Chapter 2: Day 2/What Doesn’t Kill You [4/7]

"Why yes, of course!" Father gestures eagerly for me to stand before the tall Norseman.Mother gives me an encouraging push forward. "Go on, lamb, let the gentleman have a peek at ye."I approach shyly, pulse racing as Colm kneels to my height. His brilliant green eyes seem to stare into my very soul. Strong fingers grasp my chin, turning my head back and forth."Look up, little one," he murmurs. As I meet his intense gaze, the freeman's eyes widen. "By Thor's hammer! Those luminous yellow eyes could belong to my Brigitte reborn!"Colm runs a hand over my tangled blonde hair. "But what have we here..." He frowns, parting the dirty strands to reveal swarming lice and nits. Straightening abruptly, he says, "Forgive me, friends, but vermin have infested the child's locks."My cheeks burn as he addresses Father bluntly. "All your family could benefit from delousing treatments, good man. The infestation seems advanced..."Father clears his throat awkwardly. "Er, beggin' yer pardon, sir, but why's my Lile so important when there's plenty o' comely maids about eager for a husband?"Colm replies, "You see, friend, I search for a girl bearing the likeness of an...ancient goddess, shall we say. Gullveig the Sorceress." His piercing green eyes fix intensely on me again. "And your daughter is the sole villager graced with such singular beauty."Father scratches his tangled beard. "But if this, er...Gufveip female ent buried here, why not seek her living image elsewhere?"The freeman's expression grows shuttered. "I am bound by my community to take only a local bride for...complex reasons. Thus fair Lile represents my sole chance to claim a girl embodying Gullveig's glory."He clasps my father's shoulder intently. "Tell me true, Oisin - have you seen any other villagers in your travels to other villages with yellow eyes and moonspun hair akin to your daughter's?"Father shakes his shaggy head slowly. "Nay sir, the child is one of a kind in that. None else boasts her...unique assets." He winks crudely.Colm releases a slow breath, sharp gaze boring into me. "Just as I feared...this waif alone bears the necessary traits." He runs a hand over his beard. "Then it seems fate herself has bound us in this matter."Father throws back his head with a raucous guffaw. "So ye really be lookin' to replace yer late wife then, eh? But not just any comely lass - oh nay! This one must be the very image of some goddess named Gullveig!"He slaps his thigh, laughter echoing through the cramped hovel. "Why, next ye'll be demandin' the girl sprout wings and grant ye magical powers, friend! Do all yer Norse folk have such fanciful notions regardin' peasant maids?"Colm nods solemnly. "You have the right of it. I do seek a very particular sort of bride.""Aye, as a Norseman I'm bound by certain, shall we say, restrictions enforced by your local lord." Colm strokes his golden beard thoughtfully."You see, when we Vikings came to trade and settle in this land, your nobles welcomed our skills but remained...wary. They permitted freeman status so long as we accepted parole measures."He gives a wry half smile. "As if we warriors could ever grow content plowing fields and mending pots! But needs must, and the profit from exotic wares outweighed indignity."Colm leans forward, voice dropping. "So I and my countrymen must obtain special permission from Lord Eamonn whenever we wish to journey outside the village bounds. And my requests for travel to Norway this past year have been denied without explanation."His fist clenches. "I remain bound to this mudpile settlement until granted leave for the sea voyage home!"Colm smooths his features over, assuming a pleasant tone once more. "So as recompense for this...inconvenience, his Lordship requested my services healing villagers and assisting births."He gives a self-deprecating chuckle. "As if any oaf cannot poultice sores or catch babe and afterbirth! But I must play the grateful supplicant, for Eamonn holds my fate here in his soft pink hands."Colm spits on the dirt floor. "Two years I've lived in this festering mudpile, tending poxy peasants and pulling mewling babes from their dams!"His fist clenches again briefly before he regains control. "I do what I must to eventually regain liberty. As marrying the girl child comes to form part of the plan in truth..."Colm reaches out unexpectedly to grasp my small hand in his broad calloused one. I shy from his intense emerald gaze."Now you see, little one, why I must make you my bride however long I'm forced to wait. For when the time comes to depart this fetid backwater, I will require a woman who meets...certain conditions."He smiles gently. "You shall accompany me to Norway as wife and mother of my get. This should satisfy the measure of duty owed."Colm releases my hand, sitting back. "Sixteen winters must pass before we join in the marital bed under norse custom.""So you see, little one, you alone hold the key to my escape from this festering mudpile. Our fates are bound by destiny...and by Lord Eamonn's decree."Colm leans forward, beckoning my parents closer. In a low urgent tone he says "I aim to buy freedom from this fetid backwater by selling knowledge to interested parties abroad."Seeing their confusion, he explains "Norse raiders plague the northern isles still, yes? Well, I possess maps of Danish encampments along the coasts of Alba and Eire."He taps his temple grimly. "Twelve years raiding and trading these lands impressed the locations well. Such intelligence would prove...valuable...to certain Irish nobles."Colm sits back with a cold smile. "So several interested buyers have approached me discreetly of late. Lord Eamonn himself seeks access to my maps of enemy camps and troop movements."He steeples his fingers. "And in exchange for such useful details, his Lordship might be persuaded to grant me leave to depart with my new bride..."Colm rakes a hand through his golden mane. "But understand, friends - I cannot simply return to Norway empty-handed after so long abroad. Certain...expectations exist."He exhales heavily, features etched with bitterness. "My father Ragnar, may Thor spit on his corpse, heard prophetic whispers from a völva seeress before I departed for these lands as a youth.""The crone witch told him I was fated to return with a woman embodying our ancestral goddess Gullveig the Sorceress." Colm spits on the floor in disgust."She claimed this female would gift our clan great prosperity and plentiful sons. So the old wretch bid me seek this goddess-made-flesh during my travels."He slams a fist on the crude plank table. "But Ragnar made clear any failure to bring this prophesied bride home would mean my death by slow torture as blood sacrifice to Odin!"Colm passes a trembling hand over his eyes. "You glimpse now the thorny trap ensnaring me. For if I return to Norway without little Lile heavy with child, mine own sire will inflict prolonged agonies upon my worthless carcass before dedicating it to appease those damned gods!"Hahahahaha! Of course this towering hunk of virile Vikingness is the spawn of none other than the legendary marauder Ragnar fucking Lothbrok! Because why settle for mundane mortal parentage when you can be popped out of history's most famously fertile ballsack? What's next, my real daddy will turn out to be Erik the Red after a drunken orgy under the blood moon? Maybe if I pray hard enough, my fairy godmother will reveal I'm the secret love child of Thor and Loki! Can you imagine the family reunions? "Hey bro, nice hammer! Is it true what they say about redheads?"The cosmic joke just keeps compounding. I must have monumentally pissed off some mighty power in a past life to get damned to this fate! Either I drowned a sack of kittens or this is hell's waiting room for my multitude of sins. What precisely did I do to deserve getting reborn as a lice-infested peasant waif betrothed to the Viking Antichrist?So not only am I expected to let Ragnar "Blood Eagle" Lothbrok's heir plow my teenage body the minute I sprout tits, but I've also got to pop out his dozen mini-marauders on cue? Can you imagine the hellions that would erupt from this unholy union once his unquenchable seed takes root? Why, they'll be raiding monasteries for wine money before they're out of diapers! Maybe if I'm lucky, during my 97th pregnancy little Sven will get bored and ax murder me so I can finally escape this neverending shitshow!And what the fresh fuck is this nonsense about me resembling some ancient Norse goddess named Gullveig? Isn't that just peachy! Glad to know my only value in this era lies between my legs as a walking womb. I bet if Colm trotted me into his father's golden mead hall wearing a dog collar and nipple tassels, dear old dad would take one look and jizz his chainmail britches. "Behold, the prophesied fucktoy has arrived! Gather round lads, tonight we consecrate every hole to the glory of Odin!" Let the religious raping commence!Maybe if I pray hard enough, Jesus will take pity and turn me into a literal troll under the bridge. At least then I can devour any lusty goatherds dumb enough to wander by. The only consolation is this explains why Colm resembles a Norse god - it's called genetics, bitches! Clearly the Lothbrok bloodline breeds sexy berserkers quicker than rabbits on Viagra. And pretty soon this fine specimen is gonna be balls deep celebrating my womanly flowering with some good old fashioned ritualistic deflowering! Lucky me!!!Father gapes at Colm, eyes bulging. "Ragnar Lothbrok? The fearsome Viking what still plagues our shores?" He crosses himself hastily. "Why, 'tis said he's more beast than mortal man! I'd not have guessed a lordly sort like yerself could share blood with such a notorious heathen savage."Mother presses trembling fingers to her lips, face leeched of color. "Sweet Jesus preserve us! To have sheltered the very son of that unholy terror under our humble roof this night..." She shudders violently. "Why, 'tis like a wolf cub lurkin' midst the lambs!"Colm exhales heavily. "Aye, the old wretch clings stubbornly on like a starved tick, more's the pity. My father has ever been too damned cunning to die by sword or axe."He strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Still, twelve more winters should sap even stubborn Ragnar's vigor. Mayhap age or strong mead shall claim the vicious bastard ere I return with little Lile."Colm's eyes take on a calculating gleam. "Why yes, if I timed my arrival in Norway just as the grieving commences for my father...bringing with me a fertile bride who fits the prophecy..."He slams a fist on the crude plank table. "I could claim my inheritance and seize Ragnar's title with none to oppose me!"Father scratches his tangled beard. "This Lord Eamonn who rules o'er our village - does he ken yer actually the spawn of Ragnar Lothbrok hisself?"Colm nods grimly. "Aye, the blackguard knows precisely who sired me. 'Tis must be why he delights in denying my requests for travel papers year after bloody year!"Father throws back his head with a raucous guffaw. "Why, that wretched steward must piss his britches thinkin' the son of Ragnar Lothbrok might gather allies and return to slit his master's throat!"He slaps his thigh in mirth. "Small wonder they keep ye penned up in this mudpile like a prize bull awaiting service! Else ye'd have every Irish lord quakin' in his boots.""Mister Colm, how old is yer papa Ragnar?" I ask innocently, scrunching my nose. "Is he an old geezer with no teef left like mean farmer Bran?"Colm's lips quirk with grim amusement. "Why, my father has seen nearly five dozen winters, little one. Yet he remains hale enough to split both shield and skull on the battlefield."His emerald eyes take on a faraway gleam. "Ragnar Lothbrok has ever been too damned cunning to die by mortal blade or axe blow...though many have tried unseating that hoary wolf through the years."Father throws back his head with a raucous guffaw. "Why, seems yer dear old da remains a right terror if peasant folk still whisper of him! Small wonder ye offered three silvers for my little whelp."He slaps his thigh in mirth before adding slyly, "Though mebbe we ought renegotiate if yer relations be so very...highly placed, eh?"Colm smiles coldly, emerald eyes glinting. "I think not. In truth, I had no intention of paying silver."Colm reaches within his tunic to withdraw a large gold coin, which he casually tosses onto the crude plank table. It glints brightly in the dim firelight, finer than anything our humble hovel has seen.Father makes a strangled noise, eyes bulging. "Sweet bleedin' Christ!" He grabs the coin in his meaty fist, biting it to test authenticity, then crows triumphantly. "Gold, by all the saints! More riches than I'll see in my lifetime!"Colm smiles indulgently. "This is but a small sample of the wealth I can provide...if certain conditions are met."His piercing green eyes fix intently on me. "The girl must become my bride once she flowers, this is not negotiable. But in the interim, you will deliver her to my cottage each week for...safekeeping."Clasping Father's shoulder, Colm says "You see, friend, little Lile requires certain interventions to ensure her health and cleanliness before she matures enough for marriage."He ticks items off on his fingers. "Weekly delousing treatments, nourishing food to foster growth, proper bathing, clean garments...as a healer, I alone can provide such specialized care."Colm smiles indulgently down at me. "Why, you shall be a little princess visiting my grand castle each week! I shall have honey cakes and sweet wine to restore your strength."Father frowns, still clutching the gold coin. "But if ye mean to care for her yerself, why not just take the whelp now? Surely a widower could use a little maid's company."Colm gives an exaggerated shudder. "And rob myself of leisure hours by playing nursemaid? Thank you, no. She remains your burden for a decade more."He makes a dismissive gesture. "Children require constant minding and I've not the temperament. Let the girl's mother tend her formative years - and deliver her each week to my door."Colm throws back his head with a hearty guffaw. "Why, 'twould be rather sick-minded for me to raise the very child I later intend to impregnate, eh?"He winks crudely at Father. "Can you imagine if I helped little Lile in and out of her bath water each week from a tender age? Tongues might wag in the church!"Father forces an uneasy chuckle in response. "Er, right ye are, sir. Best leave the lass in her mum's care til she blossoms."Mother speaks up timidly from where she stands stirring the bubbling pot. "Beg pardon, sir, but might it not work to your benefit if you raised Lile from a child? Why, her ways could be molded to suit you."She adds hastily at Colm's frown, "Not that I question your wisdom, of course! Only thinking as a mam what a little one's habits form early..."Colm makes a sharp gesture, cutting Mother off mid-sentence. "You overstep, woman! I've no intention of assuming a paternal role nor grooming the girl from tender years."He shudders violently. "Ugh, 'tis distasteful in the extreme. She remains your burden to feed, clothe, and discipline as you see fit."Clasping Father's shoulder, Colm says earnestly "You must understand, friends - back home in Norway, men would question my intentions spending time alone with a child ward."He spits on the floor in disgust. "Yet here in this fetid backwater, barely a brow lifts at lechery toward young maids promised to another!"Can he stop spitting on the floor? It's already grimy as FUCK, and now he just adds to it?!Colm rakes a hand through his golden mane. "So I will weather crude gossip and vulgar accusations over the years as recompense for one day claiming the prophesied bride."His piercing emerald eyes fix intensely on me. "But make no mistake - I refuse to treat Lile as anything but a stranger's daughter until the day she flowers and transforms into a woman grown."He smiles coldly. "Only then will I take her as wife and dutifully get a child on her...not before!"Father turns the glinting gold coin over in his broad palm, still scarcely believing the fortune it represents. At last he extends his meaty hand with visible reluctance, allowing the gold to slip through his calloused fingers."As much as I yearn to keep this, 'twould likely mean my death walkin' about with such a king's ransom in my pocket, friend," he says wryly. "Have ye silver to offer instead? Less apt to tempt bandits or lord's men that way."Colm smiles indulgently, tucking the coin back inside his tunic. "Quite so, quite so. I shall have three silver pieces delivered each week then alongside the child."Three silvers a week? Just how much silver is a gold coin worth in this place...? 100? 1000?He rakes his golden mane back from his brow. "Let none question the honor of my sworn pledge before witnesses. The girl shall be mine and you'll receive fair recompense."Colm rises swiftly to his imposing height, keen emerald gaze assessing our cramped, foul-smelling surroundings with thinly veiled distaste."I should very much like to inspect your dwelling before taking leave, friends," he announces briskly. "To ascertain what measures and provisions may be required for the child's periodic residence here."Without awaiting response, Colm proceeds to scrutinize every corner of the single-room hovel - crude sleeping pallets, manure-strewn entranceway, heap of rotting vegetables in one corner. His nose wrinkles at the pungent miasma of piss, animals and decades of accumulated filth ingrained into the very walls.Ducking his golden head under the low-hanging doorway, Colm enters our sleeping quarters. A moment later violent retching echoes from within followed by a muffled oath. "Sweet merciful gods, this piss-reeking straw tick is utterly rank! Does no one shovel fresh hay inside even weekly?"[...]