, but a difficult one to swallow. More than just hands or meat however, the men brought with them an interesting notion, though one that served to make Najla more nervous than anything. Better lands, one that Ketill would have to go see, leaving Basim and Najla alone with two of these newcomers. At least she wasn’t going to be completely alone with them, so perhaps Ketill had at least listened to her concern on this notion. It still wasn’t enough to placate her, for while Najla would not have been happy to be left alone, being left with her brother was little different, for neither could fight off the men if it would come to that. Still, Najla said nothing, though her eyes followed Ketill as he packed his items, first moving to that cloak he’d worked so hard for.
It might have made him a fearsome sight to the others who saw him wearing it, but Najla had initially thought it was somewhat funny, if not in a way that would make her laugh. Despite her people’s lack of familiarity with bears, it seemed they had been right in determining what this man was. The notion brought the barest hint of a grin to her face as he put it on, though this quickly faded when he walked by the men’s stash, taking…something. She hadn’t seen what, for her attention had been focused on the cloak, and thankfully, Najla seemed to be the only one who had noticed it.
She kept an eye on Ketill as he kneeled next to her and Basim to pack his things, though for the most part it seemed as if her attention was still towards the men. She was curious as to what he’d taken, but did not want to draw attention to it either. Still, it seemed Ketill would show her quite soon, for Najla took the object silently when he passed it to her, smoothly hiding under the fold of her skirt for now. It had been a relief to realize what it was and Najla was grateful that he had passed it to her, realizing that Basim would probably not want a knife in her hand after the last incident. Now, he could not take it from her for fear of drawing attention to it, not that Najla intended to use it for that purpose anyways. If all went well, she wouldn’t want to use it at all. She did not answer Ketill’s words with her own, simply watching him as he stood to leave with Grettir, as if he had said nothing at all.
The interactions between the men and Najla and Basim were awkward at first. They could think of little to talk about and it seemed as if the men were still worried as to the language barrier, for initially, they would only talk amongst the two of them. Though Najla and Basim could understand what they were saying, at least when their accents didn’t get in the way, they found that the men’s actions were quick to explain their words when they began to start cooking for the night. A pleasant surprise to Najla, but one that brought a smile to Basim’s face.
<“What’s funny?”>
<“Nothing’s funny. I’m just happy that I won’t be eating your cooking tonight.”>
<“Shut up.”>
Najla stood as she spoke those words, her hand gripping the knife carefully. It was easy to hide it as she slipped away from the men, moving behind that wicker wall, and gently placing the knife under some of the furs. A knife was little comfort when not on hand, but hiding it on her person forever wasn’t an option either. It was quite obvious as to why Ketill had given it to her, though it seemed the men were calm for now, that there would be no need to use it as such. For a little while, she lingered near the furs and the knife, waiting until some time had passed before Najla would allow herself to ease. However, it seemed there was no need, and though it was some time after Basim had offered to help Arngeir, Najla would move to rejoin them, the knife hidden away among the furs. Boredom was enough of a motivator to convince her to rejoin the others, it seemed, and she entertained herself by listening to Basim explain her homeland to these strangers, interjecting every so often when he needed clarification. For the most part however, she remained silent, desperate for something to occupy her time. There were a few tasks available, such as the whole process of spinning rope, but these occupied her hands, not her mind.
Basim’s conversation with Arngeir provided at least some distraction then, though it amused Najla to listen to the way Arngeir was engaging with Basim, as if he were a child telling a made-up story. If she returned to the Sultanate with stories of endless snow and bodies swinging from trees, they’d likely treat her stories much the same way. While Basim’s explanation of taxes and tributes was amusing, Najla’s eyes shot up to Basim as he began to discuss the sand-tribes, mentioning that Ketill had fought against them. There was no panic in her gaze, for nothing would happen if these men knew. Nothing would happen if the whole Sultanate knew. But it was still not the sort of story that aided a reputation, and Najla might have been quite pleased that Hadski interrupted, if it had not been for the words themselves.
She had not expected that one of the men would hold an animosity towards Ketill already, and Arngeir’s explanation only served to bring a small frown onto her face. At least Basim was thoughtful enough not to speak any more on it, moving the conversation along without mentioning that his ‘time before’ would have been as a Servant of another God. If Hadski had a dislike for Broacienians, Najla found herself fearing how much farther that would extend if he knew what the tattoos on Ketills forehead represented. They had some familiarity with Broacien clearly, but the north did not see many Servants, so she would not have been surprised to hear they didn’t know of the title. If Ketill’s ability to ensure loyalty from these men depended on their belief that he was a Broacienian, it could be just as bad that he was accompanied by these two foreigners from an imaginary land. Both uncomfortable notions, and Najla was glad that Ketill and Grettir returned to interrupt these thoughts, not for the sight of the men, but the knowledge that their presence meant Hadski’s words would be halted for now.
They were, for some time, as this makeshift group gathered around the fire to listen to Ketill’s plans. It was strange for Najla to listen to him lay out plans for the new house, for though she had grown used to this voice he’d used when he was commanding them, the substance behind his words was far different. Before, it’d always been more in the form of vague threats, but now he was speaking as if he had a long-term plan in mind, and intended the others to agree with him. He sounded far more like a chief than the brutish soldier who’d dragged them over the mountains, but that did not mean he looked any more like a chief in Najla’s eyes. They were far too familiar for that. Still, it seemed the other men were more receptive to the notion, agreeing with Ketill’s plans willingly.
All but one of them, a man who Najla had firmly expected to stay silent. She had expected that Hadski would be less comfortable expressing his thoughts with Ketill sitting in front of him, but it seemed he held no such restraint. Her eyes widened slightly when Hadski had been about to call him a pig, and though Grettir was quick to silence that, Najla’s eyes remained on Ketill, as if waiting for him to react. When she had called him a dog, she had been thrown out in the snow to die, but Ketill responded to Hadski with nothing but words. They were enough to silence him now, allowing them to finish up the rest of their planning. It would only be temporary however, that much was clear, for the tension still felt thick in the air.
It would not be her problem for some time, though Najla would have plenty of opportunity to dwell on it. As boring as the winter had been, it was nearly worse now, for she was left on her own a great deal of the time. At first, it had been a blessing, for she did not have to worry about these strange men when they were out piecing together Ketill’s plans. It was not long before it turned into something much different than a blessing, and Najla was hard-pressed to find ways to occupy her time as the days went on. There were always some tasks that needed doing, for the others would often come home tired and hungry, so Najla at least had to do enough to make certain they’d have food and a clean place to rest their heads, but these sorts of chores took up far less of her day than she would’ve liked.
Without the endless varieties of pleasure in the Sultanate, she was forced to find new ways to occupy her time, none of which were as pleasurable. This time alone brought about a number of new tasks for her, some useful, like spinning rope, while others, like her quest to make kohl out of charcoal, were far more self-serving. Regardless of how many tasks she tried to fill her time, it did little to kill the aching tension the solitude brought.
At least the men returned during the night, for though Najla did not see the shadow of her brother again after the first incident, she was not foolish enough to believe it had disappeared forever. During the day, while she tried to occupy herself otherwise, she could still feel a presence lingering in the air, one Najla couldn’t explain. Perhaps the solitude was beginning to drive her mad, it certainly felt as if that was the case. Still, enduring those months of slowly building insanity felt worth it once the houses had been completed, and they could finally move so that she wasn’t left alone to fall into that insanity. Working on the farm wasn’t even a massive burden, despite Najla’s initial annoyance that Ketill had wanted her to work on it. But once she had learned what to do, it felt nice to have something new to do, after months of keeping cooped up with the same repetitive tasks. Even better, she was greeted with her own room at the end of it all, a comfort she feared she’d long abandoned.
Najla had been working on the farm, kneeled down in between where they’d plotted the seeds, pulling out every bit of grass that wasn’t meant to be there. It was mundane, dull work, and she didn’t even know enough regarding farming practices to understand much of its purpose, but it was done with no complaint. That work had stopped however, when she heard the sound of her brothers voice, calling out for Ketill as he returned. It startled her briefly, and Najla stood, brushing her hands off on her dress as she watched Basim run towards Ketill, followed by a familiar figure and an unfamiliar one. Her eyes followed the new figure cautiously, though he did not seem to be as great of a threat, if any, compared to the men before. He was older, alone, and the calm nature of the others was enough to tell her this was no threat.
While that thought eased her nerves, it did little to ease her curiosity. It was strange to see people continually appear, especially as Najla had believed before that no one but them lived here. Regardless, she was not given much time to ponder on it, for Najla heard her name being called. It was an irritating notion to be called like that, but she walked towards Ketill anyways. His command was received with no indication that she’d heard it or intended to do so, but Najla simply turned and walked into the house, abandoning whatever she’d been doing in the farm. Two furs, so that man and another. Whoever it was, Najla found herself hoping it was not another man as she set up the furs.
Once she was done, Najla did not turn to go back to her work, but walked into the storage room, where Basim was rearranging some items. It seemed that while she was not going to ask for answers from Ketill, she was going to get them from someone at least.
<“Who is this man you brought?”>
<“He’s a carpenter apparently. Lives alone with his wife.”> Basim replied even as he moved some items around, not thinking twice before he passed off a handful of supplies to Najla, leaving her to hold them until he could store them somewhere else. <“Are you happy to hear there will be another woman?”>
<“So long as she’s a better cook than I am.”> Najla watched as Basim stepped back, trying to gauge if he had created enough room even as she spoke. <“Ketill’s little village is growing quickly. How many more do you think he’ll invite?”>
Basim shrugged then, reaching out to take the supplies he’d passed off to his sister. Najla handed them over, and he stuffed them away as he replied to her.
<“I don’t know. I’m not quite sure what he intends to do. I also don’t know enough about farming to know how many we can sustain here.”>
<“You think he’ll take in as many as we can sustain?”>
<“Hopefully not more than that. Why, are you upset? I thought you were bored with just us.”>
<“I am bored. Besides, it’s not like these newcomers are dangerous, it doesn’t matter if I don’t trust them.”>
<“Right. It’s Ketill you don’t trust.”>
Najla did not respond to that, though Basim’s glance at her expression was enough to confirm that they both knew he had spoken the truth. It was impossible for Najla to trust Ketill without knowing what his intentions were and he seemed to have little desire to share that information. Basim seemed more ready to accept Ketill’s leadership, which was understandable, but served to irritate Najla at the same time. He was no fool, to trust him completely, and Najla believed he would side with her above all others regardless. Blood loyalties were impossible to surpass.
Najla had not been entirely sure what to make of these newcomers at first. It was not like when Ketill had brought the men in, for these people were far older, and posed no threat. More than anything, Najla was quite grateful to have another woman join their new ‘village’ even if she did not tell her so. She had been even more grateful for the bed the woman’s husband had made for her, and so Najla had been friendly to the woman, though not particularly open. It was nice to have a helping hand with her own tasks, especially from someone that knew what she was doing. Still, they were strangers, and Najla had left it up to the woman to bridge that gap. At her introduction, Najla offered her a small smile. Interesting was not quite the word she would have used.
“It has certainly been an experience, but I’m pleased that it is over.” Najla replied, likely to most welcoming phrase she’d uttered to any of the newcomers. She paused briefly to pour some water over the plants, though her tone was friendly when she spoke up again. “I’m Najla.”
The woman smiled in response. Silence fell briefly, for despite their friendliness, there was little to say just yet. While Sif likely had a lot of questions about Najla’s background, unlike the others, she seemed content to wait until they were more familiar before asking about it. While it left them with little in common to talk about besides the tasks before them, Najla seemed happy not to talk about her home with this woman. Rather, she moved to start a topic quickly, pouncing on just about anything to talk about.
“How long have you been living in these parts?”
“Quite some time. We used to have neighbors, but it has been a while since then.”
“You clearly love your husband dearly then. I could not survive so many winters alone with another.”
Sif smiled slightly, emptying the last of the water. “I suppose. Children would have made it easier, but it was not our fate.” She straightened up, her eyes moving over Najla as she imitated Sif’s behavior, pouring out the bucket. “You have no children? I’ve seen none here.”
Najla shook her head, but Sif continued. “You are young, there is still time.”
Somehow, this conversation felt worse than talking about her home. Najla felt no pain at the fact that she had no children. She would have been happy to bear Osman’s children, but that was long ago, and there was no man for whom she’d be willing to take that on now. Clearly, Sif had imagined that there was a chance it might happen for Najla, likely assuming that she wanted the same. It made sense after all, it seemed that across all the cultures Najla had seen, a woman’s value was determined by the number of children she brought into the world. Bearing children was not a thought Najla despised, but the man Sif had assumed she’d bear them for was one Najla could never tolerate. Perhaps the time would never come now.
“I suppose, if it is willed so.”
It was a careful response, spoken as she was setting the bucket down on the ground briefly to inspect the hem of her dress. It had been torn, but Najla had yet to bother and try and fix it. By inspecting it, Najla had drawn Sif’s attention to it as well, who quickly changed topics, as if she sensed Najla’s discomfort.
“I’ll prepare food tonight if you need time to repair it.”
“No, it’s not about time.” Najla straightened up then. “I just don’t know how.”
“You don’t know how to sew?”
She could have laughed at her surprise. It wasn’t a difficult skill to pick up, Najla had seen that. However, she did not want to try it out on one of the few items of clothing she had, in fear of runining it further. However, Sif seemed rather shocked at the notion that Najla had no idea of how to begin. She’d been around her enough to see that any skills Najla carried in her basic tasks were those learned by trial and error, but had likely assumed there was at least some reason Ketill kept her around. Now, Najla’s admission had left her searching for such a reason again.
“No. I never learned.”
“Did your mother never teach you?”
Najla laughed softly at that, shaking her head again. Reaching down, she grabbed the now-empty bucket. “No. My mother taught me many things, but none that come in use here.” Without missing a beat, she looked over the crops they’d watered. “Do we need to get any more water?”
Sif shook her head at that, turning to move back into the house. Najla followed, not questioning her judgment. After all, it seemed the woman knew a few things about farming, whereas Najla wasn’t capable of doing much besides following orders on it. Her experience with farming had been limited to the most basic understanding of some irrigation techniques the Sawarim used, useless here even if she knew how to use the systems.
“What have you been doing with your clothes until now?”
“Giving them people who knew how to fix it. Unfortunately, we’ve been around men for quite a while.”
She paused briefly, looking up at the woman, suddenly concerned that the woman would assume Najla wanted to throw this chore onto her. It was not a fear she would have held before, but the notion of carrying owns one weight was a conscious effort for her now.
"I won’t ask you to fix it, but perhaps you could teach me how? I would try to take some tasks from you in return, to lighten your burden.”
“No need.” The woman smiled kindly at Najla. “Teaching you would be sure to lighten my burden in the long term anyhow.”
It was a smart sentiment, and Najla was quick to express her appreciation. For once, she seemed ready to put the work in willingly, and not under the threat of being pushed out into the snow if she refused to do so. Perhaps it was because the boredom of the month before her had convinced her that any task was better than doing nothing at all, or perhaps it was because throwing the burden of any task onto this woman was undesirable. Regardless, the two continued about their tasks together, and as soon as dinner had been set to cook, Sif sat beside Najla, teaching her how to push the needle through and fix her dress. It made the conversation far easier, as they could talk about the task at hand rather than any background they didn’t want to get into.
It turned out rather quickly that having Sif aid Najla was a more massive help than she could have imagined. They did not act quite like friends, for Sif had been living alone with her husband for some time, and Najla had rarely had friends outside her own blood. It was awkward for each of them to pretend as such. Still, Najla enjoyed her company, if only because it provided a break from the monotony her usual routine held. They’d speak mostly about the chores at hand, for Sif had a great deal to teach her. Sometimes, the woman had tried to prod deeper into Najla’s background, which went differently depending on the circumstances. Najla was receptive to questions about her homeland, but once Sif had ventured farther, asking how she’d been brought here, the conversation ended abruptly. The women held a solemn understanding after that.
It had also made the distribution of chores far easier, especially once Najla had gotten better at certain tasks. Tending the farm and cooking were their greatest priorities, making certain that they’d be able to last through the days ahead and the winter to come. Najla had taken two buckets down to the river, filling it up with water. Sif had offered to help, but Najla had left her to the cooking, offering to do this on her own. Still, it was an irritating task, more so because she hated lugging that heavy water bucket more than anything. For this reason, Najla was initially grateful to see a small group of the men standing around, spotting her brothers curly hair amongst them. It’d be easy to hand it off to him and ask him to take it back, but once she saw the other two men standing with him, Najla thought twice about it. Arngeir stood beside Basim, likely as the two had just come back from hunting, and Hadski was with them as well. It was an odd sight, as he’d made nearly every effort to isolate himself, but Najla didn’t think twice as to why. Instead, she moved towards the river instead, intending to fill up the bucket and return home.
She had filled up the bucket when suddenly, Najla heard Basim call her name, and looked up to see him moving towards her quickly. Just behind him was Arngeir walking slower, and Hadski just behind him. Arngeir had been a more familiar sight to Najla recently, as he’d been taking her brother hunting out far more often. It was a notion that’d made her nervous at first, but the man had seemed decent enough. At least, he was decent to Basim, and Najla seemed satisfied enough with that. She turned towards them, taking a few steps to meet the men, though it would be Basim that closed the distance. Setting the bucket of water down at her feet, Najla wiped her hands on her dress as Basim turned back to look at Arngeir, speaking as the man approached.
“Najla, we need you to settle something.”
“Settle what?”
The question was seemingly asked to Basim and Arngeir together, leaving either open to answer the question. Had she wanted to speak to Basim, Najla simply would’ve used her native tongue, but they had learned to hold back on speaking it if possible. While speaking their mother tongue was only done out of ease, it seemed to leave the men somewhat uneasy. Understandably enough, it seemed to leave the impression that their words weren’t meant for other ears, and so both Najla and Basim had come to the unspoken conclusion that they would speak Sawarim in private. This left her question open to both, and so it was Arngeir that responded, his tone a mixture of disbelief and humor. Clearly, he believed Basim was joking.
“Your brother is trying to have me believe that the sand in your land is not always settled, but that storms of it rip through your lands. Ah-ahsoof?”
Najla laughed at his pronunciation of the word, her eyes bright as she turned them on Basim, wondering exactly what had led to this conversation. She would not have been able to understand the word if not for his previous explanation, but even if she hadn’t, Basim was quick to fill her in.
“Ahsifet Ramaliye. And the sand is usually settled, it just storms sometimes.”
“Without rain or snow, it storms?”
“It’s…it’s like a storm. Kind of. I haven’t seen enough of either.”
Again, Najla’s laughter interrupted Basim, though she seemed far more ready to interrupt now. Otherwise, she’d spend her whole day watching a boy who had never seen a sandstorm explain it to a man who had never seen sand.
“We call it a storm because we do not know storms like yours. For us, our storms are only sand, picked up by the wind and carried across the desert in massive clouds, taller than you could ever imagine. It’s why so many of our cities have high walls, else our people would be buried.”
There was a confidence in her voice, one that stemmed from years of knowing the desert as her home. Though Basim seemed somewhat pleased to have been proven right, Arngeir seemed hesitant, likely because he assumed Najla would side with her brother regardless.
“Is sand dangerous enough to justify high walls?”
“Oh yes. The sand will fill your chest if you are not careful, and bury you if you are not quick. The storms appear without warning, if you have been in the desert long enough, you can see the movements in the sand as the wind picks up. Usually however, there are only seconds between the cloud on the horizon and your chance to find shelter. Men try to outrun them sometimes but…”
She shrugged here, clearly indicating that it was not a possibility. Arngeir seemed enthralled at her explanation, shocked that a people managed to survive in such a land. Najla held many of those same surprises here. Rather than explain herself further, Najla reached down for the bucket, hoping to end the conversation before Hadski approached their small group. However, Arngeir, who held no worries about his approach, was quick to utter another question.
“You speak like you’ve seen them, have you?”
“Once, while I was traveling.”
“How did you survive it?”
“I waited.” Najla smiled at her own words, resting the bucket against her hip. “You cover your mouth and find shelter, and hope that the sands don’t pick up your shelter as well. There is no other way. Ask Ketill, I am sure he has seen them.”
A great deal of that story had been left out, but it was not one that Najla was willing to explain. Arngeir already had great difficulty believing some of the more basic parts of their homeland, how was she going to be able to explain a concept of a royal family to him? That she had never been in danger, that there were guards willing to lay their lives down for those they believed to be appointed to such power by god? Even if she could manage that, convincing Arngeir that she and Basim had been members of such a family would be near impossible. Rather than bother, she quickly reached down to grab the bucket she had filled, holding it up and out towards Basim.
“Would you do me a favor and carry this one up into the house? Sif will be waiting for it.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to carry two. Come on, it’ll make your arms strong.”
Najla had hoped that her urging Basim away would mean the other two men dispersed as well, but it turned out she was only half-right. Basim took the bucket, though not without complaint, for he knew she wasn’t giving him this task to help strengthen him. As Najla turned and reached for the empty bucket on the ground, ready to fill it, Arngeir took off as well. One presence however, remained, and did not disappear even when Najla turned her back to him, continuing about her business to make it clear the conversation was over. It seemed however, that this presence had different intentions.
“Arngeir believes you’re lying about your lands.”
“It seems so. He believes they are too harsh for men to survive in.”
“But Ketill has.”
The distaste in his voice was easy to hear, and unmasked. This was not like the Sultanate, where they’d watch their words and emotions to keep their true self hidden. These Northmen seemed far more up-front about their feelings, and though it made situations like this uncomfortable, at least it made their purpose easier to discern. Najla filled up the bucket, thinking through her words for a moment before she spoke again. Suddenly, she was thinking through her words quite carefully, whereas with Basim she had spoken more freely, though a man like Hadski would not see the difference. Whatever he had hoped to get by inciting this conversation, Najla did not want to give it to him.
“Yes. It is unsurprising, the north is as unforgiving as my home, if not more so.”
“Northerners yes, but Broacienians-“
“They preach a lot of cruelty, for such soft men.”
Najla’s words cut him off, and Hadski frowned slightly, clearly surprised by her words. For her part, Najla kept a grin on her face, as if she was enjoying this conversation. Both the tone of her voice and the words that followed sounded as if she was merely joking with this man, but Ketill or Basim would’ve easily been able to tell that she did not mean it, that her words were merely an attempt to build some common ground with a man who clearly did not want it built.
“I agree with you Hadski, I have no love for them either. I am quite familiar with Broacienians, and never because I wanted to be. I might have preferred staying in their soft lands, but they are soft people for it.”
“Does that mean you were brought here against your will then?”
No sound came as response, for Najla left the now-full bucket on the grass and straightened up, turning her body fully towards Hadski now. It was easier than to reply to Hadski immediately, pretending as if she did not know why he was asking. It was quite clear that Najla had no softness towards Ketill, she had never tried to pretend otherwise, though she had never tried to be hateful to him either. It was clearly not a subject anyone with knowledge on the matter enjoyed talking about, therefore, anything more about their relationship could only be built through assumptions. Perhaps he believed she held a similar hatred, or that Najla would let some words slip that could help further Hadski’s own grievances. Regardless, he would find that Najla had not forgotten his grievances against Ketill, and although she did not trust him, she trusted Hadski far less.
“He did not bring me. Not the way you mean. I am as free as you are.”
It was true, though not quite. She could leave at any time, but it would do little more than guarantee a swift death, Ketill had proven as much. But for now, Najla was not quite worried about telling the truth to this man. Najla could not tell what Hadski had assumed of her relationship with Ketill, but she could guess. Likely, the others had assumed as much of their relationship as well and she had done nothing to prove or deny such guesses either way. So long as they believed she belonged to Ketill in that manner, none of the men would dare to take her from him. None would be able to beat him in a fight and even if they could, there was no reason besides her exotic nature and the sheer lack of other women present to do so. Still, she believed this unspoken assumption would be enough to keep the threat stifled within her mind, even if Ketill might never have acted on it. Hopefully, even men like Hadski would fear Ketill enough to keep away from her, though the way he stepped forwards told Najla not to place all her faith in this fear.
“A free woman who hates Broacienians would not willingly give herself to one.”
“Ketill is not a Broacienian.”
Yes, he had been ‘Servant’ to her people, but he was not a Servant any longer. He had not been Servant then either, though Najla had learned that later, but he would be Servant so long as it benefitted her to believe he was one. Now, it was a past that would serve no purpose but to muddy whatever claim he was trying to stake here. While she was still somewhat uncertain about what that claim was, it was clear that it not in her best interest to thwart it.
“He spent years there, you should know-“
“I know his life quite well. I have known him to be a northerner longer than I knew what that meant.”
He did not take well to the way she had cut off his words, Najla could tell. It was a habit pulled over from her days as a Sultana, and likely one she’d never let go of. Still, a free man of the north did not quiet as easily as a slave from the Sultanate would. His anger was not something she was taking lightly, even if it was directed at Ketill, rather than her. Hadski’s assumption about their relationship did guarantee her some protection, but tying them together also made her an easier target for his anger. If he thought taking her would anger Ketill, then it was only natural she’d be an easy way to get back at him. Najla reached down to pick up the bucket, but before she could walk towards the plot and end the conversation, he spoke up again, his tone angrier than before.
“You don’t know what a northerner is, or else you’d know being a ‘chief’s’ trophy doesn’t allow you to talk that way to a true northerner.”
She wanted to turn back, to snap at him for calling him what he did, but Najla knew she was in no position to do so. They were not isolated, she knew Hadski would not do anything to hurt her here, when there were so many to witness and so few who would defend him in that instance. But they would not always be among others, and she might not always have the threat of her presumed ties to Ketill to stave him off. Forcing herself to maintain a calm composure, Najla picked up the bucket, turning around to look Hadski in the eyes now.
“I had intended no offense, I hope your intentions were the same. Now excuse me, I have some work to finish.”
With that to end the conversation, Najla turned around and began to walk back towards the house, leaving Hadski to his own devices. Clearly, she knew that Hadski had intended to offend her, that his anger had gotten in the way of his better judgment. Whatever he had wanted from her, he would never get now, but that did not ease Najla’s thoughts. Rather, they consumed them as she returned to the plot, forcing herself not to look back to see if he had left.
It was difficult at first for Najla to decide what to do about the conversation, or Hadski himself. The way he isolated himself was worrisome in itself, and it did not seem as if his attitude would change despite the growing population of their ‘village’. Though he had not acted on his animosity towards Ketill, their conversation had left her with an uneasy feeling in her stomach. The way he spoke to her regarding Ketill reminded her of her time in the Sultanate, the way she’d learned to pry into conversations and wrench out every bit of information he could get. It did not feel much the same way, for the man’s thoughts had been no secret during the conversation, but surely, the end goal was the same. He wanted something from her, something he could hold up to the others as proof that Ketill was more Broacienian than northerner. There could be no good reason that followed.
The decision to tell Ketill about the conversation was easy, but Najla resolved not to tell him about the assumptions that had laid the foundation for most of it. Perhaps he’d heard from the men himself, or perhaps they knew well enough to keep silent on it. Regardless, it was not an idea she wanted in Ketill’s head, even if it only meant he’d set out to make sure they knew the truth. With that decision made, Najla only waited a few days after the conversation, watching Hadski carefully in the few moments they saw each other during the day. Truthfully, these moments were few and far between, as they both busied themselves with different tasks, and Hadski had seen fit to isolate himself anyways. The few moments had not been entirely awkward either, but the tension was palpable, if only to the two of them.
She wanted to keep it that way, not willing to spread any knowledge among their small community. At least, not any further than she would spread it, for she was certain that Hadski would never tell his friends about the conversation, since it had been so fruitless for him. There was simply nothing for him to tell, besides the fact that Najla had been slightly rude to him. That’d be understandable enough to anyone who heard, certainly. With such a desire, it seemed strange that she’d want to tell Ketill about what happened. It wasn’t like she expected him to do anything regarding the matter after all, especially not when picking a fight with Hadski might mean they’d lose Grettir and Arngeir too. And for whatever reason, Ketill needed them.
It made enough sense to her. More hands, more skill, these meant more food, and a greater chance of surviving the winter. Najla had only needed to see one of these winters before she resolved not to see another in the same manner, watching their food supply slowly dwindling. Yet, something about Ketill’s great plan felt…off. He’d already mentioned that she’d had some sort of place in these plans, the only reason he’d taken Yasamin’s life instead of her own. However, Najla had found no clarity as to what these were. He was not a man who had ever desired power for the sake of it, but now he had taken to gathering men, men who called him ‘chief’. A strange notion, but her future here might have depended on her understanding it.
It was only a couple of days after the conversation had occurred before Najla was ready to tell Ketill. She waited until the night came, not for any semblance of privacy, but because there was work to be done, and they’d have to wait till it was finished. It was an entirely strange notion to Najla, who used to call Ketill to her at all hours. The others had gone to their respective houses, and Najla sat with Sif in the main hall, eyes squinted over some scrap of fabric she’d been practicing on. Luckily, Basim had headed off to sleep somewhat early, but Najla’s eyes had been watching for Ketill, waiting for him to do the same. When she saw him stand, Najla followed suit, bidding Sif and her husband a good night before she put away the scrap of fabric. Just before Ketill could enter the hallway that led into their rooms, Najla reached him. Her voice was a low whisper even before they moved through the door. It wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear, but it was obvious to any who saw them that she’d be speaking to him. Likely, no one would think twice on it, though for Najla it was a small step towards keeping a delicate pretense.
“I need to speak with you. Privately.” With a glance at Basim’s closed door, Najla gestured towards Ketill’s room, ignoring how strange it felt to ask. “Do you mind?”
When Ketill had let her into the room, Najla stepped in, looking around the area. She’d never seen the inside of Ketill’s room until now and though it was not much different from hers, she looked around it as if she’d find something in it. It was much larger than hers, a thought that brought a hint of a grin to her face as she moved towards the table, seating herself in one of the chairs without asking. There didn’t seem to be a point in asking, clearly she’d make herself comfortable either way.
There was only a brief moment of silence, in which Najla raised her eyes to meet Ketills. She’d give so much to just get into his mind for a few moments, to learn all she needed and leave so that she’d never have to speak to him again. Instead, she found herself knowing little to nothing, forcing her to speak, so that she might eventually pull something worth knowing.
“The men have taken to calling you chief,” Najla remarked. It was not a question, despite her desire to go ahead and ask them. Old habits died hard, it seemed, though perhaps she had simply wanted to acknowledge that fact, almost as an indication that she wouldn’t be doing the same. Her next words were spoken with a slight smile on her face, a hint that perhaps they weren’t meant to be taken entirely seriously.
“You’d be a Khan in the desert, but I have seen few Khans who have gained their power in this way. Most declare the title, or take it from their fathers, but you-“
She trailed off just briefly, though her next words were familiar, ones she had spoken long before. Something about her smile seemed to suggest that she remembered speaking those words, though they had been buried deep into their mutual past.
“You are unlike any man I have ever met. Most men I’d know would gather more than a plot of land and a few hands to work it before they took on a title. Still, you did not force them to start saying it, but you have not asked them to stop either. It’s almost as if… as if you’re acting in anticipation. I don’t know what survival takes here, but for once, it seems as if you have a goal beyond merely surviving.”
It was a strange notion, and not well-explained, for Najla had not fully formed the thoughts in her own mind either. She could not explain Ketill’s actions, his desire to start a village, his sudden assumption of that leadership role, none of it made sense to her. He’d indicated that it was for survival, truly everything here seemed to be, but that just didn’t seem like enough. If he wanted to survive, and nothing more, why was she still here? He could survive easily without her, perhaps more pleasantly, and yet, he had built her a room inside his own house, perhaps indicating that he intended for her to stay. He had killed Yasamin, rather than Najla, for a reason she’d yet to understand. Yet he’d also thrown her out in the snow, left her to die once she’d slipped too far. It was a precarious situation, and the thought of the future was a curious one for Najla, who didn’t know how well she’d fit into a vision she could not see. Her eyes bored into his as she asked the next question, hoping she’d find something in them that he’d not tell her. As always however, they gave away nothing.
“What is it you anticipate? It will serve no purpose to keep me in the dark, I would only be able to aid if I know exactly what I am aiding. So, what is this goal of yours?”
There it was, with no hint of subtlety or care now, despite how she had led up to this question. Perhaps that had served a purpose as well, to show Ketill that she had a sense of what was happening, that keeping her in the dark would be meaningless. Regardless, there was no sense in asking the question in a more subtle manner. Had she been speaking to any other man, perhaps she would have tried, but her history with Ketill had taught Najla otherwise. While others would have picked at their nails, looked around the room, Najla merely studied Ketill under a calm gaze, her hands now folded gracefully in her lap. Whether he’d share his visions of the future or not, it would only matter to her so far as she could see her place in them. At least, that’s all her expression betrayed, though there seemed to be something more in the way Najla spoke to Ketill about his goals, a hint that this burgeoning sense of power was a source of interest to her, even if it was dangerous.
When Ketill would be done answering, Najla would finally take her eyes off of him, glancing around the room briefly as she thought through her next words. That had been the real reason why she was here, after all, to warn Ketill of a danger he already knew. Or more accurately, to confirm that he knew, in the hopes that something might be done about it. It would be easiest to just recount what Hadski had said to her, but that would involve betraying that Hadski had assumed Ketill had brought her from the desert for his own pleasures. A single glance at Ketill’s expression was enough to tell her to stay quiet on that front, to betray nothing regarding the conversation except that it had occurred.
“Whatever your plans, you know that Hadski does not believe you, a Broacienian, is suited to lead them. You heard him say as much, even allowed him to call you what would’ve had me thrown out in the snow.” At this, Najla shrugged. The reason for that was quite clear, seeing as Hadski brought far more food to the table than she did, but Najla still hoped to equivalate the two. “I had hoped that he’d relent, but it hasn’t happened. It won’t ever happen. I am entirely certain of that now.”
With a small sigh, Najla finally pushed herself to stand. Clearly, she wanted to end the conversation just after she’d passed her information on, not wanting to wait another moment in which he could pressure her for information. Not that she’d have a choice, but perhaps this way he’d be less inclined to hound her for it.
“Hadski approached me some days ago. He was trying to push me into saying or doing something that would prove you were a Broacienian, something he could take back to the others as proof.” Najla smiled slightly now, though she spoke as she walked towards the door, making it so that Ketill might not see. “I did not give anything to him, of course, only that I knew you as a northman. I cannot imagine he’d try again. But once should be enough for you.”
With that, Najla rested her hand on the door, but just before she turned to leave, she’d turn back to look at Ketill once more before leaving. She wouldn’t reveal anything more about the nature of the conversation if pressed, and would only give vague answers. Still, whether or not Ketill saw him as a real threat, or believed his value outweighed that threat remained to be seen.
“I do not tell you this to give you advice, I know how fruitless that would be. But to keep each other in the dark now would be unfair and unhelpful. Hadski’s a threat and should be weeded out as such.”
OP
Dion THE ONE WHO IS CHEAP HACK ® / THE SHIT, A FART.
Member
Seen
11 days ago
Annoyingly, Najla had guided them into his room, without giving him much time or space to even reject her. Frankly, he was not interested in talking to her, since he knew that she only ever talked about things that bothered her. Petty complaints, mostly, things that Ketill couldn't change even if he wanted to. Despite her lack of respect for him, sometimes Ketill felt like she thought him a god that could change the situation they were in at will - he knew she did not believe this, because first of all, deference to him as a God would be blasphemy to a Sawarimic believer. And secondarily, she had no love, lust or even a fondness to him - admittance that Ketill was her master in this situation, no matter how small, would never come. But still that feeling lingered. “What is it now,” Ketill openly grumbled as he closed the door behind them while Najla, as always, made herself comfortable. “Does the sultana have a complaint? Then spit it out, so I can go to sleep.” Naturally, Najla had nothing much to say to this - either she ignored him or was too busy gawking at his largely empty room to hear. So she carried on, informing him that the men were calling him chief. Momentarily Ketill pondered whether she had actually been at work as a spymaster, or had just been an amateur at work, playing with the adults. The information she presented him with was long known to him, after all.
And despite her best intentions her remarks gave away just how little she knew. He held back a grin and maintained a stoic composure, but he felt amused with her indirect and no doubt unintentional admittance of a lack of knowledge. 'For once, you seem to have a goal beyond surviving,' she'd said. That goal beyond surviving had always been there, but she had not known of it and her guesses had yet to hit the mark. Or perhaps she knew, but preferred to pretend not to know. Whichever it was, it earned her no favor from the new chieftain. “I didn't take that title,” Ketill proclaimed when she'd finished, “I was given it. And chief or not, these are my lands. You'd do well to remember that, and to learn what that means in the North. It's not just ownership - if it was just ownership, I would not have killed that man for his land, I would have bought it. It is the blood in the earth, Othala, that is what it means, and that is why I am chief.”
He squinted with his eyes, peering at Najla, asking himself what she did know. He knew she was a fox, sneaky and clever, but she was out of her element here. Secrets were not worth as much as in the Sultanate - of course, they had their value. But it would not be settled in backroom political meetings. It would be finished with blood. A lesson she would surely have learned, and if she had not, would do well to learn soon. Having other peoples' secrets was a useful and valuable good, but it also made you a target for retribution. The Althingi would've been proper examplification of that fact.
He closed in on the table and took the mug - made of a horn - and poured ale into it from a nearby pitcher. He raised it to his mouth and greedily gulped it as she continued to speak - the wet trails of ale running down into his beard. When she was finished, so was he. She stood up and prepared to leave, letting Ketill think he could take to his bed, but instead she continued, informing him about a talk she had with Hádski. Ketill mulled it over in his head once or twice, then raised his shoulder. “These issues tend to solve themselves,” he simply stated. He was referring to Arngeir and Grettir keeping Hádski in check, and playing them out against each other. It was simple to see that both Grettir and Arngeir wanted to stay, and even Hádski might've seen the benefit in a village. The fact that Hádski disliked Ketill was irrelevant then.
“Grettir stopped him before he could insult me. And the threat of holmgang was enough to silence Hádski. If he seeks you out instead of confronting me, then that alone is a signal of his confidence.” It was a simple and very northern rationale - where a Sawarim might've thought about the possible ramifications of letting someone like Hádski run loose, all Ketill thought was that he was not a threat. And if he were to ever become a threat, Ketill was certain of victory. “As for my goal,” he then continued, placing himself on his bed waiting for the conversation to finish.
“I simply wish to claim my birthright. A new age is beginning for the north that will shake the very core of the other nations. You wish to see the Sultanate again?” He threw a careless look towards Najla, wondering whether the thought of a return to the desert would cause an unexpected reaction in her. It was not exactly a secret that she longed for 'home,' although the meaning of 'home' was one that could be argued about. If Ketill were to be asked, Najla's home was the North now. She had nothing in the desert, and any support for her cause as a claimant to the throne among the peasantry would've been squashed out by now. “Long ago, I told you I would take your kingdom if you only handed me a sword. I fought your enemies twice - once in the desert, once in the Golden City. Twice you handed me a sword, so you will see the sultanate again. But rather than returning as a long lost princess, you will arrive at the head of a fleet of Northern ships.”
He grinned at her, wondering if the threat of taking her kingdom made her feel anything at all anymore. It was not her kingdom anymore and any attachment she had to it was severed by Osman. They'd be kept alive by Najla only on false hope of returning one day - and now that she was being offered to return, she would have to face that she would most likely not be returning on peaceful terms.
Ketill would take that fear away rather quickly, if she felt that fear at all. “I have no interest in conquering sand, however. Killing Osman will be good enough.” He paused then, and would let her continue her move towards the door, before finally raising his voice again. He would not force her to stop and listen, but he talked loud enough for Basim to hear in his own room, so even if she left, she would be forced to hear.
“It makes for a good saga. The saga of Ketill Grímhilðrson. We should find a skald, and have him write it down. I am sure your name would be a frequent mention.”
Though Ketill had exposed part of his plans to Najla, part of it would remain a mystery. Never the less, he made it apparent that he was going to construct a fleet and fill it with an army of Northmen. Had that been why they chose this location? Surely not, the river was barely wide enough to sustain a set of 3 boats, let alone be deep enough to carry a boat that needed to carry supplies, animals, pillage and an army to boot, or so Najla and Basim would've thought. But the Northmen were master woodsmen and had plenty of experience building boats - mostly in the north east, but also the south east, where fishing was an above average way of sustaining yourself as opposed to farming and hunting. With boats that were lower, they were capable of sailing inland quite aways, avoiding the trouble of having to land a boat just to enter a country. Or atleast, so Ketill envisioned it - because it had never been done quite the way he saw it.
Ketill had gone to survey his lands, not too far from his own great hall, where the water widened and deepened. Here he planned to build his new docks - a large set of three docking places to start with, with plans to expand to include five more later on. Eight ships would be enough for a sizable raiding army, but three would suffice for now, as they needed the men to fill the boats with first and foremost. As he was looking at the area, Grettir approached him, placing his hands in his hips as he looked at the same area Ketill was looking at. “Fine spot to build a fishing boat,” he told Ketill, to which Ketill could only laugh.
“Not very ambitious of you.”
“How so? A fishing boat would be a great addition, and I'm sure the carpenter can arrange it.”
“Boats are something different from beds and stools, but even if he could, I would not want a fishing boat. It would be quite something for a chief to go out fishing.”
“Chief Salmon, perhaps, but you are right - it would not fit you.”
“What would fit me is a warboat - listen to this, it holds fifty men, has space for cargo and can even bring aboard two cows.”
“I would say you are a madman for thinking that is possible. Even Audrun's warboat can only hold eight other gods.”
“Gods are also a fair share taller and bigger than men. We can easily fit ten times that, if we try hard enough. Whoever said we are inferior to the gods was clearly not reading the stories right,” Ketill promptly answered, and then he took steps forwards to measure out the distance of the docks he wanted to build, wading knee deep into the water, before returning. “We can land the ships here, but we need to build them elsewhere to avoid cutting the area down to be devoid of trees.”
“We also need men for that. I was looking to speak to you about that. I would like to go around the countrysides and invite people to join your village.”
“And how would you convince them?”
“I would tell them you are fair and just, and that you have not wronged us,” Grettir answered. It was a meek and unconvincing argument that he raised, although in fairness, he was right about needing more men. The plan appealed to Ketill, though the argument would need to be improved.
“There is little to that statement that other men cannot claim as well. Any man can claim to be fair and just - to make it true is another matter,” Ketill replied to the man, “instead promise them a piece of land and a community.”
Grettir shifted his body somewhat, looking instead from the location in which the new docks would be built towards Ketill. “So you agree to the plan?”
“Yes, we cannot build a fleet and expect to sail it on our own.”
“Then I will leave in the morrow,” Grettir pledged to Ketill then, walking off to his own home. He left Ketill behind, who glanced at Grettirs' back. Something seemed to be on Ketill's mind, but there was no telling what. Then Ketill turned back to the water, kneeling down slowly and touching the water with his hand. The water was warming and by summer Ketill intended to have a community worth leading.
As the community grew, so did Hádski's animosity towards Ketill. By now there was no denying Ketill's position as chieftain, as many deferred to him now on many things - law for one, for the settling of disputes outside of the althingi. It was a good thing his throne had been finished - a thing of craftsmanship, to be sure - as it allowed Ketill to seat himself above the others in the hall on an already raised platform. He had passed law as fairly as he could, doing his best to base his judgements off of the laws of man that he knew, although this was a harder process than many had imagined it to be.
Another thing he managed and arranged was the care for improving upon existing industries. With his limited knowledge on blacksmithing, he had somehow managed to set up a refinery for ores. Although it was far from the mass quantities that Broacien could produce, it was enough to produce some items of importance, mostly farming tools, axes and seaxes. The process itself was simple - simple enough for Ketill to have thought of it. Without access to proper mines, the northerners were confined to harvesting bogs in the area, cutting back peat and retrieving small nodes of iron. This ‘’bog iron’’ was called járn by the northerners, would then be smelted in primitive kiln-like ovens and made into whatever tools were needed.
Ketill remained, however, the only one with access to a real sword. It should be added that the sword had hung above his throne resembling more something of a trophy than a weapon - he seemed to have traded the sword for the axe as a favored weapon sometimes during his stay in the sultanate.
Construction on his plans for the ships had gotten underway and, after this time, one of the boats was nearing completion while the others were just getting started. Although the village was starting to become self sufficient, it was nowhere near the grandeur or size of the Broacienien cities, let alone the Golden City of the desert. But, to Ketill, that only meant the people were stronger for it.
The tasks had changed for all the members of Ketill’s household. Ketill spent almost all his time managing the various tasks that needed to be completed. Daily visits around the various people throughout the village were commonplace and other duties, like farming, had to make way. So he had decided quickly to do away with the farm next to his long hall, after the first harvest. It was promptly replaced with a shed - it was left empty for now as there were no real items to be stored yet.
Instead of having his own farm, Ketill gave out land to the newcomers who lacked any real profession in loan, and as part of their tribute they would pay him a certain amount of their harvest. This was a setup he had learned from not only Broacien, but also the Sultanate, although the Sultanate preferred their taxes over the harvests. It was the same concept, and he felt no reason not to apply it here.
However, that also meant one of Najla’s core tasks had disappeared and, where she could initially spend her time in the small farm, she was now reduced to doing, well, even less. And although she had the intelligence to learn a profession, nothing of that kind was expected of her, since she was a woman - rearing children was what most people assumed she would do, though there were no children to speak of. That left her with much free time.
Frankly, Ketill would have normally objected to the amount of free time she had, and indeed, would frequently remark that she was living much like she had at her home in the sultanate. It lacked the luxury and prosperity, surely, but she could once again live a lazy live. Perhaps it was because of that that Ketill began using her former experience as a spymaster to his own favor, and in private, solicited her opinions about statecraft and how to deal with dissenters like Hádski. Being a foreigner would make the establishment of a spy network harder for Najla in this situation, but her experience was nonetheless still as valid.
The fact that he solicited her opinions selectively and in private only further reinforced the public idea that Najla was merely a concubine, some sort of exotic pleasure brought along by the chieftain.
As for Basim, he had earned a place not only among the hunters but also beside Ketill, as his understanding of not only Northern culture, but also his rudimentary understanding of law and the legal processes in the north gave him an unofficial position as an advisor in the matter of law. Despite not being officially appointed or recognized as such, it seemed Basim did not care much, and was simply happy to carry on with a purpose and a position in which he could sate his curiosity - there were those who would enjoy the boys’ company at all times, and those who simply acknowledged his existence, but there were none in the entire village bar perhaps Hádski who found the boys’ presence to be offensive. He had used this fact extensively in his quest for knowledge, and though Ketill was happy to be relieved of his endless questions, he was also happy that Basim took up precisely the role he had intended for him when he founded the village.
‘’Chieftain,’’ a man spoke, dressed in a simple tunic, white and roughspun with stains of dirt and mud on it - he was clearly one of the peasants, those who farmed the lands. And from the looks of it, he was an exceptionally poor one. ‘’We found this man on our lands some hours ago, and after we captured him and interrogated him, found out he was looking for our food.’’
They were in the lit hall of Ketill, the center firepit lighting the hall entirely, creating flickering shadow on the walls where the various pieces of furniture blocked the light. At the far end of the hall, on the raised platform, Ketill sat on his throne. He heard the peasants story, while the rest of the crowd waited for him to pass judgement. In front of the peasant, directly in front of Ketill, was a man kneeled with his hands tied with rope. He was clearly just as poor as the peasant from whom he had tried to steal, if not poorer. But the laws of the gods were quite clear on it.
‘’To take without earning is a crime, so there was no need to bring him here,’’ Ketill spoke quite clearly. ‘’You had every right to take his hand for it, or kill him.’’
The peasant nodded agreeingly, but there was a kink in the cable, it seemed. ‘’True, and for that I would not have brought him here. However, when we caught him he did not steal anything yet. So, I did not dare kill him for his intent. Clearly he is hungry and starved, as are we, so I understand his plight. But what would the Gods think of me for killing a man just wishing to sate his hunger?’’
This gave Ketill reason to pause, and he leaned his elbow onto his armrest and put his chin into his palm, pondering it deeply. ‘’You are right, this complicates the matter. There was nothing stopping him from knocking on your door,’’ Ketill said after a long pause.
‘’Yes, chief, if he had done so I would’ve done as any good Northerner would and given him bread and salt, and ale, even if we have little to spare.’’
‘’Accused, what say you? Why did you act dishonorably?’’
‘’Apologies, my lord, I cannot tell. I just wanted to eat something other than roots and mushrooms, for one night, but Northern hospitality is not as widespread as I am lead to believe by this mans’ words. The last few families have turned me away, and I could not stand such disappointment again.’’
‘’Right, then I have made my decision. The punishment for thievery is death on the spot, or a settlement with the victimized family. But as nothing has been stolen, I cannot possibly sentence you to death,’’ Ketill said, standing up from his throne and stepping forwards to the edge of the platform. ‘’I can sentence you for unlawful entry on someone else’s land, but the sentence would do little in terms of repayment. I could outlaw you, declare you free, but you are already free, and a vagabond has little meaning attached to the word law or outlaw. Nothing would be gained.’’
Ketill crossed his arms then and raised one to his beard, stroking it as if he were still pondering his decision, or perhaps the wording. ‘’You seem most concerned with survival so I will see to it that you can earn that lawfully and honorably. I sentence you to become this farmers’ thrall. Work his lands and earn your keep. A meal earned by labor is more satisfying than one earned by thievery, even if it is smaller.’’
‘’Thank you, thank you kindly chieftain,’’ the accused spoke, but the farmer was quick to interject.
‘’Chief, I am more than grateful for you granting me a thrall but- but we cannot afford to feed another mouth. My lands are too small as it is, and I cannot afford more land-’’
‘’Then you will take some of mine. If I recall correctly, your lands lie in the south, close to the edge of the village. To the east of your lands are a patch of untouched forest. And if I recall correctly as well, we have plenty forest around the village. Take that forest and chop it down. Sell the wood, use it, whichever you wish to do. Then, build more farms there.’’
And so it was settled - and both parties were satisfied, with a small cost for the chief, Ketill, who would not have used these forested areas regardless. They were of little value to him as he already received plenty of food from the tribute of his citizens - a ‘’tax’’ as Basim had explained to the other Northerners some time before, though the word ‘’tribute’’ was easier to understand for them regardless.
This was one of the more pressing matters of law that Ketill had to attend to - not often did people come to him with pressing matters like this, much more often it was about smaller things. Advice on family matters, settlement between two families on a dispute, or settling the terms for a marriage. Ketill wouldn’t mind if he didn’t have to perform these tasks, but he was well aware that they were a part of the package of becoming a chieftain.
Weeks passed without any event of interest passing. More families joined the village, and by now they had a bustling corner of the village dedicated solely to the creation of bog iron, with men wading out into the swamps to retrieve the pockets of iron, and smelting it down. The swamps were quite a ways away, and so the traveling and smelting itself took up most of the time. It was a very limited supply - most swamps only offered about one or two pockets of iron per year - but it was enough for basic tools and weaponry. Smiths were rare in the north, but by a stroke of luck one of them had joined the village and had began taking on and teaching an apprentice to smith as well.
Fishing was now one of the main sources of food, with nets and fish traps being set up across small bridges across the nearby river. Construction on the first boat had been started, but it went very slowly as the men learned how to make a boat. It was a hard task, and something that required a lot of patience and skill, so Ketill had anticipated it. Nevertheless he mandated that the first boat was ready and available within a year. A harsh mandate, but the men all agreed they would see to it that it was done.
The more people joined the village, the more Najla would see her tasks fade away. After Ketill got rid of the farm on his lands, as it was not befitting for a chieftain any longer, she was indeed confined to mending clothes together with her newfound ‘’companion’’, if one could call it that. And for the longest time she did indeed do so. But as more families joined the village, one of the families decided to become clothiers, as they had experience with this. The man and his son made the clothes, the two daughters and the mother would mend clothes for other families - mostly the richer ones. Over time this also reduced Najla’s work to the smallest tasks, such as mending smaller holes in tunics.
Where she had first been ordered to prove her value, Ketill had now taken away most of the ways she could prove her value. But it seemed he was okay for that - had something else in mind for her, perhaps. It could very well have been a scary prospect for her, as Ketill was not someone that spoke his mind easily when it came to his plans. He was like Audrun in that way - straightforward and to the point, rash and brutish even. But when it came to planning, he was subtle and thought out his actions rather well. And all of that without directly consulting anyone around him.
So the prospect of him having plans for Najla, it could mean a myriad of things. He had been a slave in the sultanate for a long time, even being her direct property for most of that. While Najla might have felt it justified, there was no way to deny that Ketill was treated like a property, and that was not a preferable way to live, even if he was indeed treated better than other slaves. She would not wish to live like that herself.
Indeed, Ketill had stated she was free. But everyone else thought she wasn’t, that she was an exotic plaything, a concubine of sorts. Ketill’s lack of affection towards her only reinforced that idea, as he was not particularly subtle in his manners with her. Little did everyone know that Ketill and Najla had a wild and varied history together, one that was not so easily ignored,
and that provided the valuable context in which to see things.
Would Ketill now treat her the same way?
Perhaps.
As summer was closing in and the green lush forests began breathing life into the surrounding area again, a problem started arising. People were reporting feeling strange, having nightmares and even seeing spectre’s, ghosts, and some even claimed to see undead creatures. Some claimed that the land they had built their village on was sacred and they were being punished for building there. Ketill himself had began feeling stranger and stranger too, though he did not suspect holy interference or anything of the sorts. It was too sudden for that. They’d been here for nearly 3 months now, and until then, nothing had happened.
Two knocks on Najla’s door would be all that would alert her to Ketill’s presence, late at night. Most families had gone to bed, while Ketill had been pondering the issue at hand. Some families had threatened to leave, and while Ketill would not stop them, he also did not wish for them to do so. They had demanded intervention of sorts, to put the Gods at ease. Finding a godi, a priest of the northerners, would’ve been easy, but transporting him to the village and satisfying him not so much. Being a man of the gods himself, Ketill could do a few things, but he suspected the real culprit was something, or someone, else.
He opened Najla’s door when she would’ve answered him, and closed it behind him. Though it was smaller than his own room, it was larger than some of the families’ entire house would’ve been, so at the very least it was spacious. ‘’There is trouble,’’ he opened up, stepping slightly closer until he was in the center of the room, looking at Najla. ‘’I could do this myself, but frankly, I think it’s better left to someone who is a bit more… out of the view.’’
He glanced around and found the table and chairs that the carpenter had built for their rooms in a corner of the room, and immediately went to sit down. Clearly he wasn’t here just to give her some order and then leave again, like he would’ve done previously. This matter at hand was more pressing it seemed, and required more explanation.
‘’There’s been complaints about black shadows roaming the village at night, standing over people and then vanishing. People claim there’s some sort of sacred actions of the gods going on but I suspect otherwise. Maybe there’s a witch, or something entirely different, but if it were some action of the gods, then we would’ve noticed it long before now. It’s been three months of nothing, and now people are suddenly seeing things. I find that hard to believe, but I cannot find evidence for this. As you have been left mostly without any tasks or profession, I suppose it is time for you to take up the mantle of what you’d been doing your entire life. Which is to say, be dishonorable and brooding.’’
He glanced away for a second, upwards at the ceiling, as if he were thinking of the gods. They would not approve of backstabbery and such, but intrigue and wisdom were well within their approved, and even encouraged traits. Finding out information through whatever means was a good thing, but poison and the likes were not. But…
‘’You are not of my religion so whatever you do, I’m sure my gods wouldn’t mind. Unless you intend to tell me you’ve converted, but I highly doubt that. Find out what you can and come to me.’’
And that was it - he left immediately after that, going back to his room. Although there was no official position for spymaster in the northern court, it was reasonable to assume that she had just been informally and unofficially granted that position, whether it existed or not.
Gathering information from the villagers would most likely not yield any interesting results - they would probably inform her that they’d seen shadows, undead, ghosts, spectres or einherjar - a type of soldier that had already ascended to the heavens of the pagans, who was selected to fight against the forces of hel in the ending of the world. Fantastic stories for late at night, with a mug of mead and a fire nearby, but ultimately useless for figuring out the truth.
There was a red line however. All of the people who reported these sightings were those that frequently ate with Ketill in his longhouse, and the others, such as the farmers that were richer, and thus did not need to eat with Ketill, were unaffected. They were worried, but had not seen anything themselves.
Conclusions could easily be drawn.
“You wish to see the Sultanate again?”
Those words caused her eyes to flash back at Ketill, unreadable even though she felt the tinge of pain in her heart. The only sign of the sudden tension was the slight clenching of her fist, digging her nails into her palm lightly. Perhaps her silence would be more telling of her emotions than these gestures, for Najla did not reply to Ketill’s question. There was no need, he already knew the answer.
Of course she wanted to return, but not like this. The notion that she’d be returning at the head of a fleet brought a lump to her throat. Her gaze was cold as she stared at that cursed grin on his face, trying to assess if he was telling the truth. She could not bear to return by Ketill’s side, to unleash this beast on her people. They were not her people anymore, but they had been once, more so than these savage northerners ever would be. Yet there was something that had settled in the pit of her stomach, the nagging feeling that perhaps she would do well to allow this. Perhaps it would feel good to take back the kingdom that had thrown her out, to burn it to the ground and once again claim herself princess of those ashes. Had she had any trust in Ketill or his people, it might have been harder for her to squash that thought down.
But it seemed Ketill was not truthfully offering that, for the silence was quickly followed up with something that caused her to drown out those thoughts, barely able to comprehend the answer to her question under a sudden surge of anger. He was going to kill Osman. Her fist clenched even tighter at the notion, and though her emotions were well-controlled in her expression, her voice would not hide it as she answered him.
“He took nothing from you, killing Osman is not your right. It is mine.”
She tried to turn and leave his room, but true to fashion, Ketill would try to dictate the length of the conversation. In some ways, this pattern felt much like the Sultanate, as they’d try to avoid each other until these brief, unsatisfying conversations, at which point she’d gain nothing but anger. Yet Najla was quite aware that the balance had shifted, though she did not seem to know this as she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her in an effort to block out Ketill’s voice. Yet it was to no avail, for like always, Ketill would try to get in the last word. Before, it had been easier to dismiss his words as attempts to get under her skin, nothing more. But now, Najla found herself halting behind his door. A glance at Basim’s closed door would tell her nothing of whether he’d heard it, but she did not wait for longer than this brief moment to find out.
Najla was quick to return to her room, closing the door behind her before moving to sit on her bed. Did he think himself a fated hero? It sounded like it, though Najla could not understand what that meant for her role in all of this. All she understood was that now, she could be returning to the Sultanate. Perhaps earlier in their path to flee, Najla might have taken that with a smile, eager to stay in her homeland. But that thought held only misery now. What if Ketill intended to sell her back to the Sultan? It was her greatest fear, though Najla could not imagine it’d be worth the trouble. They had no real power anymore, none to aid their claim to the throne, the price on their heads would drop significantly as a result. Osman would offer the highest price, but Ketill wanted to kill him. Even that notion made her cringe, wondering if that chance would be taken from her before he ever answered her questions. If he’d die before he told her just why he’d betrayed her so deeply, whether he’d ever truly loved her, to see if he’d beg for his life when she took her answers at the end of a sword. Though she was reluctant to return to the Sultanate, she was more worried that someone would take that chance from her.
She dreamt of Osman that night. Najla would blame Ketill for that, for she had not dreamt of his face for some time, a blissful realization every morning she woke up without it. However, the mention of killing him, that base, savage hope, had brought him back into the forefront of her thoughts. Unfortunately, she would not get the pleasure of watching him die in this dream, nor was it the sensation of her hand driving a shard into his flesh that she replayed so often in her mind. This was far worse.
She dreamt of running her hands down a familiar, warm chest, tracing the contours she had come to know as a second home. Najla always willed her lips to become poisonous as they traced over his chest, grazing those muscles, reminding her of all that had betrayed her. His hands would move over her figure, grabbing her hips to pull her closer to him. Najla followed willingly, her lips moving against his as his hands moved up her figure, over her chest to her neck. There, he gripped, a sensation that caused a groan of pleasure to arise from her lips as she kissed him once more, drinking him in closer. Then it gripped harder, harder, and Najla did not gasp or scream or struggle. It merely gripped, and Najla fell into that blackness with only the taste of her lover to take with her.
----
Najla was somewhat startled to hear the sound of heavy knocks on her door, though she could have guessed at who it was. Basim’s knocks were far lighter and more familiar, for he found reason to speak to her far more often than Ketill did. It had been a shock the first time Najla had heard the sound of Ketill’s knocking on her door, and then he’d been let in with some trepidation. Even then, it’d been silly, for she knew quite well that if Ketill wanted to take her, he wouldn’t have bothered to knock. But now, the sound of Najla’s voice merely sounded tired as she told him to come in, expecting him to give some order and leave so that she could sleep.
Despite the late hour and her exhaustion, it did not seem as if Najla was about to sleep. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, and the bowl of water on her desk made it very clear what she had been about to do. Without the luxury of the baths, Najla had to settle for washing her hands and feet with that small bowl of water before prayers, something that only ever occurred in the privacy of her room anymore. When Ketill had been a Servant, Najla had worried about his reaction to her faith, but seemed to hold none of that fear now. Rather, she simply looked upon him with a dulled expression, waiting for him to spout his order and leave.
It seemed that a simple order was not the case however. She didn’t reply to his words as Ketill moved to sit on the chair, though her eyes followed him cautiously. They were concerning words certainly, but what he wanted from her in regards to this problem was more worrisome still. He had only asked for her input in select matters, but otherwise had acted on his own beliefs, regardless of how she’d advise him. To have a matter left to her was a new aspect entirely, but as Ketill began to speak, Najla quickly understood why.
She did not interject as Ketill was speaking, but the look in her eyes made it very clear that this was not entirely new information. Najla had never spoken of the night she believed she’d seen her brother, looming over Basim in the dead of winter. She had not believed that anyone would share her conviction that it was Jalil. But once the people had begun to see similar apparitions, Najla had kept quiet for an entirely different reason. They were desperate for explanations now, to tell them that she had shared this delusion would only make her a target. She was a foreigner after all, it’d be easier for them to call her a witch than share in her grief. Still, the stories that had reached Ketill’s court were ones she’d listened to intensely, always wondering if her brothers presence was the true cause, or if she’d been another victim of these strange sightings. It seemed she’d get a perfect chance to find out now.
Perhaps Ketill had meant to insult her by describing her profession as ‘dishonorable and brooding’, but the words merely brought a smile to Najla’s lips. It was no secret that he did not approve of her morality, just as she couldn’t ever approve of his own. But she’d come to terms with Ketill’s brutality, regardless of her feelings about it, simply because she’d had to. Without his violence, Najla would have been long dead. Perhaps he had not known it, but without her ‘dishonorable’ methods, he’d have been dead too.
“I have heard of these rumors. Your people are frightened, they have every reason to be. Especially if your gods cursed this particular patch of dirt.”
That smile only grew when he informed her that his gods would forgive her actions, as if she gave a care as to what his gods thought of her. She could not go against the rules of their gods, not so long as she was living with those that abided by their laws. But that was to protect for her safety here on earth, her own God would determine what came after. Whether he’d abandoned her to her sins or not, Najla did not know, but she’d continue to pray regardless. The notion that she’d converted seemed even funnier to her in this context, as Najla knew she held that unwavering faith in a God that might have abandoned her. There was no time to dwell on that humor however, for Ketill was quick to finish. Before he could leave, Najla spoke, unwilling to be a passive participant in this conversation. Her voice was soft as she replied, but that seemed to betray the sense of confidence with which she spoke.
“Do not worry, I am still faithful to my God. Your gods have turned a blind eye to me, and mine has abandoned me. It seems there is no morality on this earth that will bind me. Give me a few days, I will have an answer for you.”
---
Najla wasted no time the next day, quickly setting out to speak to those who had seen what Ketill had described to her. It was exciting to begin doing that work which she had grown so accustomed to, even though it was far more difficult here. She did not have the resources, nor did she have an ear besides her own. Worse than that, she was a foreigner in this land, with little knowledge of their traditions or culture. She had learned long ago that a persons words were worthless without the context in which they spoke it in, and her knowledge of that context had been heavily informed by Ketill. That had changed within the last few months as more people had entered the village, but the base of knowledge she’d started from had not been a pleasant one.
It was extremely lucky then, that few held any qualms about talking to her. She had not been unfriendly with them, and Najla certainly didn’t have the same reputation she’d had in the Sultanate. Besides, her brother seemed well-liked among the villagers, and so many of the villagers didn’t seem to think it strange that his sister may be just as curious. Her perception as a concubine certainly didn’t hurt either, for Najla found quickly that people were eager to speak with her, as if their suggestions might get to the chief faster through her. They’d be more careful about what they chose to say, but that which they truly believed, they’d push on. And many seemed to truly believe they’d seen a ghost.
The first few she’d asked were all women. It made sense that she interacted with the women in the village far more, and it was a massive aid to her work in any respect. Just as most of the Sultanate’s gossip passed between veils, whispered in the baths or carelessly handed out over pitchers of wine, the women of the north were little different. They did not trade secrets between jeweled hands the way the women of her home had, but some of the sentiment was still the same. They’d pass off pitchers of water while discussing how nervous their husband had grown since he had seen the apparition, or how they refused to go too deep into the woods after seeing the figures flash between the trees. It seemed like harmless conversation most of the time, though this sort of gossip was the easiest way to begin to distinguish who had seen anything and who hadn’t.
Once she had gathered enough stories and concerns, determining which families were simply worried and which had reason to be, a clear pattern began to show itself to Najla as their worries unfolded as well. When a women began to mention that they were urging their husbands to leave, or that their husbands wished to do so, Najla said nothing. It was worrisome to think that they would, as it didn’t bode well for whatever Ketill’s massively condeluded scheme was, but Najla was in no position to stop them. Even if Najla wanted to try and convince them, it would not work. Not only was she not privy to many of their ways, Najla had a suspicion that some believed she might have been the cause for this. She could understand why, just as her people had been quick to call Ketill Djinn, his people might have been more eager to write her off as a witch. She had given them no reason to, but her instincts were confirmed after a particularly important conversation, one that had helped to untangle a massive kink in the events unfolding.
Najla had believed the line between the stories had been drawn, but a particular storyteller had thrown her burgeoning conclusion into chaos, making her wonder if she’d been wrong all along. The stories varied between all those she asked, though two major factors stayed the same. They dined with Ketill in the longhouse frequently, and they had seen something. What they’d truly seen did differ, some insisted they had merely caught a glimpse, others recalled waking up to see something standing over their wives, and some even described something reaching for them. The beings in each of the stories differed in minor details, nothing that would make Najla believe they were lying, only scared and eager to tell their story.
Einar’s was different. Najla had heard bits of his story from others, as they seemed quite concerned with what he’d seen, as it seemed more worrisome than the others. But the full story was told by Einar’s wife, Hilde. Apparently he had seen a creature standing over her in the night, and Hilde told Najla and Sif the story over the pile of dirty clothes she’d brought down to the river. The shallowest part had become a common area for the women to gather, and while the men built the boat upstream, the women scrubbed and discussed downstream. Hilda glanced upstream every so often as she told the story, as if worried that her husband would hear her, despite how far they were from the men. The story was similar at first, Einar had apparently awoken to see a creature standing over his wife, who had not felt the coldness until the morning after, when her husband informed her of what he’d seen. That detail did not surprise Najla, for Basim had not noticed anything about the figure that stood over him. But as Hilde finished the story, describing how the creature had fled, leaving her husband to close the door after it and crawl back into bed with her.
“They’re quite awful houseguests then, to let the cold in like that.”
The words were spoken as a joke, as if to lighten the tension of the conversation. But as Najla’s eyes raked Hilde, she wondered if the women knew that could not have been the truth. She did not seem to. But Najla remembered what she’d seen, a figure that slipped through the wood of the house with nothing to bar it. It had been her own misguided idea as to what the creature had been that caused Najla to fling the door open and chase after it. It was a minor detail, but in comparison to the gist of the other stories that had been told, Najla had seen it as a glaring error. A man’s eyes were easily fooled, but the feeling of cold on one’s skin was unmistakable. Perhaps in itself, the detail would have been nothing more than a shoddy exaggeration of the story, but Najla had already wondered about Einar’s story, given that he was the only one telling such a tale that did not eat around Ketill’s table. Hilde did not respond to Najla’s comment however, and the worried expression on her face only barely changed as Sif’s reply came.
“And indecent, to stand over a man’s wife like that.”
Najla could not help but laugh slightly at that, wringing a shirt clean as she pulled it out of the water. The joke did seem to ease Hilde’s concern a little, but it did not answer Najla’s questions about the story itself. She’d have to speak to Einar, to hear it firsthand from him and pick it apart there, but that would be far more difficult than gossiping with his wife over their chores. Before Najla could start to consider how to do so however, a heated look drew her attention. The two women speaking back and forth were just within earshot of the women, so that their words would have been drowned out as Hilde continued, going on about whether it might be better to leave. But the look had drawn Najla’s attention, enough to draw her attention from Hilde’s words. It was not cruel or hateful, but worried, fearful, a look she had been far more used to seeing in the Sultanate. The reasoning for it then, was far more confusing, but the few words she picked up would help to clarify that quickly.
She had heard the word before, at the trial that nearly took her life. Well, at the second trial that had nearly taken her life.
“Do they think I’m a witch?”
“Don’t listen to them. It’s nonsense.They didn’t say it to you, so clearly it’s nothing but a rumor.”
“You northerners are so strange.” Najla spoke with a bare smile, remembering how Ketill had dismissed Hadski, declaring that he wasn’t a threat because he hadn’t confronted Ketill. It was the strangest rationale, for Najla had mostly feared those who would not approach her. It was far scarier to operate against an opponent you couldn’t see. “My people were willing to kill on rumors. They tried to take Ketill’s head when they believed he was a Djinn, even if none had the gall to say it to him.” Glancing up at Sif, Najla hurried to ease the confusion. “A Djinn is a demon, a spirit that takes a mans form. My people do not have blue eyes, they needed some explanation for it.”
“And they were ready to take his head over it?”
“Well, that among other reasons. He was not particularly . . . respectful of those who would hold themselves above him. Still, his being a ‘Djinn’ made it quite difficult to defend him. Worse than the ‘Djinn’ is the one who would stand behind him. I assume as much holds true for a volva.”
“Maybe. But if the chief says you’re not one, who’s going to say you are?”
Perhaps it should have been a sentiment that brought comfort, but in truth, it only made Najla more nervous. What incentive did Ketill have to defend her in that instance? He didn’t need her the way she’d needed him in the Sultanate. Unless it was meant to fit her into this grander scheme he’d seemed to plan in his head, but Najla had no faith in whatever occurred in Ketill’s mind. He’d long proven himself mad. Besides, she did not share the northerners faith that any real disputes could or would be decided through fair trial or blood. Some would have to be solved through other means, like whatever dispute was apparently fueling these strange events. Whatever it was, Najla felt as if she no longer had time to do so carefully. Whatever her suspicions, she wanted to act on them immediately, before the rumor that she was a ‘volva’ could grow into anything more.
Armed now with a new sense of urgency, and some certainty after hearing Einar’s story, even secondhand, Najla went to Basim. It was the next logical step, though she had not told him of what Ketill had asked her to discover before. But she would not hide it from him either, for Najla trusted her brother completely. Besides, she needed this information from him. She might have been able to do so on her own time, but Basim had become a fixture among the hunters. He spent a great deal of time with them, and Najla was sure she was better off finding out any oddities from Basim’s ears rather than the slight bit she’d be able to see.
Basim did not seem surprised when Najla entered his room, but remained laid back on his bed, his arms tucked under his head. Najla walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed. Despite the fact that their paths did not cross as often in the day, they remained as close as ever, much to Najla’s happiness.
<“You must be exhausted. Did you have a hard hunt today?”>
<“Not really. I feel as if I spent half the day skinning animals.”>
<“Please tell me you washed your hands.”>
Basim let out a sigh, moving his arm over his eyes, as if blocking his sister out. <“Yes mother, I washed my hands.”>
It might have brought Najla pain a long time before, to hear Basim joke about a mother neither of them had. But now it brought a smile to her face, and Najla reached out, resting a hand on his leg and giving it a small squeeze, as if to apologize to him. It felt like an oddly casual relationship between siblings, as if they had shed the very trauma that bonded them so deeply. This would never be true, the reality of their lost lives was incredibly apparent to both of them, but it did not seem as if either felt that now. Thankfully, some moments of peace remained to them.
<“Good. I’ll let you sleep in a moment, but I hope you’ll tolerate me for a few more. I’m sure you’ve heard about the djinns around the village.”>
<“You don’t mean Ketill, right?”> Despite his words, Basim moved his arm off his face, sitting up slightly on the bed. Clearly, her words had intrigued him. <“Or do you mean the Nesnas they’ve been seeing?”>
<“No. All of these spirits have their whole bodies, they can’t be a Nesnas. Stop it, it doesn’t matter.” Though Basim seemed disappointed at this, clearly somewhat intrigued at the thought of debating the various supernatural explanations with his sister, Najla had an explanation that would be far more intriguing. <“They aren’t real anyways. Listen. Ketill’s asked me to figure out what’s behind it. And I’m close, I just need your help.”>
With that, Najla launched into a quick explanation, speaking to a now-captive audience. Basim was clearly interested in the way she’d managed to speak to the others, how she’d found Einar’s lie, and she pulled a laugh out of him when she explained why she was rushed, for Basim did not share her urgency about being called a with. Still, all traces of sleep were gone from his eyes once Najla finally got to why she needed him.
<“So now I’m certain. The only ones with stories I believe are those that eat with Ketill, in this house. So it has to be the food. I’ve been trying to understand which part of the food, to determine exactly who has been doing it.”>
<”You prepare a great deal of it though, have you not seen anything?”>
<“No, that’s exactly my concern. I wondered if the pots were poisoned, or the bowls themselves, but those are cleaned regularly and would be far too difficult to encompass everything. I also wondered if it was the crops, but those are harder to poison before preparation. I wondered if someone was poisoning it beforehand, and it was just diluted during preparation, but that would mean their intent was something other than this strange haunting, and they’ve stayed with it. That doesn’t make sense to me.”>
<“So what’s left? The meat or the ale?”>
<“I don’t think it’s the ale. It’d be easier to poison than the meat, but I feel as if many of those who drink the ale but do not eat in this house have had no complaints. Besides, poison is harder to hide in a liquid like that.”>
<“But it could be the ale.”>
<“Yes. But I don’t think so. You haven’t noticed anything strange about any of the hunters?”>
<“I . . . no. I can’t say I have. We do not all hunt together however, there’s a little more cooperation in how we skin the animals and the like, but barely.”>
<“Well, try and think. Who has never asked for help, or refuses it altogether? Who skins the meat and readies it long before you set eyes on it?”>
<“Many do. Why don’t you give me some time? I’m sure I could watch them and give you a few names. In the meantime, you can tell Ketill what you know.”>
<“I don’t have a few days.”> Basim’s concerned expression was met with a knowing gaze from Najla, who moved to stand, as if ready to leave. She did not however, simply walking around the small room as if to observe it, though she had nothing to see in there. Really, it was a way to release her nerves, and Basim’s gaze made it clear that he understood this. <“Basim, if people think I’m a witch, they’ll think I did this, and the longer it goes on, the more convinced they’ll be. People get scared when they don’t have a scapegoat, you know that. A foreign whore with no skills would be the easiest one to chase.”>
<“Don’t call yourself that.”>
Najla suddenly stopped walking, turning to look at Basim with concern. Something about the way he’d said those words worried her, for Najla knew Basim was usually not the type to care. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about the rumors that she was merely a concubine, but she was certain that Basim had heard of them. He’d had to. Najla had faith in Basim’s intelligence, so she did not worry that Basim would jump to counteract the rumors. Likely, he’d guessed at why the rumors had occurred, or better yet, why either Najla or Ketill had allowed them to continue. Perhaps Ketill hadn’t heard, but Najla certainly had, and she was more worried that they’d find out the truth.
<“I understand what you’re saying, I know why you’re scared, but-“>
<“You’ve heard, haven’t you? That I’m Ketill’s concubine?”>
<“Yes, of course.”> He did not seem upset when he spoke, only slightly annoyed. Perhaps at her questioning, or the notion that others were talking about it, Najla did not know. Even still, she moved to sit on the bed beside her brother once more, as if preparing for a difficult conversation. Basim however, did not need that comfort, for he continued talking about it as if it were another fact of life. Najla knew that her brother was unhappy about this, that he’d like to imagine a life for his sister where she didn’t have to play as a concubine for a chance at safety. Najla wasn’t quite thrilled about it either, but the reality of their lives meant that such a silly perception did little but hurt egos. <“No one’s said it straight to my face, but I know. I was waiting for either you or Ketill to put a stop to it, but it never happened.”>
<“I don’t even know if he knows. I’m sure he’ll figure it out. In the meantime, keep it quiet. It’s safer for me this way.”>
<“Will it still be safer if he finds out?”>
Najla just shrugged at that, much more nonchalantly than she felt. She assumed that Ketill would not care, that he’d simply dispel the rumors, whatever. It didn’t matter. She had never specifically told anyone that she was or wasn’t what they believed, so none could hold that against her. But Najla could not see a reason for Ketill to care that this rumor was happening, if anything, it’d benefit him. But if he were to find out that she had been allowing the rumor to continue on purpose . . . that settled far differently in Najla’s stomach.
<“It’ll be fine. It’s embarrassing that anyone would think I’d touch an infidel, but nothing more. It is not as if Ketill would ever be willing to touch me.”>
<“I know that, I live here. I figured if it were true, I would’ve known.”>
<“See? Then there is no reason to worry.”> Najla stated with a positivity she did not feel, pushing herself off of her brother’s bed for the final time. <“Now think, please? I won’t go forward empty-handed.”>
Basim sighed then, and the siblings were quiet for a few moments as she allowed him to think. It was a silence she’d grown used to, allowing her brother to move through his thoughts before he abruptly spoke up. As always, Najla did not speak, merely drumming her fingers along the table in a steady, careful rhythm, until Basim finally spoke, disturbing her thoughts. He gave her a few names, some she noted, some she dismissed, up until his final naming.
<“Well, and Hadski of course. He never hunts or does anything with the others. He barely speaks to Arngeir anymore. I think it’s because of me. But don’t let this ‘volva’ thing scare you. Give me a few days, I’ll watch the hunters and let you know when I see something worthwhile.”>
<“Hmmm.”> It was a noncommittal sound, not quite accounting for anything she might do. Perhaps in the past, Najla would have lied to her brother through gritted teeth, but she seemed quite reluctant to do so nowadays. <“Don’t worry yourself so much about it. You’ll grow old. Look, your forehead is already starting to crinkle like paper.”>
She reached out to smooth his forehead then, a teasing gesture that her mother had often done to Basim. Then, her mother would always turn to Harith, kissing his forehead and telling him that it was smooth because it was blissfully empty. Now, without her older brother present, Najla could only lean in and kiss Basim’s forehead, gripping his cheek briefly before she released him. She hadn’t meant the gesture to be anything but loving, but it seemed Basim had not forgotten the history behind it. Najla often overlooked his sadness, for while hers had been so devastatingly apparent, her brother had stifled it better. That had been for her sake however, Najla had never forgotten that, and the sudden flash of sadness in her brother’s eyes was enough to soften her voice suddenly.
<“I love you, my blood. Sleep well.”>
<“And you.”>
Najla leaned against the wooden railing of the bridge, her eyes following the men carefully as they labored on the boat, as if she could better understand the workings of the ship this way. It was not so, for Najla’s people had never had need or use of a ship in any capacity, for they had no body of water they could not walk around. Regardless, it made it a fascinating sight or perhaps just an odd distraction from the task Ketill had granted to her.
“Are you looking for your brother?”
Perhaps it was not entirely a distraction, for Najla turned her head to see Grettir, standing at the end of the bridge. It was no wonder that he assumed she had come to find Basim, for Najla rarely had reason to speak to the other men, nor did they have much reason to speak to her. They were polite to her, often even more than Ketill was, and Najla returned this, but that was where it ended. Still, Grettir had long since become familiar to her and he held no hesitation when he walked up the bridge as he spoke.
“Arngeir took him out hunting again. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”
“I know, I spoke to him before they set off this morning. I just wanted to see how the ship was coming along.”
“Did Ketill ask you to?”
Najla smiled at that, clearly a grin born out of humor. Though the question was harmless, the notion should have worried her slightly, for if the rest of the men believed that her actions were an extension of Ketill’s, it could cause a number of issues in conducting such work in the future. If Ketill would ever grant her such work in the future. But Najla knew that a few well-placed words would dispel that idea in Grettir’s head. She also had no doubts that he’d relay her next words to the men who were working on the boat now, should any be curious about her presence later.
“No, he is not such a fool. My home is a land without water, what could I tell him of ships? ‘It is still afloat, I believe, though I am not yet sure how.’”
Grettir chuckled at her words, leaning his arms against the rail as well, turning his gaze to look over the ship. He’d grown more comfortable in her presence it seemed, not just now but over the course of their time together. Najla would never go so far as to call him a friend, though there was no one she’d extend that term to now. Friends were people one could trust, and Najla would never extend that to anyone but Basim. Not again. But Grettir was a good man, loyal to Ketill and honest in that unrestrained way she had come to recognize these northerners to be. It was a valuable presence to her, especially when he was closer to her suspect than any of the others.
“Your brother has asked me to explain a great deal regarding the ship. I could always tell you what I told him.”
“No need.” Najla had no intention of ever sailing on one of those monstrosities, despite the fact that Ketill had told her she would return to the Sultanate on one. Rather than mention that fact to Grettir, Najla was quick to turn the subject to what she’d truly come for. “I’m sure he must have been tearing your ear off about it all, I won’t ask you to repeat it again. You must be thankful Arngeir has taken him out of your hair for now.” Her words were spoken teasingly, as she had no reason to hide her deep affection for her brother. Besides, the affection built up to what she was just about to ask, to hide it among a deeper set of motivations.
“I don’t mind, neither does my brother. He’s a clever kid, and kind. The whole village has grown to like him.”
“I appreciate your kind words, but I worry that that’s not entirely true. I can never tell if his curiosity is bound to edge on another’s nerves, I sense he may attract some disdain if he is not cautious.”
“Is there someone you’re worried about?”
“Perhaps. I won’t ask you to ease my fears however, not for something as silly as gossip.” The way she spoke sounded almost as if she was unsure of her own fears, but it seemed Grettir would quickly understand her fears. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to ease her fears about many men, there was only one he’d have any insight on. But the way Najla looked over at the river once more, eyes filled with worry, made it seem as if that was entirely untrue.
“Hadski?”
“I would not speak ill of your companion. He’s been an asset to this village, it is just my brother I worry for at times.”
“There is no need to worry, Hadski has no quarrel with the boy. Besides, he prefers to hunt on his own. He usually doesn’t go when Arngeir leaves.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. He mentioned he would go tomorrow, he’ll be gone all day I expect. Your brother does not intend to go out with the hunters then, does he?”
“I don’t believe so.” Najla reached her hand out, resting it on Grettir’s arm gently for a brief moment. A show of gratitude, that of a sister who’d had a worry lift from her heart. The same would be read in her expression, and Najla was certain nothing more would be seen. “Thank you Grettir, you’ve eased my mind greatly.”
“Of course. If the chief asks, tell him his ship’s still afloat.”
She was acting too rashly. The thought replayed in Najla’s head with every step she took. She was acting rashly, she should have waited, should have allowed Basim to observe for a few days, but each time the thought popped up, she shoved it down. After learning that it had been the food, a new sense of urgency filled her, for not finding the culprit soon could mean death. More than that, the notion that some might have believed she was responsible for it, even if it was a rumor, was even more worrying. A volva would not last long here, no matter who people believed was protecting her.
It was with that thought that Najla pushed herself forwards, away from where some of the houses seemed to cluster towards the center of the village, and to the isolated corner where Hadski had built his hut. It was not dark yet, and so Najla was not worried that he’d return from his hunt, but it did place some fear as to whether anyone would see her. Luckily, Hadski had not tried to integrate himself into this community as much as the others, and so it would be easy to sneak in for a few moments. So long as she was careful.
It did not feel right, to skulk around in this mans house. Not because she believed the task itself was distasteful, but because Najla rarely had to perform them. Before, there were always others that could do this for her, slaves and servants that would not look out of place if they were to be found. Anyone besides Hadski would look out of place in this small hut. It was undeniably cramped, dirty, and a little crowded with stuff, which did not make her ‘task’ any easier. Still, Najla was quick to let her eyes wander around the items, trying to assess where he kept everything and in what order before she dug around.
Her process of searching was quick, meticulous, and she made sure to pick up nothing that wasn’t immediately put back in its place.
Her hands clutched the small vial and she turned it over. It did not look like the poisons she’d handled in the Sultanate, those were crystal clear and hidden in small elegant vials, no different than a perfume bottle. No one would mistake this for a perfume bottle. Opening the top carefully, Najla inhaled. There was a smell to it, whatever it was, but faint. She could see how it would be easy to spread it on meat and rid ones hands of it before preparation. Still, the question remained. How was she to tell if this was truly poison?
She could take the vial with her, certainly, but that would become a liability she did not need. If people thought she was a volva already, having this vial on her person would become a hassle. Moreover, Hadski would know immediately, and she did not want to guess who would be at the end of his wrath. She could leave it and tell Ketill, but that would leave her with no more proof than when she started. Rather than taste it herself, Najla looked around the house once more before she made up her mind, picking up a clean bowl.
She let three drops of the liquid fall into the bowl before closing the top, turning the bowl over carefully in her hands, not letting a drop spill out of the bowl. She could feel her hands shake slightly even as she set the bowl just where she’d found it, finally wiping the vial down on her dress and placing that back as well. She’d know in a day, now. Rather than wait for Basim’s guesses or her own trial and error, she’d know. But that also meant that Hadski would know that someone knew, though not who. It would force Ketill’s hand in dealing with him, an effect that Najla had recognized and accepted, if not desired. The faster people stopped calling her a volva, the better. But the fear lay that perhaps he would not allow his hand to be pushed, that she would anger a man for no reason. But she could not hesitate, not anymore. She had waited too long with Osman, always hoping that he’d simply stop being angry, that her position would be enough to sooth him. She had nothing of the sort to offer Hadski now, and she’d learned from experience that it wouldn’t matter.
It was just as easy to slip out as it was to slip in, and Najla was careful to make sure the door was closed fully after her. There was no one to witness her, none to see as she made the careful trek back towards the village, just hoping to reach the point where none would look at her and wonder what she was doing there. Perhaps the Sawarim had been hearing her prayers, for there were none that would see her as she moved from the more isolated region where Hadski lived, and towards the center of the village. Just as she thought she have gotten back without a sighting, Najla was met with a familiar figure walking towards her. Friendly, but just as she had not wished to see Hadski, seeing his companion Arngeir was nearly as bad.
“What are you still doing out here?”
“I’m looking for my brother. Wasn’t he supposed to be with you?”
He wasn’t, but the easy answer was quick to turn the tables back onto Arngeir, pulling the suspicion away from her. It wasn’t an inherently odd thing for someone to be walking around the village, but Najla rarely had reason to walk towards certain areas, or truthfully, leave the home at all. Still, Basim was always a convenient excuse. Now that he spent a great deal of his time with the hunters, and most of that with Arngeir, Najla had almost treated the man as a second caretaker, bonding with him through the shared experience of trying to rein her brother in.
“No, not today. Has he been gone long?”
“I don’t mean to worry you, I am quite sure he is well. I just needed him for something.”
“I hope you find him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him if I see him.”
“Thank you. Good night, Arngeir.” Najla ended the conversation with a pleasant smile, finally returning to the longhouse. Still, she did not feel as if she were entirely free and clear yet. What Hadski did when he returned to his house remained to be seen.
-----------------------------------
She got her answer the next day, into the afternoon, after pulling Basim aside. Hadski had been acting nervous all day, he told her, both jumpy and angry, ready to snap at anyone that placed too much pressure on him. He had not spoken of any particular matter that was wrong, though Hadski did not talk much in general, so there was nothing strange about that. Regardless, his behavior had changed overnight. And that was all Najla had needed.
Najla walked through the longhouse without anyone paying her any mind, a sensation she had not quite grown used to. It was pleasant, in its own way, to be considered no different from the others that inhabited this village. She was no longer a princess to be held above them, and her exotic nature had since worn off, at least among those that had been here long enough. Newcomers to the village were always surprised or curious at first, but the perception that Najla was a concubine was quick to explain away her presence. Whether or not Ketill knew that the villagers saw her as such, she did not know, for Najla knew better than to ask. She had guessed that he did however, for even Najla would play into this notion.
That much had been evidenced by her actions now, as she walked towards Ketill. She seemed calm even as she rested a hand on his shoulder gently, a gesture that would seem strange only to her, Ketill and Basim, those that knew the true nature of their relationship. To the others, it would look like a natural gesture between two people that shared an intimacy uncoupled from affection, though the truth was that they held neither of those feelings for each other. Hoping that Ketill would not react in a way that would make this obvious, she leaned down, her voice a soft whisper in his ear that would be audible only to him.
“You should not eat much more. I think I have found your answer.”
With that, Najla straightened up, drawing her hand away from Ketill’s shoulder. She spoke a little louder now, knowing her next words would not be suspicious. No one would think it was strange for a concubine to speak to their chief like this, and Najla simply tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke, as if she too could see nothing odd with this situation.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
With that, Najla left Ketill to his meal, walking down towards the hall that led to their rooms. Perhaps Ketill would have expected her to await him in her own room, but Najla clearly held no intention of doing so. Rather, she would walk into his room, closing the door softly behind her as she moved to sit at the table. Perhaps he’d be angry, but Najla was doing so on purpose. She wanted to dictate the length of the conversation this time. While she knew from experience that he would shout his final words at her even if she tried to leave the conversation, Najla preferred hearing his voice from behind a closed door than having him stand face to face with her. This held true even now, when they were, technically, on the same side.
When Ketill entered the room, Najla was waiting for him, one hand on the table as she drummed her fingers against it. It was a scene that seemed reminiscent of their past, when Ketill would be brought to her room to hear her demands. But there was no hiding the truth now, nor would Najla bother to do so. Whatever memories of their past were brought by her choice to wait here, her next words made it quite clear she realized the reality of their present.
“I have found your answer. You were right, it is no action of the gods, nor is it a witch.”
Najla drew her hand off the table, leaning back in the chair now. Though her tone was confident in the conclusions she’d drawn, it was far different than from when Najla had simply told him her orders, and allowed him to follow along. Now, there was a reason to expose the pattern and thoughts behind it. He had to trust her, or else nothing would come from it. She could no longer force him to. He took her expertise in some matters because he wanted to, because he believed she could provide good information. And Najla gave him good information, because she trusted Ketill’s actions in that respect. It was the barest level of mutual respect two people could hold for one another, but between the two of them, it was the most that had ever been present. At least Najla assumed it was so, for she had not had any respect for her slave, but it was far different for the chief before her.
“I spoke to a few of the villagers who had seen these. . . creatures. Most had similar stories, like what you described to me. Standing over people, disappearing at will, all that which would have them believe that this ground is haunted. Then came Einar’s wife.” Najla let out a small smile, though there was little humor behind it. “I wouldn’t trust that man. He did not lie because he is malicious, but because he wanted to tell a story. He’s still loyal to you, but if he gives you any information in the future, think very carefully about how many people are listening to him.”
“All those who saw the creatures dined with you, in this house. I had begun to understand that pattern before Einar began to spin his tale, so I thought I had been wrong. But I knew his story was wrong. He said the creature opened the door itself, which is . . .” She clearly wanted to come out and say that it was wrong abruptly, for when she had chased ‘Jalil’ out the door, it had been her that had to open it. Rather than divulge that information, Najla hesitated for a mere moment, though when she continued, she had not lost her confidence in her words. “It’s just not what the others had said. A minute detail, one that doesn’t help his story sound more interesting in any way. And if it is entirely true that only those who eat in your house feel ill then it’s the food. It’s the food Ketill, something in the food is poisoning your people. But since your food comes from your people, I had some difficulty determining exactly where. Poison is hard to trace once used, one of its many blessings.”
It was a lot of unnecessary information, for Najla knew that if she told him what she had done, it would likely be enough to get him to act. To force him to act truthfully, so that whatever rumors of ‘volva’ may have existed would be wiped clear. She bit her lip thoughtfully as she considered her next words, finding a brief moment of silence before her eyes moved up to Ketill again. There was some hesitation in them, as one often held before a confession, but she had committed no sin.
“I will spare you the little I know of poisons, but trust that with that knowledge and the hand I have in preparation, I guessed it had to be the meat, or the ale. I went to Basim for some names, and with that information, I went to Hadski’s home.”
She spoke the words abruptly, her eyes leveling onto Ketill’s as she tried to determine how he’d feel about this. Still, there was something else in her gaze as well, something far more reminiscent of how Harith used to act. Basim and Jalil had always been careful, calculated, their actions motivated by entirely by what they did and didn’t know. For the middle siblings, their actions were motivated by their desires, their fears, even when informed by knowledge. Clearly, Najla was clever enough to solve the issue for Ketill, but had willingly opted to take that risk onto herself, rather than wait a few days to observe, or even come to Ketill. Would he guess that she had done so to force his hand, to make him act faster? Perhaps there would have been no need, for Ketill would likely not be willing to allow his people to be poisoned either. But that was a risk she had not been willing to take, clearly, and Najla clearly held no issue with her actions.
“I didn’t poison him, so your Gods have no need to forgive me. I merely fed him his own poison, when I was still unsure of what it was. But I am not unsure anymore. Basim said he’s been anxious and riled all day, even snapped at people a few times. He doesn’t know it was me, I left no trace. I’m certain of that. But he knows that somebody found his poison and fed it to him.” Najla shrugged then. “Perhaps he’ll stop for a while. Perhaps he’ll kill whoever he thinks did it. Regardless, you have your answer. It’s Hadski. I’d advise you to act quickly, though I know you don’t need me to tell you that.”
With that, Najla moved to stand, pushing her chair back. Even as she did however, her hand rested on the table, making it quite clear that she was going to linger for a moment longer. Her fingers drummed somewhat anxiously on the table, as she always did when she was preparing her words. Her next words would likely surprise Ketill, though Najla spoke them as if she had done so a hundred times before.
“You’re a good leader. I didn’t expect you to be. But you remind me a great deal of Uncle, even without the training he had. Your decisions appear impartial to your people and they have no doubt that your promises will hold true. But, you are still a warrior. You should not have dismissed Hadski as a threat just because you could fight him. Thamud could have cut me open in a heartbeat, but it was I who killed him, not you. The snakes in the grass are just as dangerous as the bears in the forest, and there will be far more of both in the future, if you continue to do as well as you are. I’ll leave you to deliberate on what I’ve told you. But If I had any control over you, I would ask you to confront Hadski before you eat the meat again.” With that, Najla smiled. “I’d be a fool to believe that I did, however. This is your decision to make. But I won’t eat any meat until you do.”
This felt far more like the way she used to talk to her Uncle, rather than Ketill. She would not be quite as informal with her Uncle, despite their family ties, but perhaps it was for the best. Ketill could not doubt that she would not lie to him. Her success was entirely tied to his, both of them knew this well. Her fingers grazed on the table as she walked around it, heading towards the door. Ketill could shout after her as he pleased, but Najla would only stop to offer him more information to make his decision. Rather, she was eager to say her prayers and go to bed, wondering if she’d feel better in the morning after having skipped dinner.
And despite her best intentions her remarks gave away just how little she knew. He held back a grin and maintained a stoic composure, but he felt amused with her indirect and no doubt unintentional admittance of a lack of knowledge. 'For once, you seem to have a goal beyond surviving,' she'd said. That goal beyond surviving had always been there, but she had not known of it and her guesses had yet to hit the mark. Or perhaps she knew, but preferred to pretend not to know. Whichever it was, it earned her no favor from the new chieftain. “I didn't take that title,” Ketill proclaimed when she'd finished, “I was given it. And chief or not, these are my lands. You'd do well to remember that, and to learn what that means in the North. It's not just ownership - if it was just ownership, I would not have killed that man for his land, I would have bought it. It is the blood in the earth, Othala, that is what it means, and that is why I am chief.”
He squinted with his eyes, peering at Najla, asking himself what she did know. He knew she was a fox, sneaky and clever, but she was out of her element here. Secrets were not worth as much as in the Sultanate - of course, they had their value. But it would not be settled in backroom political meetings. It would be finished with blood. A lesson she would surely have learned, and if she had not, would do well to learn soon. Having other peoples' secrets was a useful and valuable good, but it also made you a target for retribution. The Althingi would've been proper examplification of that fact.
He closed in on the table and took the mug - made of a horn - and poured ale into it from a nearby pitcher. He raised it to his mouth and greedily gulped it as she continued to speak - the wet trails of ale running down into his beard. When she was finished, so was he. She stood up and prepared to leave, letting Ketill think he could take to his bed, but instead she continued, informing him about a talk she had with Hádski. Ketill mulled it over in his head once or twice, then raised his shoulder. “These issues tend to solve themselves,” he simply stated. He was referring to Arngeir and Grettir keeping Hádski in check, and playing them out against each other. It was simple to see that both Grettir and Arngeir wanted to stay, and even Hádski might've seen the benefit in a village. The fact that Hádski disliked Ketill was irrelevant then.
“Grettir stopped him before he could insult me. And the threat of holmgang was enough to silence Hádski. If he seeks you out instead of confronting me, then that alone is a signal of his confidence.” It was a simple and very northern rationale - where a Sawarim might've thought about the possible ramifications of letting someone like Hádski run loose, all Ketill thought was that he was not a threat. And if he were to ever become a threat, Ketill was certain of victory. “As for my goal,” he then continued, placing himself on his bed waiting for the conversation to finish.
“I simply wish to claim my birthright. A new age is beginning for the north that will shake the very core of the other nations. You wish to see the Sultanate again?” He threw a careless look towards Najla, wondering whether the thought of a return to the desert would cause an unexpected reaction in her. It was not exactly a secret that she longed for 'home,' although the meaning of 'home' was one that could be argued about. If Ketill were to be asked, Najla's home was the North now. She had nothing in the desert, and any support for her cause as a claimant to the throne among the peasantry would've been squashed out by now. “Long ago, I told you I would take your kingdom if you only handed me a sword. I fought your enemies twice - once in the desert, once in the Golden City. Twice you handed me a sword, so you will see the sultanate again. But rather than returning as a long lost princess, you will arrive at the head of a fleet of Northern ships.”
He grinned at her, wondering if the threat of taking her kingdom made her feel anything at all anymore. It was not her kingdom anymore and any attachment she had to it was severed by Osman. They'd be kept alive by Najla only on false hope of returning one day - and now that she was being offered to return, she would have to face that she would most likely not be returning on peaceful terms.
Ketill would take that fear away rather quickly, if she felt that fear at all. “I have no interest in conquering sand, however. Killing Osman will be good enough.” He paused then, and would let her continue her move towards the door, before finally raising his voice again. He would not force her to stop and listen, but he talked loud enough for Basim to hear in his own room, so even if she left, she would be forced to hear.
“It makes for a good saga. The saga of Ketill Grímhilðrson. We should find a skald, and have him write it down. I am sure your name would be a frequent mention.”
Though Ketill had exposed part of his plans to Najla, part of it would remain a mystery. Never the less, he made it apparent that he was going to construct a fleet and fill it with an army of Northmen. Had that been why they chose this location? Surely not, the river was barely wide enough to sustain a set of 3 boats, let alone be deep enough to carry a boat that needed to carry supplies, animals, pillage and an army to boot, or so Najla and Basim would've thought. But the Northmen were master woodsmen and had plenty of experience building boats - mostly in the north east, but also the south east, where fishing was an above average way of sustaining yourself as opposed to farming and hunting. With boats that were lower, they were capable of sailing inland quite aways, avoiding the trouble of having to land a boat just to enter a country. Or atleast, so Ketill envisioned it - because it had never been done quite the way he saw it.
Ketill had gone to survey his lands, not too far from his own great hall, where the water widened and deepened. Here he planned to build his new docks - a large set of three docking places to start with, with plans to expand to include five more later on. Eight ships would be enough for a sizable raiding army, but three would suffice for now, as they needed the men to fill the boats with first and foremost. As he was looking at the area, Grettir approached him, placing his hands in his hips as he looked at the same area Ketill was looking at. “Fine spot to build a fishing boat,” he told Ketill, to which Ketill could only laugh.
“Not very ambitious of you.”
“How so? A fishing boat would be a great addition, and I'm sure the carpenter can arrange it.”
“Boats are something different from beds and stools, but even if he could, I would not want a fishing boat. It would be quite something for a chief to go out fishing.”
“Chief Salmon, perhaps, but you are right - it would not fit you.”
“What would fit me is a warboat - listen to this, it holds fifty men, has space for cargo and can even bring aboard two cows.”
“I would say you are a madman for thinking that is possible. Even Audrun's warboat can only hold eight other gods.”
“Gods are also a fair share taller and bigger than men. We can easily fit ten times that, if we try hard enough. Whoever said we are inferior to the gods was clearly not reading the stories right,” Ketill promptly answered, and then he took steps forwards to measure out the distance of the docks he wanted to build, wading knee deep into the water, before returning. “We can land the ships here, but we need to build them elsewhere to avoid cutting the area down to be devoid of trees.”
“We also need men for that. I was looking to speak to you about that. I would like to go around the countrysides and invite people to join your village.”
“And how would you convince them?”
“I would tell them you are fair and just, and that you have not wronged us,” Grettir answered. It was a meek and unconvincing argument that he raised, although in fairness, he was right about needing more men. The plan appealed to Ketill, though the argument would need to be improved.
“There is little to that statement that other men cannot claim as well. Any man can claim to be fair and just - to make it true is another matter,” Ketill replied to the man, “instead promise them a piece of land and a community.”
Grettir shifted his body somewhat, looking instead from the location in which the new docks would be built towards Ketill. “So you agree to the plan?”
“Yes, we cannot build a fleet and expect to sail it on our own.”
“Then I will leave in the morrow,” Grettir pledged to Ketill then, walking off to his own home. He left Ketill behind, who glanced at Grettirs' back. Something seemed to be on Ketill's mind, but there was no telling what. Then Ketill turned back to the water, kneeling down slowly and touching the water with his hand. The water was warming and by summer Ketill intended to have a community worth leading.
As the community grew, so did Hádski's animosity towards Ketill. By now there was no denying Ketill's position as chieftain, as many deferred to him now on many things - law for one, for the settling of disputes outside of the althingi. It was a good thing his throne had been finished - a thing of craftsmanship, to be sure - as it allowed Ketill to seat himself above the others in the hall on an already raised platform. He had passed law as fairly as he could, doing his best to base his judgements off of the laws of man that he knew, although this was a harder process than many had imagined it to be.
Another thing he managed and arranged was the care for improving upon existing industries. With his limited knowledge on blacksmithing, he had somehow managed to set up a refinery for ores. Although it was far from the mass quantities that Broacien could produce, it was enough to produce some items of importance, mostly farming tools, axes and seaxes. The process itself was simple - simple enough for Ketill to have thought of it. Without access to proper mines, the northerners were confined to harvesting bogs in the area, cutting back peat and retrieving small nodes of iron. This ‘’bog iron’’ was called járn by the northerners, would then be smelted in primitive kiln-like ovens and made into whatever tools were needed.
Ketill remained, however, the only one with access to a real sword. It should be added that the sword had hung above his throne resembling more something of a trophy than a weapon - he seemed to have traded the sword for the axe as a favored weapon sometimes during his stay in the sultanate.
Construction on his plans for the ships had gotten underway and, after this time, one of the boats was nearing completion while the others were just getting started. Although the village was starting to become self sufficient, it was nowhere near the grandeur or size of the Broacienien cities, let alone the Golden City of the desert. But, to Ketill, that only meant the people were stronger for it.
The tasks had changed for all the members of Ketill’s household. Ketill spent almost all his time managing the various tasks that needed to be completed. Daily visits around the various people throughout the village were commonplace and other duties, like farming, had to make way. So he had decided quickly to do away with the farm next to his long hall, after the first harvest. It was promptly replaced with a shed - it was left empty for now as there were no real items to be stored yet.
Instead of having his own farm, Ketill gave out land to the newcomers who lacked any real profession in loan, and as part of their tribute they would pay him a certain amount of their harvest. This was a setup he had learned from not only Broacien, but also the Sultanate, although the Sultanate preferred their taxes over the harvests. It was the same concept, and he felt no reason not to apply it here.
However, that also meant one of Najla’s core tasks had disappeared and, where she could initially spend her time in the small farm, she was now reduced to doing, well, even less. And although she had the intelligence to learn a profession, nothing of that kind was expected of her, since she was a woman - rearing children was what most people assumed she would do, though there were no children to speak of. That left her with much free time.
Frankly, Ketill would have normally objected to the amount of free time she had, and indeed, would frequently remark that she was living much like she had at her home in the sultanate. It lacked the luxury and prosperity, surely, but she could once again live a lazy live. Perhaps it was because of that that Ketill began using her former experience as a spymaster to his own favor, and in private, solicited her opinions about statecraft and how to deal with dissenters like Hádski. Being a foreigner would make the establishment of a spy network harder for Najla in this situation, but her experience was nonetheless still as valid.
The fact that he solicited her opinions selectively and in private only further reinforced the public idea that Najla was merely a concubine, some sort of exotic pleasure brought along by the chieftain.
As for Basim, he had earned a place not only among the hunters but also beside Ketill, as his understanding of not only Northern culture, but also his rudimentary understanding of law and the legal processes in the north gave him an unofficial position as an advisor in the matter of law. Despite not being officially appointed or recognized as such, it seemed Basim did not care much, and was simply happy to carry on with a purpose and a position in which he could sate his curiosity - there were those who would enjoy the boys’ company at all times, and those who simply acknowledged his existence, but there were none in the entire village bar perhaps Hádski who found the boys’ presence to be offensive. He had used this fact extensively in his quest for knowledge, and though Ketill was happy to be relieved of his endless questions, he was also happy that Basim took up precisely the role he had intended for him when he founded the village.
‘’Chieftain,’’ a man spoke, dressed in a simple tunic, white and roughspun with stains of dirt and mud on it - he was clearly one of the peasants, those who farmed the lands. And from the looks of it, he was an exceptionally poor one. ‘’We found this man on our lands some hours ago, and after we captured him and interrogated him, found out he was looking for our food.’’
They were in the lit hall of Ketill, the center firepit lighting the hall entirely, creating flickering shadow on the walls where the various pieces of furniture blocked the light. At the far end of the hall, on the raised platform, Ketill sat on his throne. He heard the peasants story, while the rest of the crowd waited for him to pass judgement. In front of the peasant, directly in front of Ketill, was a man kneeled with his hands tied with rope. He was clearly just as poor as the peasant from whom he had tried to steal, if not poorer. But the laws of the gods were quite clear on it.
‘’To take without earning is a crime, so there was no need to bring him here,’’ Ketill spoke quite clearly. ‘’You had every right to take his hand for it, or kill him.’’
The peasant nodded agreeingly, but there was a kink in the cable, it seemed. ‘’True, and for that I would not have brought him here. However, when we caught him he did not steal anything yet. So, I did not dare kill him for his intent. Clearly he is hungry and starved, as are we, so I understand his plight. But what would the Gods think of me for killing a man just wishing to sate his hunger?’’
This gave Ketill reason to pause, and he leaned his elbow onto his armrest and put his chin into his palm, pondering it deeply. ‘’You are right, this complicates the matter. There was nothing stopping him from knocking on your door,’’ Ketill said after a long pause.
‘’Yes, chief, if he had done so I would’ve done as any good Northerner would and given him bread and salt, and ale, even if we have little to spare.’’
‘’Accused, what say you? Why did you act dishonorably?’’
‘’Apologies, my lord, I cannot tell. I just wanted to eat something other than roots and mushrooms, for one night, but Northern hospitality is not as widespread as I am lead to believe by this mans’ words. The last few families have turned me away, and I could not stand such disappointment again.’’
‘’Right, then I have made my decision. The punishment for thievery is death on the spot, or a settlement with the victimized family. But as nothing has been stolen, I cannot possibly sentence you to death,’’ Ketill said, standing up from his throne and stepping forwards to the edge of the platform. ‘’I can sentence you for unlawful entry on someone else’s land, but the sentence would do little in terms of repayment. I could outlaw you, declare you free, but you are already free, and a vagabond has little meaning attached to the word law or outlaw. Nothing would be gained.’’
Ketill crossed his arms then and raised one to his beard, stroking it as if he were still pondering his decision, or perhaps the wording. ‘’You seem most concerned with survival so I will see to it that you can earn that lawfully and honorably. I sentence you to become this farmers’ thrall. Work his lands and earn your keep. A meal earned by labor is more satisfying than one earned by thievery, even if it is smaller.’’
‘’Thank you, thank you kindly chieftain,’’ the accused spoke, but the farmer was quick to interject.
‘’Chief, I am more than grateful for you granting me a thrall but- but we cannot afford to feed another mouth. My lands are too small as it is, and I cannot afford more land-’’
‘’Then you will take some of mine. If I recall correctly, your lands lie in the south, close to the edge of the village. To the east of your lands are a patch of untouched forest. And if I recall correctly as well, we have plenty forest around the village. Take that forest and chop it down. Sell the wood, use it, whichever you wish to do. Then, build more farms there.’’
And so it was settled - and both parties were satisfied, with a small cost for the chief, Ketill, who would not have used these forested areas regardless. They were of little value to him as he already received plenty of food from the tribute of his citizens - a ‘’tax’’ as Basim had explained to the other Northerners some time before, though the word ‘’tribute’’ was easier to understand for them regardless.
This was one of the more pressing matters of law that Ketill had to attend to - not often did people come to him with pressing matters like this, much more often it was about smaller things. Advice on family matters, settlement between two families on a dispute, or settling the terms for a marriage. Ketill wouldn’t mind if he didn’t have to perform these tasks, but he was well aware that they were a part of the package of becoming a chieftain.
Weeks passed without any event of interest passing. More families joined the village, and by now they had a bustling corner of the village dedicated solely to the creation of bog iron, with men wading out into the swamps to retrieve the pockets of iron, and smelting it down. The swamps were quite a ways away, and so the traveling and smelting itself took up most of the time. It was a very limited supply - most swamps only offered about one or two pockets of iron per year - but it was enough for basic tools and weaponry. Smiths were rare in the north, but by a stroke of luck one of them had joined the village and had began taking on and teaching an apprentice to smith as well.
Fishing was now one of the main sources of food, with nets and fish traps being set up across small bridges across the nearby river. Construction on the first boat had been started, but it went very slowly as the men learned how to make a boat. It was a hard task, and something that required a lot of patience and skill, so Ketill had anticipated it. Nevertheless he mandated that the first boat was ready and available within a year. A harsh mandate, but the men all agreed they would see to it that it was done.
The more people joined the village, the more Najla would see her tasks fade away. After Ketill got rid of the farm on his lands, as it was not befitting for a chieftain any longer, she was indeed confined to mending clothes together with her newfound ‘’companion’’, if one could call it that. And for the longest time she did indeed do so. But as more families joined the village, one of the families decided to become clothiers, as they had experience with this. The man and his son made the clothes, the two daughters and the mother would mend clothes for other families - mostly the richer ones. Over time this also reduced Najla’s work to the smallest tasks, such as mending smaller holes in tunics.
Where she had first been ordered to prove her value, Ketill had now taken away most of the ways she could prove her value. But it seemed he was okay for that - had something else in mind for her, perhaps. It could very well have been a scary prospect for her, as Ketill was not someone that spoke his mind easily when it came to his plans. He was like Audrun in that way - straightforward and to the point, rash and brutish even. But when it came to planning, he was subtle and thought out his actions rather well. And all of that without directly consulting anyone around him.
So the prospect of him having plans for Najla, it could mean a myriad of things. He had been a slave in the sultanate for a long time, even being her direct property for most of that. While Najla might have felt it justified, there was no way to deny that Ketill was treated like a property, and that was not a preferable way to live, even if he was indeed treated better than other slaves. She would not wish to live like that herself.
Indeed, Ketill had stated she was free. But everyone else thought she wasn’t, that she was an exotic plaything, a concubine of sorts. Ketill’s lack of affection towards her only reinforced that idea, as he was not particularly subtle in his manners with her. Little did everyone know that Ketill and Najla had a wild and varied history together, one that was not so easily ignored,
and that provided the valuable context in which to see things.
Would Ketill now treat her the same way?
Perhaps.
As summer was closing in and the green lush forests began breathing life into the surrounding area again, a problem started arising. People were reporting feeling strange, having nightmares and even seeing spectre’s, ghosts, and some even claimed to see undead creatures. Some claimed that the land they had built their village on was sacred and they were being punished for building there. Ketill himself had began feeling stranger and stranger too, though he did not suspect holy interference or anything of the sorts. It was too sudden for that. They’d been here for nearly 3 months now, and until then, nothing had happened.
Two knocks on Najla’s door would be all that would alert her to Ketill’s presence, late at night. Most families had gone to bed, while Ketill had been pondering the issue at hand. Some families had threatened to leave, and while Ketill would not stop them, he also did not wish for them to do so. They had demanded intervention of sorts, to put the Gods at ease. Finding a godi, a priest of the northerners, would’ve been easy, but transporting him to the village and satisfying him not so much. Being a man of the gods himself, Ketill could do a few things, but he suspected the real culprit was something, or someone, else.
He opened Najla’s door when she would’ve answered him, and closed it behind him. Though it was smaller than his own room, it was larger than some of the families’ entire house would’ve been, so at the very least it was spacious. ‘’There is trouble,’’ he opened up, stepping slightly closer until he was in the center of the room, looking at Najla. ‘’I could do this myself, but frankly, I think it’s better left to someone who is a bit more… out of the view.’’
He glanced around and found the table and chairs that the carpenter had built for their rooms in a corner of the room, and immediately went to sit down. Clearly he wasn’t here just to give her some order and then leave again, like he would’ve done previously. This matter at hand was more pressing it seemed, and required more explanation.
‘’There’s been complaints about black shadows roaming the village at night, standing over people and then vanishing. People claim there’s some sort of sacred actions of the gods going on but I suspect otherwise. Maybe there’s a witch, or something entirely different, but if it were some action of the gods, then we would’ve noticed it long before now. It’s been three months of nothing, and now people are suddenly seeing things. I find that hard to believe, but I cannot find evidence for this. As you have been left mostly without any tasks or profession, I suppose it is time for you to take up the mantle of what you’d been doing your entire life. Which is to say, be dishonorable and brooding.’’
He glanced away for a second, upwards at the ceiling, as if he were thinking of the gods. They would not approve of backstabbery and such, but intrigue and wisdom were well within their approved, and even encouraged traits. Finding out information through whatever means was a good thing, but poison and the likes were not. But…
‘’You are not of my religion so whatever you do, I’m sure my gods wouldn’t mind. Unless you intend to tell me you’ve converted, but I highly doubt that. Find out what you can and come to me.’’
And that was it - he left immediately after that, going back to his room. Although there was no official position for spymaster in the northern court, it was reasonable to assume that she had just been informally and unofficially granted that position, whether it existed or not.
Gathering information from the villagers would most likely not yield any interesting results - they would probably inform her that they’d seen shadows, undead, ghosts, spectres or einherjar - a type of soldier that had already ascended to the heavens of the pagans, who was selected to fight against the forces of hel in the ending of the world. Fantastic stories for late at night, with a mug of mead and a fire nearby, but ultimately useless for figuring out the truth.
There was a red line however. All of the people who reported these sightings were those that frequently ate with Ketill in his longhouse, and the others, such as the farmers that were richer, and thus did not need to eat with Ketill, were unaffected. They were worried, but had not seen anything themselves.
Conclusions could easily be drawn.
“You wish to see the Sultanate again?”
Those words caused her eyes to flash back at Ketill, unreadable even though she felt the tinge of pain in her heart. The only sign of the sudden tension was the slight clenching of her fist, digging her nails into her palm lightly. Perhaps her silence would be more telling of her emotions than these gestures, for Najla did not reply to Ketill’s question. There was no need, he already knew the answer.
Of course she wanted to return, but not like this. The notion that she’d be returning at the head of a fleet brought a lump to her throat. Her gaze was cold as she stared at that cursed grin on his face, trying to assess if he was telling the truth. She could not bear to return by Ketill’s side, to unleash this beast on her people. They were not her people anymore, but they had been once, more so than these savage northerners ever would be. Yet there was something that had settled in the pit of her stomach, the nagging feeling that perhaps she would do well to allow this. Perhaps it would feel good to take back the kingdom that had thrown her out, to burn it to the ground and once again claim herself princess of those ashes. Had she had any trust in Ketill or his people, it might have been harder for her to squash that thought down.
But it seemed Ketill was not truthfully offering that, for the silence was quickly followed up with something that caused her to drown out those thoughts, barely able to comprehend the answer to her question under a sudden surge of anger. He was going to kill Osman. Her fist clenched even tighter at the notion, and though her emotions were well-controlled in her expression, her voice would not hide it as she answered him.
“He took nothing from you, killing Osman is not your right. It is mine.”
She tried to turn and leave his room, but true to fashion, Ketill would try to dictate the length of the conversation. In some ways, this pattern felt much like the Sultanate, as they’d try to avoid each other until these brief, unsatisfying conversations, at which point she’d gain nothing but anger. Yet Najla was quite aware that the balance had shifted, though she did not seem to know this as she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her in an effort to block out Ketill’s voice. Yet it was to no avail, for like always, Ketill would try to get in the last word. Before, it had been easier to dismiss his words as attempts to get under her skin, nothing more. But now, Najla found herself halting behind his door. A glance at Basim’s closed door would tell her nothing of whether he’d heard it, but she did not wait for longer than this brief moment to find out.
Najla was quick to return to her room, closing the door behind her before moving to sit on her bed. Did he think himself a fated hero? It sounded like it, though Najla could not understand what that meant for her role in all of this. All she understood was that now, she could be returning to the Sultanate. Perhaps earlier in their path to flee, Najla might have taken that with a smile, eager to stay in her homeland. But that thought held only misery now. What if Ketill intended to sell her back to the Sultan? It was her greatest fear, though Najla could not imagine it’d be worth the trouble. They had no real power anymore, none to aid their claim to the throne, the price on their heads would drop significantly as a result. Osman would offer the highest price, but Ketill wanted to kill him. Even that notion made her cringe, wondering if that chance would be taken from her before he ever answered her questions. If he’d die before he told her just why he’d betrayed her so deeply, whether he’d ever truly loved her, to see if he’d beg for his life when she took her answers at the end of a sword. Though she was reluctant to return to the Sultanate, she was more worried that someone would take that chance from her.
She dreamt of Osman that night. Najla would blame Ketill for that, for she had not dreamt of his face for some time, a blissful realization every morning she woke up without it. However, the mention of killing him, that base, savage hope, had brought him back into the forefront of her thoughts. Unfortunately, she would not get the pleasure of watching him die in this dream, nor was it the sensation of her hand driving a shard into his flesh that she replayed so often in her mind. This was far worse.
She dreamt of running her hands down a familiar, warm chest, tracing the contours she had come to know as a second home. Najla always willed her lips to become poisonous as they traced over his chest, grazing those muscles, reminding her of all that had betrayed her. His hands would move over her figure, grabbing her hips to pull her closer to him. Najla followed willingly, her lips moving against his as his hands moved up her figure, over her chest to her neck. There, he gripped, a sensation that caused a groan of pleasure to arise from her lips as she kissed him once more, drinking him in closer. Then it gripped harder, harder, and Najla did not gasp or scream or struggle. It merely gripped, and Najla fell into that blackness with only the taste of her lover to take with her.
----
Najla was somewhat startled to hear the sound of heavy knocks on her door, though she could have guessed at who it was. Basim’s knocks were far lighter and more familiar, for he found reason to speak to her far more often than Ketill did. It had been a shock the first time Najla had heard the sound of Ketill’s knocking on her door, and then he’d been let in with some trepidation. Even then, it’d been silly, for she knew quite well that if Ketill wanted to take her, he wouldn’t have bothered to knock. But now, the sound of Najla’s voice merely sounded tired as she told him to come in, expecting him to give some order and leave so that she could sleep.
Despite the late hour and her exhaustion, it did not seem as if Najla was about to sleep. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, and the bowl of water on her desk made it very clear what she had been about to do. Without the luxury of the baths, Najla had to settle for washing her hands and feet with that small bowl of water before prayers, something that only ever occurred in the privacy of her room anymore. When Ketill had been a Servant, Najla had worried about his reaction to her faith, but seemed to hold none of that fear now. Rather, she simply looked upon him with a dulled expression, waiting for him to spout his order and leave.
It seemed that a simple order was not the case however. She didn’t reply to his words as Ketill moved to sit on the chair, though her eyes followed him cautiously. They were concerning words certainly, but what he wanted from her in regards to this problem was more worrisome still. He had only asked for her input in select matters, but otherwise had acted on his own beliefs, regardless of how she’d advise him. To have a matter left to her was a new aspect entirely, but as Ketill began to speak, Najla quickly understood why.
She did not interject as Ketill was speaking, but the look in her eyes made it very clear that this was not entirely new information. Najla had never spoken of the night she believed she’d seen her brother, looming over Basim in the dead of winter. She had not believed that anyone would share her conviction that it was Jalil. But once the people had begun to see similar apparitions, Najla had kept quiet for an entirely different reason. They were desperate for explanations now, to tell them that she had shared this delusion would only make her a target. She was a foreigner after all, it’d be easier for them to call her a witch than share in her grief. Still, the stories that had reached Ketill’s court were ones she’d listened to intensely, always wondering if her brothers presence was the true cause, or if she’d been another victim of these strange sightings. It seemed she’d get a perfect chance to find out now.
Perhaps Ketill had meant to insult her by describing her profession as ‘dishonorable and brooding’, but the words merely brought a smile to Najla’s lips. It was no secret that he did not approve of her morality, just as she couldn’t ever approve of his own. But she’d come to terms with Ketill’s brutality, regardless of her feelings about it, simply because she’d had to. Without his violence, Najla would have been long dead. Perhaps he had not known it, but without her ‘dishonorable’ methods, he’d have been dead too.
“I have heard of these rumors. Your people are frightened, they have every reason to be. Especially if your gods cursed this particular patch of dirt.”
That smile only grew when he informed her that his gods would forgive her actions, as if she gave a care as to what his gods thought of her. She could not go against the rules of their gods, not so long as she was living with those that abided by their laws. But that was to protect for her safety here on earth, her own God would determine what came after. Whether he’d abandoned her to her sins or not, Najla did not know, but she’d continue to pray regardless. The notion that she’d converted seemed even funnier to her in this context, as Najla knew she held that unwavering faith in a God that might have abandoned her. There was no time to dwell on that humor however, for Ketill was quick to finish. Before he could leave, Najla spoke, unwilling to be a passive participant in this conversation. Her voice was soft as she replied, but that seemed to betray the sense of confidence with which she spoke.
“Do not worry, I am still faithful to my God. Your gods have turned a blind eye to me, and mine has abandoned me. It seems there is no morality on this earth that will bind me. Give me a few days, I will have an answer for you.”
---
Najla wasted no time the next day, quickly setting out to speak to those who had seen what Ketill had described to her. It was exciting to begin doing that work which she had grown so accustomed to, even though it was far more difficult here. She did not have the resources, nor did she have an ear besides her own. Worse than that, she was a foreigner in this land, with little knowledge of their traditions or culture. She had learned long ago that a persons words were worthless without the context in which they spoke it in, and her knowledge of that context had been heavily informed by Ketill. That had changed within the last few months as more people had entered the village, but the base of knowledge she’d started from had not been a pleasant one.
It was extremely lucky then, that few held any qualms about talking to her. She had not been unfriendly with them, and Najla certainly didn’t have the same reputation she’d had in the Sultanate. Besides, her brother seemed well-liked among the villagers, and so many of the villagers didn’t seem to think it strange that his sister may be just as curious. Her perception as a concubine certainly didn’t hurt either, for Najla found quickly that people were eager to speak with her, as if their suggestions might get to the chief faster through her. They’d be more careful about what they chose to say, but that which they truly believed, they’d push on. And many seemed to truly believe they’d seen a ghost.
The first few she’d asked were all women. It made sense that she interacted with the women in the village far more, and it was a massive aid to her work in any respect. Just as most of the Sultanate’s gossip passed between veils, whispered in the baths or carelessly handed out over pitchers of wine, the women of the north were little different. They did not trade secrets between jeweled hands the way the women of her home had, but some of the sentiment was still the same. They’d pass off pitchers of water while discussing how nervous their husband had grown since he had seen the apparition, or how they refused to go too deep into the woods after seeing the figures flash between the trees. It seemed like harmless conversation most of the time, though this sort of gossip was the easiest way to begin to distinguish who had seen anything and who hadn’t.
Once she had gathered enough stories and concerns, determining which families were simply worried and which had reason to be, a clear pattern began to show itself to Najla as their worries unfolded as well. When a women began to mention that they were urging their husbands to leave, or that their husbands wished to do so, Najla said nothing. It was worrisome to think that they would, as it didn’t bode well for whatever Ketill’s massively condeluded scheme was, but Najla was in no position to stop them. Even if Najla wanted to try and convince them, it would not work. Not only was she not privy to many of their ways, Najla had a suspicion that some believed she might have been the cause for this. She could understand why, just as her people had been quick to call Ketill Djinn, his people might have been more eager to write her off as a witch. She had given them no reason to, but her instincts were confirmed after a particularly important conversation, one that had helped to untangle a massive kink in the events unfolding.
Najla had believed the line between the stories had been drawn, but a particular storyteller had thrown her burgeoning conclusion into chaos, making her wonder if she’d been wrong all along. The stories varied between all those she asked, though two major factors stayed the same. They dined with Ketill in the longhouse frequently, and they had seen something. What they’d truly seen did differ, some insisted they had merely caught a glimpse, others recalled waking up to see something standing over their wives, and some even described something reaching for them. The beings in each of the stories differed in minor details, nothing that would make Najla believe they were lying, only scared and eager to tell their story.
Einar’s was different. Najla had heard bits of his story from others, as they seemed quite concerned with what he’d seen, as it seemed more worrisome than the others. But the full story was told by Einar’s wife, Hilde. Apparently he had seen a creature standing over her in the night, and Hilde told Najla and Sif the story over the pile of dirty clothes she’d brought down to the river. The shallowest part had become a common area for the women to gather, and while the men built the boat upstream, the women scrubbed and discussed downstream. Hilda glanced upstream every so often as she told the story, as if worried that her husband would hear her, despite how far they were from the men. The story was similar at first, Einar had apparently awoken to see a creature standing over his wife, who had not felt the coldness until the morning after, when her husband informed her of what he’d seen. That detail did not surprise Najla, for Basim had not noticed anything about the figure that stood over him. But as Hilde finished the story, describing how the creature had fled, leaving her husband to close the door after it and crawl back into bed with her.
“They’re quite awful houseguests then, to let the cold in like that.”
The words were spoken as a joke, as if to lighten the tension of the conversation. But as Najla’s eyes raked Hilde, she wondered if the women knew that could not have been the truth. She did not seem to. But Najla remembered what she’d seen, a figure that slipped through the wood of the house with nothing to bar it. It had been her own misguided idea as to what the creature had been that caused Najla to fling the door open and chase after it. It was a minor detail, but in comparison to the gist of the other stories that had been told, Najla had seen it as a glaring error. A man’s eyes were easily fooled, but the feeling of cold on one’s skin was unmistakable. Perhaps in itself, the detail would have been nothing more than a shoddy exaggeration of the story, but Najla had already wondered about Einar’s story, given that he was the only one telling such a tale that did not eat around Ketill’s table. Hilde did not respond to Najla’s comment however, and the worried expression on her face only barely changed as Sif’s reply came.
“And indecent, to stand over a man’s wife like that.”
Najla could not help but laugh slightly at that, wringing a shirt clean as she pulled it out of the water. The joke did seem to ease Hilde’s concern a little, but it did not answer Najla’s questions about the story itself. She’d have to speak to Einar, to hear it firsthand from him and pick it apart there, but that would be far more difficult than gossiping with his wife over their chores. Before Najla could start to consider how to do so however, a heated look drew her attention. The two women speaking back and forth were just within earshot of the women, so that their words would have been drowned out as Hilde continued, going on about whether it might be better to leave. But the look had drawn Najla’s attention, enough to draw her attention from Hilde’s words. It was not cruel or hateful, but worried, fearful, a look she had been far more used to seeing in the Sultanate. The reasoning for it then, was far more confusing, but the few words she picked up would help to clarify that quickly.
She had heard the word before, at the trial that nearly took her life. Well, at the second trial that had nearly taken her life.
“Do they think I’m a witch?”
“Don’t listen to them. It’s nonsense.They didn’t say it to you, so clearly it’s nothing but a rumor.”
“You northerners are so strange.” Najla spoke with a bare smile, remembering how Ketill had dismissed Hadski, declaring that he wasn’t a threat because he hadn’t confronted Ketill. It was the strangest rationale, for Najla had mostly feared those who would not approach her. It was far scarier to operate against an opponent you couldn’t see. “My people were willing to kill on rumors. They tried to take Ketill’s head when they believed he was a Djinn, even if none had the gall to say it to him.” Glancing up at Sif, Najla hurried to ease the confusion. “A Djinn is a demon, a spirit that takes a mans form. My people do not have blue eyes, they needed some explanation for it.”
“And they were ready to take his head over it?”
“Well, that among other reasons. He was not particularly . . . respectful of those who would hold themselves above him. Still, his being a ‘Djinn’ made it quite difficult to defend him. Worse than the ‘Djinn’ is the one who would stand behind him. I assume as much holds true for a volva.”
“Maybe. But if the chief says you’re not one, who’s going to say you are?”
Perhaps it should have been a sentiment that brought comfort, but in truth, it only made Najla more nervous. What incentive did Ketill have to defend her in that instance? He didn’t need her the way she’d needed him in the Sultanate. Unless it was meant to fit her into this grander scheme he’d seemed to plan in his head, but Najla had no faith in whatever occurred in Ketill’s mind. He’d long proven himself mad. Besides, she did not share the northerners faith that any real disputes could or would be decided through fair trial or blood. Some would have to be solved through other means, like whatever dispute was apparently fueling these strange events. Whatever it was, Najla felt as if she no longer had time to do so carefully. Whatever her suspicions, she wanted to act on them immediately, before the rumor that she was a ‘volva’ could grow into anything more.
Armed now with a new sense of urgency, and some certainty after hearing Einar’s story, even secondhand, Najla went to Basim. It was the next logical step, though she had not told him of what Ketill had asked her to discover before. But she would not hide it from him either, for Najla trusted her brother completely. Besides, she needed this information from him. She might have been able to do so on her own time, but Basim had become a fixture among the hunters. He spent a great deal of time with them, and Najla was sure she was better off finding out any oddities from Basim’s ears rather than the slight bit she’d be able to see.
Basim did not seem surprised when Najla entered his room, but remained laid back on his bed, his arms tucked under his head. Najla walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed. Despite the fact that their paths did not cross as often in the day, they remained as close as ever, much to Najla’s happiness.
<“You must be exhausted. Did you have a hard hunt today?”>
<“Not really. I feel as if I spent half the day skinning animals.”>
<“Please tell me you washed your hands.”>
Basim let out a sigh, moving his arm over his eyes, as if blocking his sister out. <“Yes mother, I washed my hands.”>
It might have brought Najla pain a long time before, to hear Basim joke about a mother neither of them had. But now it brought a smile to her face, and Najla reached out, resting a hand on his leg and giving it a small squeeze, as if to apologize to him. It felt like an oddly casual relationship between siblings, as if they had shed the very trauma that bonded them so deeply. This would never be true, the reality of their lost lives was incredibly apparent to both of them, but it did not seem as if either felt that now. Thankfully, some moments of peace remained to them.
<“Good. I’ll let you sleep in a moment, but I hope you’ll tolerate me for a few more. I’m sure you’ve heard about the djinns around the village.”>
<“You don’t mean Ketill, right?”> Despite his words, Basim moved his arm off his face, sitting up slightly on the bed. Clearly, her words had intrigued him. <“Or do you mean the Nesnas they’ve been seeing?”>
<“No. All of these spirits have their whole bodies, they can’t be a Nesnas. Stop it, it doesn’t matter.” Though Basim seemed disappointed at this, clearly somewhat intrigued at the thought of debating the various supernatural explanations with his sister, Najla had an explanation that would be far more intriguing. <“They aren’t real anyways. Listen. Ketill’s asked me to figure out what’s behind it. And I’m close, I just need your help.”>
With that, Najla launched into a quick explanation, speaking to a now-captive audience. Basim was clearly interested in the way she’d managed to speak to the others, how she’d found Einar’s lie, and she pulled a laugh out of him when she explained why she was rushed, for Basim did not share her urgency about being called a with. Still, all traces of sleep were gone from his eyes once Najla finally got to why she needed him.
<“So now I’m certain. The only ones with stories I believe are those that eat with Ketill, in this house. So it has to be the food. I’ve been trying to understand which part of the food, to determine exactly who has been doing it.”>
<”You prepare a great deal of it though, have you not seen anything?”>
<“No, that’s exactly my concern. I wondered if the pots were poisoned, or the bowls themselves, but those are cleaned regularly and would be far too difficult to encompass everything. I also wondered if it was the crops, but those are harder to poison before preparation. I wondered if someone was poisoning it beforehand, and it was just diluted during preparation, but that would mean their intent was something other than this strange haunting, and they’ve stayed with it. That doesn’t make sense to me.”>
<“So what’s left? The meat or the ale?”>
<“I don’t think it’s the ale. It’d be easier to poison than the meat, but I feel as if many of those who drink the ale but do not eat in this house have had no complaints. Besides, poison is harder to hide in a liquid like that.”>
<“But it could be the ale.”>
<“Yes. But I don’t think so. You haven’t noticed anything strange about any of the hunters?”>
<“I . . . no. I can’t say I have. We do not all hunt together however, there’s a little more cooperation in how we skin the animals and the like, but barely.”>
<“Well, try and think. Who has never asked for help, or refuses it altogether? Who skins the meat and readies it long before you set eyes on it?”>
<“Many do. Why don’t you give me some time? I’m sure I could watch them and give you a few names. In the meantime, you can tell Ketill what you know.”>
<“I don’t have a few days.”> Basim’s concerned expression was met with a knowing gaze from Najla, who moved to stand, as if ready to leave. She did not however, simply walking around the small room as if to observe it, though she had nothing to see in there. Really, it was a way to release her nerves, and Basim’s gaze made it clear that he understood this. <“Basim, if people think I’m a witch, they’ll think I did this, and the longer it goes on, the more convinced they’ll be. People get scared when they don’t have a scapegoat, you know that. A foreign whore with no skills would be the easiest one to chase.”>
<“Don’t call yourself that.”>
Najla suddenly stopped walking, turning to look at Basim with concern. Something about the way he’d said those words worried her, for Najla knew Basim was usually not the type to care. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about the rumors that she was merely a concubine, but she was certain that Basim had heard of them. He’d had to. Najla had faith in Basim’s intelligence, so she did not worry that Basim would jump to counteract the rumors. Likely, he’d guessed at why the rumors had occurred, or better yet, why either Najla or Ketill had allowed them to continue. Perhaps Ketill hadn’t heard, but Najla certainly had, and she was more worried that they’d find out the truth.
<“I understand what you’re saying, I know why you’re scared, but-“>
<“You’ve heard, haven’t you? That I’m Ketill’s concubine?”>
<“Yes, of course.”> He did not seem upset when he spoke, only slightly annoyed. Perhaps at her questioning, or the notion that others were talking about it, Najla did not know. Even still, she moved to sit on the bed beside her brother once more, as if preparing for a difficult conversation. Basim however, did not need that comfort, for he continued talking about it as if it were another fact of life. Najla knew that her brother was unhappy about this, that he’d like to imagine a life for his sister where she didn’t have to play as a concubine for a chance at safety. Najla wasn’t quite thrilled about it either, but the reality of their lives meant that such a silly perception did little but hurt egos. <“No one’s said it straight to my face, but I know. I was waiting for either you or Ketill to put a stop to it, but it never happened.”>
<“I don’t even know if he knows. I’m sure he’ll figure it out. In the meantime, keep it quiet. It’s safer for me this way.”>
<“Will it still be safer if he finds out?”>
Najla just shrugged at that, much more nonchalantly than she felt. She assumed that Ketill would not care, that he’d simply dispel the rumors, whatever. It didn’t matter. She had never specifically told anyone that she was or wasn’t what they believed, so none could hold that against her. But Najla could not see a reason for Ketill to care that this rumor was happening, if anything, it’d benefit him. But if he were to find out that she had been allowing the rumor to continue on purpose . . . that settled far differently in Najla’s stomach.
<“It’ll be fine. It’s embarrassing that anyone would think I’d touch an infidel, but nothing more. It is not as if Ketill would ever be willing to touch me.”>
<“I know that, I live here. I figured if it were true, I would’ve known.”>
<“See? Then there is no reason to worry.”> Najla stated with a positivity she did not feel, pushing herself off of her brother’s bed for the final time. <“Now think, please? I won’t go forward empty-handed.”>
Basim sighed then, and the siblings were quiet for a few moments as she allowed him to think. It was a silence she’d grown used to, allowing her brother to move through his thoughts before he abruptly spoke up. As always, Najla did not speak, merely drumming her fingers along the table in a steady, careful rhythm, until Basim finally spoke, disturbing her thoughts. He gave her a few names, some she noted, some she dismissed, up until his final naming.
<“Well, and Hadski of course. He never hunts or does anything with the others. He barely speaks to Arngeir anymore. I think it’s because of me. But don’t let this ‘volva’ thing scare you. Give me a few days, I’ll watch the hunters and let you know when I see something worthwhile.”>
<“Hmmm.”> It was a noncommittal sound, not quite accounting for anything she might do. Perhaps in the past, Najla would have lied to her brother through gritted teeth, but she seemed quite reluctant to do so nowadays. <“Don’t worry yourself so much about it. You’ll grow old. Look, your forehead is already starting to crinkle like paper.”>
She reached out to smooth his forehead then, a teasing gesture that her mother had often done to Basim. Then, her mother would always turn to Harith, kissing his forehead and telling him that it was smooth because it was blissfully empty. Now, without her older brother present, Najla could only lean in and kiss Basim’s forehead, gripping his cheek briefly before she released him. She hadn’t meant the gesture to be anything but loving, but it seemed Basim had not forgotten the history behind it. Najla often overlooked his sadness, for while hers had been so devastatingly apparent, her brother had stifled it better. That had been for her sake however, Najla had never forgotten that, and the sudden flash of sadness in her brother’s eyes was enough to soften her voice suddenly.
<“I love you, my blood. Sleep well.”>
<“And you.”>
Najla leaned against the wooden railing of the bridge, her eyes following the men carefully as they labored on the boat, as if she could better understand the workings of the ship this way. It was not so, for Najla’s people had never had need or use of a ship in any capacity, for they had no body of water they could not walk around. Regardless, it made it a fascinating sight or perhaps just an odd distraction from the task Ketill had granted to her.
“Are you looking for your brother?”
Perhaps it was not entirely a distraction, for Najla turned her head to see Grettir, standing at the end of the bridge. It was no wonder that he assumed she had come to find Basim, for Najla rarely had reason to speak to the other men, nor did they have much reason to speak to her. They were polite to her, often even more than Ketill was, and Najla returned this, but that was where it ended. Still, Grettir had long since become familiar to her and he held no hesitation when he walked up the bridge as he spoke.
“Arngeir took him out hunting again. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”
“I know, I spoke to him before they set off this morning. I just wanted to see how the ship was coming along.”
“Did Ketill ask you to?”
Najla smiled at that, clearly a grin born out of humor. Though the question was harmless, the notion should have worried her slightly, for if the rest of the men believed that her actions were an extension of Ketill’s, it could cause a number of issues in conducting such work in the future. If Ketill would ever grant her such work in the future. But Najla knew that a few well-placed words would dispel that idea in Grettir’s head. She also had no doubts that he’d relay her next words to the men who were working on the boat now, should any be curious about her presence later.
“No, he is not such a fool. My home is a land without water, what could I tell him of ships? ‘It is still afloat, I believe, though I am not yet sure how.’”
Grettir chuckled at her words, leaning his arms against the rail as well, turning his gaze to look over the ship. He’d grown more comfortable in her presence it seemed, not just now but over the course of their time together. Najla would never go so far as to call him a friend, though there was no one she’d extend that term to now. Friends were people one could trust, and Najla would never extend that to anyone but Basim. Not again. But Grettir was a good man, loyal to Ketill and honest in that unrestrained way she had come to recognize these northerners to be. It was a valuable presence to her, especially when he was closer to her suspect than any of the others.
“Your brother has asked me to explain a great deal regarding the ship. I could always tell you what I told him.”
“No need.” Najla had no intention of ever sailing on one of those monstrosities, despite the fact that Ketill had told her she would return to the Sultanate on one. Rather than mention that fact to Grettir, Najla was quick to turn the subject to what she’d truly come for. “I’m sure he must have been tearing your ear off about it all, I won’t ask you to repeat it again. You must be thankful Arngeir has taken him out of your hair for now.” Her words were spoken teasingly, as she had no reason to hide her deep affection for her brother. Besides, the affection built up to what she was just about to ask, to hide it among a deeper set of motivations.
“I don’t mind, neither does my brother. He’s a clever kid, and kind. The whole village has grown to like him.”
“I appreciate your kind words, but I worry that that’s not entirely true. I can never tell if his curiosity is bound to edge on another’s nerves, I sense he may attract some disdain if he is not cautious.”
“Is there someone you’re worried about?”
“Perhaps. I won’t ask you to ease my fears however, not for something as silly as gossip.” The way she spoke sounded almost as if she was unsure of her own fears, but it seemed Grettir would quickly understand her fears. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to ease her fears about many men, there was only one he’d have any insight on. But the way Najla looked over at the river once more, eyes filled with worry, made it seem as if that was entirely untrue.
“Hadski?”
“I would not speak ill of your companion. He’s been an asset to this village, it is just my brother I worry for at times.”
“There is no need to worry, Hadski has no quarrel with the boy. Besides, he prefers to hunt on his own. He usually doesn’t go when Arngeir leaves.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. He mentioned he would go tomorrow, he’ll be gone all day I expect. Your brother does not intend to go out with the hunters then, does he?”
“I don’t believe so.” Najla reached her hand out, resting it on Grettir’s arm gently for a brief moment. A show of gratitude, that of a sister who’d had a worry lift from her heart. The same would be read in her expression, and Najla was certain nothing more would be seen. “Thank you Grettir, you’ve eased my mind greatly.”
“Of course. If the chief asks, tell him his ship’s still afloat.”
She was acting too rashly. The thought replayed in Najla’s head with every step she took. She was acting rashly, she should have waited, should have allowed Basim to observe for a few days, but each time the thought popped up, she shoved it down. After learning that it had been the food, a new sense of urgency filled her, for not finding the culprit soon could mean death. More than that, the notion that some might have believed she was responsible for it, even if it was a rumor, was even more worrying. A volva would not last long here, no matter who people believed was protecting her.
It was with that thought that Najla pushed herself forwards, away from where some of the houses seemed to cluster towards the center of the village, and to the isolated corner where Hadski had built his hut. It was not dark yet, and so Najla was not worried that he’d return from his hunt, but it did place some fear as to whether anyone would see her. Luckily, Hadski had not tried to integrate himself into this community as much as the others, and so it would be easy to sneak in for a few moments. So long as she was careful.
It did not feel right, to skulk around in this mans house. Not because she believed the task itself was distasteful, but because Najla rarely had to perform them. Before, there were always others that could do this for her, slaves and servants that would not look out of place if they were to be found. Anyone besides Hadski would look out of place in this small hut. It was undeniably cramped, dirty, and a little crowded with stuff, which did not make her ‘task’ any easier. Still, Najla was quick to let her eyes wander around the items, trying to assess where he kept everything and in what order before she dug around.
Her process of searching was quick, meticulous, and she made sure to pick up nothing that wasn’t immediately put back in its place.
Her hands clutched the small vial and she turned it over. It did not look like the poisons she’d handled in the Sultanate, those were crystal clear and hidden in small elegant vials, no different than a perfume bottle. No one would mistake this for a perfume bottle. Opening the top carefully, Najla inhaled. There was a smell to it, whatever it was, but faint. She could see how it would be easy to spread it on meat and rid ones hands of it before preparation. Still, the question remained. How was she to tell if this was truly poison?
She could take the vial with her, certainly, but that would become a liability she did not need. If people thought she was a volva already, having this vial on her person would become a hassle. Moreover, Hadski would know immediately, and she did not want to guess who would be at the end of his wrath. She could leave it and tell Ketill, but that would leave her with no more proof than when she started. Rather than taste it herself, Najla looked around the house once more before she made up her mind, picking up a clean bowl.
She let three drops of the liquid fall into the bowl before closing the top, turning the bowl over carefully in her hands, not letting a drop spill out of the bowl. She could feel her hands shake slightly even as she set the bowl just where she’d found it, finally wiping the vial down on her dress and placing that back as well. She’d know in a day, now. Rather than wait for Basim’s guesses or her own trial and error, she’d know. But that also meant that Hadski would know that someone knew, though not who. It would force Ketill’s hand in dealing with him, an effect that Najla had recognized and accepted, if not desired. The faster people stopped calling her a volva, the better. But the fear lay that perhaps he would not allow his hand to be pushed, that she would anger a man for no reason. But she could not hesitate, not anymore. She had waited too long with Osman, always hoping that he’d simply stop being angry, that her position would be enough to sooth him. She had nothing of the sort to offer Hadski now, and she’d learned from experience that it wouldn’t matter.
It was just as easy to slip out as it was to slip in, and Najla was careful to make sure the door was closed fully after her. There was no one to witness her, none to see as she made the careful trek back towards the village, just hoping to reach the point where none would look at her and wonder what she was doing there. Perhaps the Sawarim had been hearing her prayers, for there were none that would see her as she moved from the more isolated region where Hadski lived, and towards the center of the village. Just as she thought she have gotten back without a sighting, Najla was met with a familiar figure walking towards her. Friendly, but just as she had not wished to see Hadski, seeing his companion Arngeir was nearly as bad.
“What are you still doing out here?”
“I’m looking for my brother. Wasn’t he supposed to be with you?”
He wasn’t, but the easy answer was quick to turn the tables back onto Arngeir, pulling the suspicion away from her. It wasn’t an inherently odd thing for someone to be walking around the village, but Najla rarely had reason to walk towards certain areas, or truthfully, leave the home at all. Still, Basim was always a convenient excuse. Now that he spent a great deal of his time with the hunters, and most of that with Arngeir, Najla had almost treated the man as a second caretaker, bonding with him through the shared experience of trying to rein her brother in.
“No, not today. Has he been gone long?”
“I don’t mean to worry you, I am quite sure he is well. I just needed him for something.”
“I hope you find him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him if I see him.”
“Thank you. Good night, Arngeir.” Najla ended the conversation with a pleasant smile, finally returning to the longhouse. Still, she did not feel as if she were entirely free and clear yet. What Hadski did when he returned to his house remained to be seen.
-----------------------------------
She got her answer the next day, into the afternoon, after pulling Basim aside. Hadski had been acting nervous all day, he told her, both jumpy and angry, ready to snap at anyone that placed too much pressure on him. He had not spoken of any particular matter that was wrong, though Hadski did not talk much in general, so there was nothing strange about that. Regardless, his behavior had changed overnight. And that was all Najla had needed.
Najla walked through the longhouse without anyone paying her any mind, a sensation she had not quite grown used to. It was pleasant, in its own way, to be considered no different from the others that inhabited this village. She was no longer a princess to be held above them, and her exotic nature had since worn off, at least among those that had been here long enough. Newcomers to the village were always surprised or curious at first, but the perception that Najla was a concubine was quick to explain away her presence. Whether or not Ketill knew that the villagers saw her as such, she did not know, for Najla knew better than to ask. She had guessed that he did however, for even Najla would play into this notion.
That much had been evidenced by her actions now, as she walked towards Ketill. She seemed calm even as she rested a hand on his shoulder gently, a gesture that would seem strange only to her, Ketill and Basim, those that knew the true nature of their relationship. To the others, it would look like a natural gesture between two people that shared an intimacy uncoupled from affection, though the truth was that they held neither of those feelings for each other. Hoping that Ketill would not react in a way that would make this obvious, she leaned down, her voice a soft whisper in his ear that would be audible only to him.
“You should not eat much more. I think I have found your answer.”
With that, Najla straightened up, drawing her hand away from Ketill’s shoulder. She spoke a little louder now, knowing her next words would not be suspicious. No one would think it was strange for a concubine to speak to their chief like this, and Najla simply tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke, as if she too could see nothing odd with this situation.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
With that, Najla left Ketill to his meal, walking down towards the hall that led to their rooms. Perhaps Ketill would have expected her to await him in her own room, but Najla clearly held no intention of doing so. Rather, she would walk into his room, closing the door softly behind her as she moved to sit at the table. Perhaps he’d be angry, but Najla was doing so on purpose. She wanted to dictate the length of the conversation this time. While she knew from experience that he would shout his final words at her even if she tried to leave the conversation, Najla preferred hearing his voice from behind a closed door than having him stand face to face with her. This held true even now, when they were, technically, on the same side.
When Ketill entered the room, Najla was waiting for him, one hand on the table as she drummed her fingers against it. It was a scene that seemed reminiscent of their past, when Ketill would be brought to her room to hear her demands. But there was no hiding the truth now, nor would Najla bother to do so. Whatever memories of their past were brought by her choice to wait here, her next words made it quite clear she realized the reality of their present.
“I have found your answer. You were right, it is no action of the gods, nor is it a witch.”
Najla drew her hand off the table, leaning back in the chair now. Though her tone was confident in the conclusions she’d drawn, it was far different than from when Najla had simply told him her orders, and allowed him to follow along. Now, there was a reason to expose the pattern and thoughts behind it. He had to trust her, or else nothing would come from it. She could no longer force him to. He took her expertise in some matters because he wanted to, because he believed she could provide good information. And Najla gave him good information, because she trusted Ketill’s actions in that respect. It was the barest level of mutual respect two people could hold for one another, but between the two of them, it was the most that had ever been present. At least Najla assumed it was so, for she had not had any respect for her slave, but it was far different for the chief before her.
“I spoke to a few of the villagers who had seen these. . . creatures. Most had similar stories, like what you described to me. Standing over people, disappearing at will, all that which would have them believe that this ground is haunted. Then came Einar’s wife.” Najla let out a small smile, though there was little humor behind it. “I wouldn’t trust that man. He did not lie because he is malicious, but because he wanted to tell a story. He’s still loyal to you, but if he gives you any information in the future, think very carefully about how many people are listening to him.”
“All those who saw the creatures dined with you, in this house. I had begun to understand that pattern before Einar began to spin his tale, so I thought I had been wrong. But I knew his story was wrong. He said the creature opened the door itself, which is . . .” She clearly wanted to come out and say that it was wrong abruptly, for when she had chased ‘Jalil’ out the door, it had been her that had to open it. Rather than divulge that information, Najla hesitated for a mere moment, though when she continued, she had not lost her confidence in her words. “It’s just not what the others had said. A minute detail, one that doesn’t help his story sound more interesting in any way. And if it is entirely true that only those who eat in your house feel ill then it’s the food. It’s the food Ketill, something in the food is poisoning your people. But since your food comes from your people, I had some difficulty determining exactly where. Poison is hard to trace once used, one of its many blessings.”
It was a lot of unnecessary information, for Najla knew that if she told him what she had done, it would likely be enough to get him to act. To force him to act truthfully, so that whatever rumors of ‘volva’ may have existed would be wiped clear. She bit her lip thoughtfully as she considered her next words, finding a brief moment of silence before her eyes moved up to Ketill again. There was some hesitation in them, as one often held before a confession, but she had committed no sin.
“I will spare you the little I know of poisons, but trust that with that knowledge and the hand I have in preparation, I guessed it had to be the meat, or the ale. I went to Basim for some names, and with that information, I went to Hadski’s home.”
She spoke the words abruptly, her eyes leveling onto Ketill’s as she tried to determine how he’d feel about this. Still, there was something else in her gaze as well, something far more reminiscent of how Harith used to act. Basim and Jalil had always been careful, calculated, their actions motivated by entirely by what they did and didn’t know. For the middle siblings, their actions were motivated by their desires, their fears, even when informed by knowledge. Clearly, Najla was clever enough to solve the issue for Ketill, but had willingly opted to take that risk onto herself, rather than wait a few days to observe, or even come to Ketill. Would he guess that she had done so to force his hand, to make him act faster? Perhaps there would have been no need, for Ketill would likely not be willing to allow his people to be poisoned either. But that was a risk she had not been willing to take, clearly, and Najla clearly held no issue with her actions.
“I didn’t poison him, so your Gods have no need to forgive me. I merely fed him his own poison, when I was still unsure of what it was. But I am not unsure anymore. Basim said he’s been anxious and riled all day, even snapped at people a few times. He doesn’t know it was me, I left no trace. I’m certain of that. But he knows that somebody found his poison and fed it to him.” Najla shrugged then. “Perhaps he’ll stop for a while. Perhaps he’ll kill whoever he thinks did it. Regardless, you have your answer. It’s Hadski. I’d advise you to act quickly, though I know you don’t need me to tell you that.”
With that, Najla moved to stand, pushing her chair back. Even as she did however, her hand rested on the table, making it quite clear that she was going to linger for a moment longer. Her fingers drummed somewhat anxiously on the table, as she always did when she was preparing her words. Her next words would likely surprise Ketill, though Najla spoke them as if she had done so a hundred times before.
“You’re a good leader. I didn’t expect you to be. But you remind me a great deal of Uncle, even without the training he had. Your decisions appear impartial to your people and they have no doubt that your promises will hold true. But, you are still a warrior. You should not have dismissed Hadski as a threat just because you could fight him. Thamud could have cut me open in a heartbeat, but it was I who killed him, not you. The snakes in the grass are just as dangerous as the bears in the forest, and there will be far more of both in the future, if you continue to do as well as you are. I’ll leave you to deliberate on what I’ve told you. But If I had any control over you, I would ask you to confront Hadski before you eat the meat again.” With that, Najla smiled. “I’d be a fool to believe that I did, however. This is your decision to make. But I won’t eat any meat until you do.”
This felt far more like the way she used to talk to her Uncle, rather than Ketill. She would not be quite as informal with her Uncle, despite their family ties, but perhaps it was for the best. Ketill could not doubt that she would not lie to him. Her success was entirely tied to his, both of them knew this well. Her fingers grazed on the table as she walked around it, heading towards the door. Ketill could shout after her as he pleased, but Najla would only stop to offer him more information to make his decision. Rather, she was eager to say her prayers and go to bed, wondering if she’d feel better in the morning after having skipped dinner.
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