CW: Weird, animistic sexual violence.
I think it's really hard to know what to put a CW on and not, but better safe than sorry.
Just like Eskil had suggested, the byrdings were emptied and shored in Rusa, just a short way down the delta where Lovat emptied out into the lake. The high water made it possible to land much closer to the settlement than after the spring floods, and the crews managed to drag the light, clinker built ships up to their storage place at a riverside house owned by a relative of Asgaut's brother in law, or so she had come to understand it. No one really discussed the details of logistics with her, but whenever Asgaut met with Eskil she was allowed, almost expected, to listen in, and she pieced it all together as best she could.
"We'll have to sit here for a while", Asgaut grunted when the non-living cargo had been brought on wagons for transport to the landing, where it would later be loaded onto the riverboats. "Right now the currents are too strong, we want to wait for that exact time when the water is still high enough to get us to the portage, but the currents are safe enough to trudge through.
"And if we don't get all the way to the wagons?"
"Then we send runners to get wagons and a couple of oxen downriver. It will be slow, but we have both warriors and carpenters, we'll still have a decent chance to reach lake Uzmen, and both Dvina and Kasplya will be a joy to conquer after Lovat."
It was a bit of an issue exactly what to do with Deva. Kildevi couldn't even find enough for herself to do most of the time, and yet it felt wrong to have been given a thrall and then just leave her around with Asgaut's, without any sign that ownership had been transferred.
She tried calling her in to help with hair and dressing in the mornings, but quickly realised it disturbed Eskil for some reason. He didn't say anything, but he didn't linger to keep her company anymore, and she appreciated his company more than help with the comb and pins. Next, she tried leaving her the mending, but that left her own hands so idle she found herself making useless embroidery instead, and she liked the mending better. Finally she settled for leaving Deva alone with the rest of the thrall women to do whatever they did, but left her one of her own wooden bear head shawl-pins to mark her. She had sung the hymns for a vǫlva, after all. It was only fair she had something that made her stick out from the rest.
The days went by, and a week past Ilmen, Eskil was still marked by the aftermath. Bruises, scratches and bitemarks covered his shoulders and chest, some of them with sharp outlines of teeth visible if you knew what to look for. Every time she saw them, she felt the sting of her bad conscience, equal parts shame and embarrassment. He had assured her it was nothing to worry about, but still, she had a gnawing feeling that in bed with their wives was a place where most men didn't have to worry about being bled.
"Are you sure you're fine?" she asked for perhaps the sixth night in a row. "I hate to be the one who gave you those."
"How much do you even remember?"
She shook her head.
"It's all very confused. I have flashes of memory, some view of looking down at you, a feeling of joyful rage, a wish to break and devour you that must have come from the outside. But my mind wasn't exactly clear. I just feel terrible for leaving you bleeding."
"I promise you, I've taken worse cuts for less fun."
"Fun?" She stared at him in disbelief. "You thought that was fun?!"
He replied with the smallest of shrugs, and she felt her own thoughts make a sharp turn.
"Do you want to try it in your dreams next time?"
Now he was the one whose eyes widened.
"You can do that?"
Kildevi took a moment to visit some old memories of lessons and storytelling.
"I know how, at least, and understand the knowledge. I've never tried it, but I see no reason why it should be harder than anything else. And who better to practice on than someone I can find like a beacon?"
"You can do that?"
She shrugged.
"At least if you're close by. You bear my mark all over you. Not a single creature can miss whom you belong to."
"What exactly do you mean by your mark…?"
He sounded reluctant for the first time in this conversation. For some reason it annoyed her no end how he had no problem with being defeated and beset by her raging power, as long as no one said in plain speech what that really entailed.
"I mean that if you look through the portal to the other side, you are the one trailing after me, and assumed my duty to protect. If that is a problem for you, maybe you should go and find yourself a wife skilled in housekeeping and nothing else."
She didn't hear how much rage and disdain her voice carried until it was too late for it to soften.
"That is a ridiculous overreaction to a simple question."
"Is it?"
"Yes." A sullen silence stretched out way longer than comfortable before he added, "and maybe it would be easier for me if you ever showed me a trace of respect as the head of this family."
Her head snapped up.
"You think this is how I act when I don't respect someone? I follow you everywhere!"
"Yes, questioning every move I make!"
"But you still make the moves! I don't decide our direction, I don't overthrow your decisions. I just point out when you're being stupid, which by the way is pretty much the duty of a first wife, if your mother is to be believed. But maybe she isn't woman enough for you either?"
She could see something break free behind those pale green eyes, and he snapped, "At least she's the height of one!" (You don't even look like a real woman.)
So, that was where he wanted to take this? Fine.
"Well, I wasn't the one using dirty tricks to get into you all the way past Ladoga!" (And yet you obviously want me waaay more than I want you.)
"Maybe I'm just not as shallow as you are." (Yes, in spite of how you look.)
"Of course you're not! Beauty alone is worthless, you've told me, and you should know!" (All you've ever had to offer is your looks, and we both know it.)
He bit down. She was very happy to see he could still do that. But when next he tried to sound reasonable, she wasn't falling for it.
"How did we go from your lack of respect for me, to throwing insults at my appearance?" (You are being unreasonable, and I'm really the victim here.)
"We didn't. I called you pretty. As far as I know, that's not an insult." (I'm not the only one being unreasonable, and you're not a victim, you're an idiot.)
She consciously straightened her back to her full length and continued. "You, on the other hand, called me too tall to be a woman at all, which is curious considering you seem very aware that I am one in every other aspect possible!" (You condescending, egotistical little shit, who expects me to mend your socks and spread my legs whenever you feel like it.)
"Calling someone tall is not an insult. You know, as opposed to calling someone too pretty to be good at anything else." (I'll ignore all the rest of what you said, because this thing here actually hurt, and that means you are the one who's being mean.)
"I didn't actually say that." (No, I'm not.)
"You heavily implied." (Am too.)
"And you felt that fit perfectly, I suppose?" (But if the cap fits, wear it.)
"Oh no, don't try to pretend that wasn't what you meant!" (And now you're being mean again, voicing the worst of all insecurities I had in my youth.)
She tilted her head, staring at him for a good long while, before she spoke again.
"You know what? You're right. I could be more subservient and dutiful. And I will be. Let's see how you like it."
It was hard to bend her head and ask his permission for absolutely everything. But seeing how it annoyed him made it all worth it.
The spring floods ultimately gave them just that week-long wait in Rusa before Asgaut, his relative, and three of the other most experienced rivermen among them, all agreed that the river looked as kind as it would ever be. Contrary to Eskil's guesses, the river boats were not much smaller than the byrdings, but they were flat bottomed and light, and very clearly not built to sail the open sea. Just like before, she and Eskil were added to the crew of Asgaut's ship, and this time, she didn't have to worry about the gotlanders. Apart from them, they were pretty much crewed with the same people as the byrding, much to Kildevi's relief, because she wouldn't be as comfortable bending her head in front of people who had never seen it held high.
Thus, after a night and a morning of pointed incompetence at governing herself, she remained on shore, looking lost, until finally Thore hollered: "Aren't you coming?"
"I'm sorry, I am awaiting my husband's permission."
Eskil sighed.
"Will you please come aboard, dear wife. It is time and we are all waiting for you."
Head still modestly bent, she climbed aboard to prudently sit down out of the way of the men, eyes fixed down on the deck boards. Finally, with a pleasant smile on her lips, she picked up the hated embroidery yarns and began to add tiny waves to the hem of one of his undershirts, humming happily. He ignored her at first, but once he seemed to notice exactly what she was doing, and on what, he bent down to hiss.
"Why? Why are you embroidering something that will never be seen unless I'm half naked?"
She looked up at him with tender eyes and a gentle giggle.
"Because idle hands are useless hands, dear husband. It will not do to sit here just dreamingly watching the flood banks."
That jaw of his was tense now. The irate tone in his voice, on the other hand, had been there since sometime this morning, when she'd asked his preference on every piece of her attire he had ever voiced an opinion about, just to make sure she dressed to his liking.
"Why not? It's what you've done most of this trip."
"Oh, but as you know, I have seen the error of my ways and am now dedicated to becoming the best wife I can be for you. I will work hard to be the wife you deserve."
"I don't deserve this."
"But you do! As you pointed out, I have been terribly disrespectful."
"What's with her?" Thorven asked Eskil as they set sail upstream.
"She's just trying to make a childish point," she heard him reply through satisfyingly gritted teeth.
The first day was all smooth sailing, even in the literal sense, since the winds were just strong enough to make sailing upstream possible. As they made camp that night, she kept up her charade, carefully arranging their sleepskins in the tent, fetching his food and drink for him, even snatching the mug out of his hands with a demure little nod when he tried to fill it himself. Some of their shipmates had started to snigger by now, and it seemed to make Eskil not one bit happier. In fact, he even used his newfound authority to send her to their tent while he stayed up a good while longer. When finally he came back to sleep, she carefully draped the blankets over him, tenderly tucking him in before she hesitated, wide eyed.
"I am sorry, dear husband. Did you want to find release in me tonight? Because surely I should be ready to grow more children for you now, wherever we may be."
He lay on his back, thin lipped, with his hands behind his head, eyes fixed on her face.
"What is it going to take to make you stop?"
"Stop? Isn't this what you wanted? I am just trying to live up to your expectations!"
He shook his head.
"We both know that's not what you're doing."
"If I have in any way displeased you, dear husband, I must ask your forgiveness."
"What do you want from me?"
"Are you… are you saying you liked the haughty, disrespectful wife better?"
"If that's what it takes, yes." Teeth still bit down, he continued, "I didn't ask for this. I simply asked that if someone asks me a question, you wait for my reply before you jump on it."
She was quite sure that wasn't all he'd meant the night before, but being both humble and gracious in victory, she decided not to rub his nose in it. For now.
Great winds kept them in sails and helped the oars along, and the next three days took them a good way further down the river. Kildevi started to believe the worries and complaints about the Lovat were just an exaggeration aimed to rattle her. When on the fifth day the river turned narrower and sections of whitewater appeared, she realised they might have passed the easy section of the river.
"It will go downhill from here," Eskil commented solemnly.
"I wish this was downhill!" Thorven replied. "Downhill means downstream, and we'll have to drag and punt these flatbeds upstream past more boulders than our ship vǫlva has ever seen in her life."
"And I was born between forest clad cliffs and named from a mountain spring, so that does mean something," Kildevi replied, not really questioning his assessment.
Come the eighth day, they stood aground among stony rapids, all eight of them pushing to get the vessel free from the boulders and gathered debris. Kildevi's feet felt dead from cold, her shins raw from twigs forcefully hitting her legs as the water rushed around them. The river stood high, but the currents were so strong they had to keep to the sides to keep the vessels moving.
On day nine, she tugged her first rope to pull the boat from shoreside, lending her weight behind Thorven who was the slightest of the men, and she soon found that in tugging, weight was as much a factor as strength.
On day ten, she once again waded out into the ice cold water to help draw a rope around another ship, stuck in one of the seemingly endless minor rapids along the Lovat's steep fall towards lake Ilmen. This time, though, she slipped on top of a boulder, sliding gracelessly down its side to strike another. That, in turn, sent her onto the rocky river bed, where she landed on all fours, and was left with bleeding grazes all the way down her knees, shins and elbows.
Eskil helped wrap her up and handed her a good cup of the strongest beer he could find on the convoy, but also teased her endlessly for every whine, every complaint. He even made an overdramatic show out of doting on her when she dared voice the opinion that maybe he could raise their tent on his own because her elbows hurt.
"How come you say that you love me, and yet you find such undiluted joy in my pain?"
"Ah, but one of the most loving things you can do is to push your loved ones to a life remembered. You want glory? You want adventure? Stop whining over some scratches and a few bumps into a boulder."
"I'll remember that," she replied, sourly. "Next time you complain about new fashions or unfulfilled desires, I'll just tell you it's all a part of my plan to push you to greatness."
"Of course you should, that's the sort of love I was raised on!"
Cold water rushed over her, cold stars above, cold stone below.
Something touched her foot. Glancing down her gaze met the cold grey eyes of herself.
No.
Not herself.
The creature slowly crawling up her bleeding legs wasn't her, but an exaggerated likeness, all her features more: eyes larger and greyer, hair longer and lighter, too curved of mouth, too tall of shape, too slender of figure.
The pale hair flowed out into the water, its lengths white like the foam at the tips. The creature opened its mouth. Its slithering tongue played over her wounds, licking at every strip of broken skin. Warmth spread from every drop of blood it devoured as it slowly worked its way up her leg, over her knees, where it prised yet another red drop from half-closed scabs. She tried to move, but couldn't. Body frozen, she felt the cold white lady follow her thigh up, tongue playing, teeth cutting, drawing new blood on her inner thigh, and where her stomach met the mound of Venus.
"You are not I."
"No."
"You are the one from whom I have been promised kisses."
"I am."
"Volkhov didn't tell me you would take them in blood."
"Never trust a river."
Her face was even more inhuman now, cheekbones wide and high like gnarled roots, mouth impossibly wide to show teeth like sharpened flint. They dug into her flesh, a drop of fresh blood trickling down the side of her waist.
"Your blood tastes of helplessness and honey. You will give me more, or I will take it all."
"If I do, will you still demand kisses?"
"Ten times a thousand."
"If I give you my blood to drink and my lips to kiss, will you carry us safely to our portage?"
"I will."
"What will it cost me, apart from my blood, freely given?"
"In spring, I am a harsher lover than any one man could ever be. My love will leave you drowning."
She woke from Eskil softly shaking her shoulder.
"Wake up, ástin! Wake up! Are you… are you well?"
Her eyes met his for two panicked blinks, then she threw herself out of the tent and retched uncontrollably. When she looked down, she froze. All that had come out of her was clear, cold water.
"What was that dream?"
They sat inside the tent, a small oil lamp burning between them, all but their faces in deep shadow. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, cold without him close for warmth.
"Lady Lovat tasted my blood today, and she favoured it."
He didn't panic like she thought he would. Instead, his jaw set in determination.
"We must get you off the river as soon as possible."
Kildevi shook her head.
"If I willingly sacrifice some to her, she will not take the rest. How many days do we have left?"
"To the portage? Hard to say, but I'd say… fifteen? Eighteen? Why?"
"Because she also wants my dreams, and she is not the most considerate of lovers."
His eyes on her were intense now, there was worry there, but also… something else.
"What exactly do you mean by twisting that statement of mine?"
"Every kiss will be a drowning."
She could see the conflict unfold on his face, and this time she had room to feel for him.
"Would you say that this dream is on your side of that portal of yours, or on mine?"
"This is definitely not in your realm."
He hesitated. When he spoke next, the words came laden with doubt, but nonetheless he said them.
"Then I guess I will have to live with whatever decision you make. Even if you take a lover in my absence."
She grimaced.
"That is not what this is. I won't be taking anything."
"I demand that you do."
She stared, momentarily speechless.
"You demand that I place myself above the Lovat?"
"If you are to be the head of us, I expect you to not lessen us both by being used. You take what's yours. You shape your fate."
"She's an ancient river, not a man. And if Thor, or even Oðin himself, had wanted you, would you demand they bend to your will?"
"Yes. That's what you should be able to expect of me. If I am demeaned, so are you, your honour is bound to mine. That is the true meaning of the bond we share."
"But that's an impossible demand. You might as well tell me to defeat a warband."
"You take a man's role, you take a man's place."
Maybe it was something about the night, the stillness of those cold, empty hours of morning, but things that usually annoyed her, didn't. Instead, she knew why that statement made sense to him. When she replied her voice and words were soft, but final.
"None of us are men. None of us are even trapped in our own shapes, and this is not a lovegame, it's a tradegame. Your idea of what it means to be a man does not apply here."
They stared into each other through the long silence. He did not lock himself down, or snap to the defense, or even fall back to that proselytising calm of his. She was so proud of him her heart could burst.
"Then I will say it like this, I trust you to do whatever honour and dignity demands. If this is a tradegame, I expect you to win it."
"That, I can do. For both of us."
Through the heavy weight of that solemnity, she smiled.
"Imagine that once, you thought that paying my mundr was complicated. How I wish we could just pay someone to draw the lines now."
It was harder than she thought, to force the blade deep enough for the blood to flow in a steady trickle down her arms and into the river. As before, the men stood silently watching, but this time they were the ones gathered on the beach, she the one out in the water. This close to the river bank it moved slowly around her knees, but further out she saw the currents flow in rapid streams down the falling river.
How much was enough? The task had her light-headed as the first droplet broke through the skin, that simply could not be of blood loss. After a while, she determined it would have to do. It was purely based on nothing, but the trickle had slowed, and it felt like a time as good as any. She raised her voice to dedicate the sacrifice to Lovat for safe and speedy travel before wading ashore. There was no sign or omen on the river. If Lovat was pleased with her offering, she was waiting for sleep to show it.
That day, the streams were milder, and they could keep the boats further out from the riverbank. Only one boat went aground, once. Those who didn't bleed found the sacrifice well worth it.
That night, Lady Lovat came in the shape of a wolf, fur white, eyes just as grey as before. It stood above her frozen form, but this time there was no river below her, no water running down her limbs.
"You named a price of blood and kisses. Why am I bound?"
"So you will not escape me."
"I alone cut, I alone bled, I alone called you. I have chosen to be here."
"I want you helpless."
"Yet our agreement said nothing of bonds."
Slowly, she regained control of her limbs, first her hands and fingers, then it spread until her body was firmly hers again, and she reached out to dig her fingers into the thick ruff.
"Our agreement said nothing about you touching me."
"You named yourself my lover. Lovers touch."
The wolf tilted its head, a strange gleam in the bright eyes, then slowly started licking the wounds on her feet.
Kildevi woke, panicked, light-headed. Her lungs hurt, her legs cramped, and for the second time she retched and coughed out clear river water, the taste of snow stuck on her tongue. It wasn't until she staggered back into the tent that she realised Eskil wasn't there.
She found him at the still glowing embers of one of the fires, curled up to sleep but still awake. She sat down behind him, stroking the hair away from his face.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Couldn't sleep inside."
"Will you come back if I promise to stay awake?"
He sat up, finally looking at her.
"It didn't look like pain."
"Then your mind deceives your eyes."
"Tomorrow, I'll sleep with the housecarls."
It felt like a punch, pushing the breath out of her still pained lungs. Unwilling to show weakness, she forced her voice level.
"You do what you need to, the same as I."
All of the convoy knew of her sacrifice in blood, their shipmates knew that Lovat haunted her dreams, only Eskil knew how. The few who asked why he helped raise her tent but didn't sleep in it, were told her nightmares disturbed his sleep, which was the truth, of sorts.
Five nights later, Kildevi did not look well anymore. She sat at the prow, pale and worn, eyes sunken and hair tousled. Eskil made sure she ate and drank something that was not water from the river, but he was at a loss about what else to do.
They were making good speed. The river was kind.
On the seventh day, Audvard cornered Eskil against the railing.
"She doesn't look like she should."
"I know."
"She looks like my ma did when she had twin babes and three toddlers alone."
"What you see here is nothing like motherhood," Eskil snapped, annoyed. "She only sleeps a quarter of a night and wakes up from each one less rested than before."
"I know. But my ma got wrong in the head from not sleepin and drowned one of them. We don't want our seer to go that far."
Eskil stared at him. That was not something he had been prepared to hear in this particular conversation.
"No. You're right. We don't want that."
"So, as her husband, what are you goin to do about it?"
That was the core of the issue, and he was handfallen. Angry about that as much as about being questioned, he bit out, "this is a family issue. Last time I checked, you're not her family."
Audvard crossed his arms, brows low and furrowed.
"She sleeps alone, with those nightmares. Wakes alone. Cold. Pukin'er guts out every night. Me and the boys, we hear'er, pukin and cryin and coughin. And we're all wonderin why there's no one keepin'er warm and sittin guard. You seemed to be good about'er before, but if you don't man up, we'll be takin shifts, me and some five-six other, with'er thrall as witness no one is untoward."
"You don't get to tell me how to treat my own wife. If anyone tries to pass me to get to her, he'll be dead by morning."
Audvard dropped the frown, but he didn't budge.
"I'm not lookin to challenge your husbandry. I'm just sayin that she bled herself to the river for us, seen'er do it twice more too when she thought no one's lookin, and I'm thinkin that's why she's not sleepin. We should do right by'er. That's all I'm sayin."
That night, he raised their tent and put his sleepskins back where they belonged. She looked a bit lost when he followed her in and she saw that he had made himself a place next to her again. Then her confused expression turned to worry, and finally something he could only read as sadness.
"Are you… are you still counting? Because you didn't come three nights ago and I thought… I don't know. I don't know what I thought."
She thought, she really and truly seemed to think he had come back to lie with her and leave again. The thought was upsetting.
"No. I'm not counting."
"So… Why are you here?"
"Because I should have been here all along."
She shook her head, face set in stubborn determination.
"No… If I make decisions out of your control, I should carry them myself. This was a decision I made against your will, even though you accepted my right to make it."
He smiled, but it came out as a strained grimace.
"That is… true. It is the way I have seen it when I've made decisions for us against your will or for myself in your absence. But this never was about your wishes though, was it? And the cost to me is nothing compared to your sacrifice."
She shook her head.
"I would much rather sleep and not wake up drowning, if that is what you mean."
"It is. So, here I am. A bit late, but here. And no, I will no more claim any rights to you now, than I did when you bled after Alfhild's birth."
She climbed down between the skins, silent for a moment.
"Eskil?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me…"
She smiled. It was a tired smile, but still a smile.
"...you can't afford that many chickens anyway, I know."
"I wasn't going to say that. I have learned, remember?"
It was still torment to watch her twist and turn and cry and whimper, but this time it didn't feel like being made a cuckold. It just made him feel helpless.
Tonight, the Lovat was human again. Or, maybe not human, but she had two feet, two arms, a face with every common feature and all other aspects of a human figure. Yet the sum of the parts were not like any human born to one.
"Every night, you have played a game of words."
"I have. It is what humans do."
"Tonight, I too will be human. I have called myself a harsher lover than any one man could ever be."
"As long as you don't twist the meaning of that word."
"I know its meaning. I will love you with the weight of every man I've ever drowned."
A few days later came the fever. When she staggered out of the tent to cough the water out of her worn lungs, she was shivering and sweating, weak and pallid.
"You have to stop. We must get you off the river."
She looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"How many days? How long until we reach the portage?"
"I'll ask Asgaut, but I think we've made good speed, better than planned. I hope it's two, or three at most."
"Then we keep going."
One day with fever, and one more night had passed. This time it had just been the river, currents tearing her naked form downstream like a log or a boat torn from its mooring. But there had been sentience, the water whispering as it forced itself into and around her, and in the dream, there had been no silence to call for shelter.
She just half-lay in the boat now, covered by blankets, head propped up for ease of breathing. The men worked around her, only lifting her out of the boat when they had to pass one of the small rapids that appeared more and more frequently. All movement made her short of breath, her breathing shallow in rest. Eskil forced her to drink, but solid food stuck dry in her throat. Her coughs brought up lumps of brown and yellow, sometimes with traces of fresh blood visible in the phlegm.
"You need to get off the river," Eskil told her for the seventh time that day. "I beg you. You're not dying yet, but you look like there isn't much left until you are. Just say the word, and we'll leave. It won't be fast, but I can carry you, and enough rations and equipment, to get us the last way."
"What will happen to the…" she waved her hand, confused by the ravishing fever. "...the rest, the men, the boats, the cargo?"
"I don't know. I don't care."
She waved her hand, a small smile on her lips as she looked at something in the air in front of him.
"I can't row. I can't fight, I can't sail. But this, I can do."
They had indeed made good speed. That night, Asgaut said they would reach the portage point somewhere mid-day on the morrow.
"Hush child. Don't cry. Big girls don't cry for scrapes and splinters."
"You are not her. You are not the one who loved me first."
"How can you say such things, and yet you cry?"
"Because I know that you have taken hold of my dearest memories, and will now do your best to soil them."
Mavdna's face, a perfect likeness, watched her from above, calm like always, her youth the only wrongness to hold on to. She had seen her amma like that once before, and that too was in a dream. But this was not her. She had to say it, to herself and to the creature, over and over again, lest she forgot.
"I will not. These memories are not yours. They are mine. This face you see, the love in these blue eyes, comes from her. I have loved her too, like I have loved you."
"When?"
"Your time has no meaning. But tonight, I will drown you in another love, one less carnal, no less violent. I will drown you in your longing. It is my farewell gift to you before you leave me with the final taste of your blood."
This last night, Eskil had to lift her for the water to spurt from her mouth to the ground, the cough leaving her lips a bluish tint, her skin a pallid grey. With the water came speckles of thick phlegm, and clots of blood the size of small peas.
"This was the last night."
She nodded, a weak gesture to confirm his statement.
"If for some reason it's not, I will start walking. No matter what you say. I won't let you sleep close to the river again. I won't let you decide to die, no matter which realm or domain."
Her reply was just a small smile at first, then she whispered, "one last thing. One last bloodletting. Then, I have won. For us."
"Are you mad? Which part of 'won't let you die' was unclear to you?!"
"I think it is what cuts the bond. But I need your help. I can't do it myself, not anymore"
At the shortest point from the river to lake Uzmen was a village grown out of travellers' needs for wheels and oxen. At that last stretch, the Lovat twisted back and forth, several times forcing the men to leave the boats to tug the prows around the sharp turns.
When finally all the vessels had been unloaded and dragged up on land, Eskil unwrapped the bandages around her arms and carefully washed the scabs off in the river. It was clear from the wounds they had been opened before. Not once, not twice, but often enough to never really close. He wondered how much of her fever that came from her lungs, and how much that came from half-deep wounds that tried to heal, but couldn't. She grimaced as he worked, standing on her own two feet, but her weight rested on him as she leant heavily against his side.
"You will carry these scars for the rest of your life," he said, as he softly pushed the sides apart to force the wound open.
She tried to smile, face stiff from pain.
"I'm lucky you like my scars," she mumbled.
"I do. And whatever stupid things I've said, I like your height too," he replied, as the first drops fell from her arm and down into the water.
The blood didn't disappear into the river straight away. Instead it stayed like a marbled pattern in the water, circling around them once, twice, before some small current got ahold of it and carried it downriver.
It was too late in the afternoon to make the portage before dark, but when they made camp, Eskil raised their tent as far from the river as possible. Kildevi had been asleep the moment he had put her down, half sitting in one of the carriages. When the camp was built, he carried her on into the tent and sat down to watch her sleep.
It wasn't a calm, restful sleep, but at least it was the strained sleep of the sick, not the unsleep of the ones beset by rivers.
