Night Bells

Chapter Seventeen

  In which an old enemy returns to the woods…

  Stigg awoke with a searing throb in his head and a stomach that twisted itself in cruel knots.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, knowing the previous night’s drunkenness had left him the worse for wear.

  He looked up and saw his mother sitting next to the bed, her legs crossed and a wooden bucket held out towards him. An eyebrow lifted on her aging face.

  “Hello, Mother,” he muttered, gratefully accepting the bucket and regurgitating the contents of his stomach into the crude receptacle.

  “You gave us all quite a stir last night, Stigg. Anything you’d like to talk about? A latent penchant for binge drinking perhaps?” Though her tone sounded light, Stigg could tell she was deadly serious.

  “No, nothing like that…I just…well,” he ran a hand over his head and mussed his already unkempt hair into a matrix of tangles. “I don’t know what made me do it, to tell you the truth.”

  “That’s an impotent excuse if ever I’ve heard one. Tell me the truth. Tell me how you really feel about Arna and Soryn, Stigg. For once in your life, give me a sermon, if that’s what you feel like doing,” his mother pleaded. “I’m here to help you.”

  “You can’t help me,” he whispered—attempting to keep the noise level down for his sore head.

  “You’re right. I can’t if you don’t tell me how,” she countered.

  “I’m a fool. I love a girl who’s far too young for me, who’s in love with a fine young noble. She does not and will not ever love me back.” The words flowed out before he could think better of them. Strangely enough, it made him feel better.

  “I tried to warn you, Stigg. I know you’re lonely, but I did try to warn you, son,” Fanndis admonished.

  “You did,” Stigg sighed, waving her off. “I didn’t listen.”

  “You’ve always been headstrong—I have no idea where you got that abominable trait,” she smirked.

  “Mmhm.” Stigg laughed.

  He instantly regretted it, for it stirred up the already terrible ache in his head.

  Stigg leaned back down on the pillows, a cold hand to his brow. The room felt chill. He peered at the empty, blackened hearth. The fire must have burned out in the night. Fanndis marveled at her son—long since grown and so sad, despite his hard work. She pitied him. He had never been social and had only met one woman in his life, other than Fanndis and her friends: Arna. It was bound to happen, she realized. Fanndis always knew he would love the first woman he laid eyes on and that he would love her with all of his heart, forever. She wished she could have been wrong about that.

  “Do you want me to make you breakfast before you start to work?” she asked.

  “No, that’s alright. I’m going to take the day off,” he declared, pulling the covers over his head.

  Fanndis thought her mind had gone bad. Stigg had not voluntarily taken a day off from work in his entire life. He was the hardest working human being she had ever laid eyes on—and that was taking Stigg’s own father into consideration. After her shock subsided, she stood up and patted him on the head like she used to when he was young.

  “Well, you rest. If you get hungry, just let me know, alright?” She stepped out of the room.

  He nodded before falling asleep again, his hand on his aching head and his heart still full of holes. Fanndis shook her head and shrugged. She looked to Valkyrie who was sitting by the hearth darning some of their winter stockings.

  “How is he?” Valkyrie lifted her brows.

  “Well, he’s as lovesick as it gets, even though he clearly knows better, by the looks of it. I suppose I didn’t really make it any better,” Fanndis confided, striding through the main room into the kitchen.

  Valkyrie set aside her sewing basket and walked behind her old apprentice. Soryn was still at work and Arna was asleep—Valkyrie had checked earlier. The house was quiet. Without Stigg’s usual business about the cottage (inside and out), things felt unnaturally still. Both women set about preparing poultices and salves for the villagers and performing small bits of magic in order to tidy up the house. Valkyrie kindly put the broken pitcher back together using a small spell. Fanndis smiled in thanks.

  By noon, Ulf dropped by the cottage and inquired after the events of the previous night with the apparition they saw in the woods. The women invited him in and he sat on his hind legs, flicking his tail every now and again as he listened to the recounting of the story.

  Well, I’m glad that Arna is back to normal. It was terrible that she got caught up in my family’s misfortunes. I felt bad for the child, Ulf remarked.

  “She’s not a child anymore. She may have gone to sleep as one, but she woke up a woman,” Valkyrie pointed out.

  So it would seem. Any sign of Fenris? It looks like he’s the only one not accounted for after that night. My pack and I have seen neither hide nor hair of him over the years.

  “Stigg goes out on his tracking missions to the west and east every now and then, but I suspect Fenris sailed south long ago, unless he’s a great fool. He would know we’re after him,” Fanndis replied.

  That would make sense, but my brother is an arrogant creature. He may not be through toying with all of us yet. I pray you are right and I am wrong.

  Fanndis nodded her agreement. “I would be happy if we never heard from him again, but I know Stigg will never be satisfied until he can see Fenris behind bars or worse.”

  The conversation ended with Ulf’s promise to send Derik to visit Arna later. The women went back to work. Arna awoke a little after the wolf left and the two older women helped her lean on them as she took the smallest of steps from her room to the kitchen. Pillows were brought from the main room and they made a cushioned seat out of one of the wooden kitchen chairs so she could sit and talk with them. Her color was still good, though they knew the girl was exhausted. It would take a while for her to regain her full health and strength.

  “Is it very strange waking up and finding three years have passed?” Valkyrie asked, curious.

  Arna’s bell-like laughter lit up the kitchen. “I suppose,” she grabbed a long tendril of hair and gazed towards her chest. “These are new,” she blushed.

  The women laughed. They made small talk and settled into a comfortable conversational rhythm about all that had passed over the last few years. Arna was most curious about Soryn’s role as the town’s Maslyn.

  “Oh, he’s done wonders for the village—don’t let him fool you. He grumbles about work every night he visits, but Kimbli tells us that the local economy has improved substantially and the people have better access to the resources they need. He’s really accomplished a lot to have only been publically working with the community by himself for a year,” Fanndis informed her.

  “How is Kimbli? Soryn said he was ill.”

  “He had a bout of pneumonia, but one of us visits him every day and brings him medicine and herbal teas. He’s almost well now. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” Fanndis smiled.

  “I’d love to see him. It will be nice when I can walk properly again,” Arna said, her voice sounding gloomy for the first time since she regained consciousness.

  “Cheer up. You’re a living miracle. It is unusual for the Seidh to be so forgiving. Typically, when people meddle with magic they’re not ready for, they suffer much harsher consequences. You’re most fortunate, you know,” Valkyrie pointed out.

  Arna blushed, knowing she was mostly to blame for what had happened. It all felt as though it were just yesterday. It was strange to know that no one had seen Fenris in three years and that Olan had chosen to live as a wolf and that Soryn was a man now. It was stranger to know that she had lost three years of time. She had not even dreamed when she had been in the coma. It felt odd. She felt odd. Though she had been a precocious adolescent, Arna felt too young to be sixteen and a grown woman.

  “Where’s Stigg? Shouldn’t he be out working himself into a stupor about
now?” Arna inquired.

  “He claims he’s taking the day off. I think yesterday wore him out,” Fanndis said, leaving out the fact that Stigg loved Arna and had drunken himself to the point of passing out the night before.

  “Is he sick?” Arna gasped.

  “He did throw up this morning,” Valkyrie muttered.

  Fanndis shot her a poisonous look.

  “It’s true he’s not feeling well,” Fanndis admitted, all the while wanting to slap Valkyrie later.

  “Can I see him? I could cheer him up, maybe,” Arna offered.

  “No.” Fanndis knew that would be a disastrous idea. “I think he’s asleep. Best to leave him be, I think. We wouldn’t want you to catch whatever virus he’s gotten—especially after you just woke up and all.”

  Arna nodded.

  For the rest of the day, the women talked, laughed, and worked. They gave Arna some tasks that would help her build up the strength in her hands and fingers. She tried her hand at sewing and kneading bread dough. Arna could do nothing for longer than a few minutes at a time, but she was able to accomplish a lot before Soryn came in through the door later that night. He was not alone. Behind him hobbled Father Kimbli. Stigg remained in the back bedroom.

  “Bialas! Father Kimbli! It’s so wonderful to see you both!” Arna greeted.

  “Hello, Arna,” Father Kimbli bowed his head. “It’s so good to see you awake and healthy.”

  “I could say the same for you. Valkyrie and Fanndis told me you were sick,” Arna retorted.

  “Ah, well, thanks to these two ladies, I’m doing much better now. Right as rain.” He smiled, patting Soryn’s helping hand away. Kimbli groaned, bending down to sit. “Hope you don’t mind if I sit, Fanndis?”

  “Not at all. May I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you,” Kimbli assured her.

  Soryn thought about sitting, but he wanted to check on Stigg first to make sure there was no ill will between them. He slipped out of the kitchen without attracting too much attention. The women’s minds were on Kimbli and they asked after every aspect of his health. Walking through the main room, Soryn saw that the door to the back bedroom was shut and that no light escaped from underneath the door. He cracked it and stepped quietly inside.

  Stigg lay on his side. Covers were strewn all about the bed. Perhaps Stigg had kicked them off in the night. Soryn looked about the room for a blanket or something to lay over him. Though Soryn felt distinctly odd and motherly noticing something like that, he picked up a quilt that was draped over the back of a chair. Opening it up, he spread it over Stigg’s body and turned to leave.

  “Mother?” Stigg murmured.

  “No, it’s me. Soryn.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sorry if I woke you up,” Soryn apologized, turning back to the door.

  “Can we talk, Soryn?” Stigg asked.

  Soryn had never heard Stigg ask him to talk about anything. He felt an icy foreboding creep into his chest.

  “Alright,” he said, pulling the chair nearer the bed.

  “I’m sorry for what you saw last night. I wasn’t myself,” Stigg admitted.

  “It’s alright.” Soryn felt increasingly awkward. Stigg was not someone who shared feelings.

  “I know what a fool I am for loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I just wanted you to know that I am happy for you and Arna. I would never do anything to jeopardize what you two have.” Stigg pulled the quilt tighter over himself, shivering. His head was still battling the hangover.

  “Stigg…” Soryn did not know how to respond.

  “Thanks for the blanket.”

  “You’re welcome.” Soryn guessed that their conversation was at an end.

  Standing up, Lord Maslyn stretched and walked to the hearth to build a quick fire before he left—hoping it would banish some of the chill from the room. Just as Soryn was about to cross the threshold into the other room, Stigg spoke up, serious and alert.

  “Take care of her Soryn. If you don’t, I’ll be there. I won’t let any harm come to her; emotional or otherwise.”

  “I understand.” Soryn shut the door and left Stigg in the darkness of the bedroom.