With a snarl for his words, my hand immediately reached for the cast-off pelt, but he held it where it lay against my outraged pull.
“Ah, no,” said he grinning. “You may not now cover yourself. Perhaps I shall allow it later, should I be pleased with your conduct. Tarla, wane some falum for Jalav, so that she may properly invest her halyar with her presence.”
I lay in helpless outrage as the girl Tarla hurried to obey the word of Lialt. With nervous fingers did she take a small, metal pot and hang it over the fire. Quickly an odor arose from the pot she tended with stirring wood, an odor of grains admixed with salt, and I knew I wished none of it. In a hand of reckid, Tarla dipped out a wooden potful of that which had been called falum, and then brought it to where I lay.
“With Lialt’s permission, I would offer falum of my own self, Jalav,” said the girl as she knelt beside me. “Ever do Belsayah partake of falum as their first true meal within the walls of a new halyar, thereby asking the blessings of the Serene Oneness upon themselves and their undertakings. I offer you welcome to our village, sister, and also offer up a prayer for your well-being.”
She was smiling, and soft were the words she addressed to me, for she spoke clearly of custom one did well to accept and abide by—yet I had not come to her village of my own accord. Many times had I followed custom of others, accepting that as the duty of a war leader, yet Lialt’s knee upon my hair showed well that I was prisoner rather than guest and therefore free of the requirements which bind a guest. I turned my face from her, saying, “One does not extend hospitality to captives. Your actions are mistaken, girl.”
“She is naught save a child of savages, Tarla,” said Lialt with great gentleness, speaking across to me. “To feel pain from that which she does in ignorance is futile, for one cannot instruct when obscured by tears. Each of us must instruct her as best we may, and perhaps one fey she, too, shall feel tears for that which she has done.”
Lialt took possession of the wooden pot, turning his attention to me. I lay upon the pelt I had lain upon so long, feeling within me the echo of the word, “savage.”
“Savage” had the slaveguards of Belinard called me, as a “savage” had Ceralt once looked upon me, and much loathing did I feel for the word. Not warrior was I to them, nor war leader, but “savage,” one to be looked down upon and scorned. And I sought memory of the lands of Midanna, a land fraught with danger, yet one which was mine.
“The falum should be eaten while still warm,” said Lialt, and his arm began to circle my shoulders. “Come, Jalav. You may sit the while you eat.”
In such a manner did the male speak to me. You are to feed, Jalav. You may sit, Jalav. No matter my will in the matter, Lialt would see his own will done. As the male’s arm raised me, I reached out and knocked the pot from his grasp, sending it to the dirt-covered floor, where its contents might spill and spread. A low curse escaped the male’s lips as his eyes followed the path of the pot, his hand futilely areach for that which was already lost, and then was his anger sent toward me once more.
“Indeed are you the spawn of Sigurr!” he spat, as his arm tightened about me. “As you wish it, so shall it be!”
Then did he let me fall once more to the lenga pelt, causing sharp pain to stab at my sides and arms, and quickly did he gain his feet. Though no sound had passed my lips to give evidence of the pain, still had Tarla seen its track across my face, and compassion took her features as she moved the closer, extending her arms as though to offer aid. Surely would she have touched me had Lialt not returned, two lengths of leather from a wall peg in his hands, determination in his manner, and brusquely did he reach past her to me, and roughly was I thrust to my belly upon the furs, Lialt drawing my wrists behind me to fasten them there with the leather, then doing the same to my ankles. Such a doing twisted my wounded skin as it should not have been twisted, and my stomach heaved from that and from the odor of the pelts beneath my face, yet I made no protest nor outcry, for how may a captive protest the doings of her captors? With some difficulty did I grapple with the queasiness as Lialt bade Tarla fetch further falum, yet when Lialt turned me to him once more, a fresh pot of falum in his hand, no sign of my battle did I show to him.
Overwarm was the room and the air within, and moisture touched my body at many points, and the arm of Lialt was most unwelcome. Firmly, I attempted to refuse the heated grain, yet this Lialt would not accept, forcing the pot to my lips. Much of it spattered my body, Lialt’s leathers, the furs and the floor, yet much of it entered me as well. Coughing and choking, I was made to feed as Lialt wished, and with the pot emptied, he did naught save return me to the pelt beneath me and take himself from the dwelling, his low-muttering voice reviling all womankind. Urgently did my stomach insist that it would soon empty itself of all placed therein, but I only lay as I had been placed, upon my bound wrists, and refused to hear the protestations of my innards. The sweat of illness ran between my breasts, finding smears of falum which must be circled, and my eyes closed in near defeat, for how may a warrior fight the strength of a male? From a great distance off, I felt the touch of a hand upon my brow, yet the words of a question spoken by Tarla did not reach me, flowing low and slow about the whirlpool in which I spun. Then the hand withdrew and the voice as well, and the darkness came in their stead.
When once again my eyes opened, no longer did the leather hold me, no longer did the falum cover me, no longer was the cast-off pelt apile beside me. A moistened cloth touched my face, held by a sad-eyed Tarla upon my right, and to my left, cross-legged, sat Ceralt. Beyond Ceralt, by a window through which he gazed, stood Lialt, no victory apparent in the slope of his shoulders, no joy visible in the bend of his head. Slightly did I move beneath the fur which covered me, for its presence was discomfort, and immediately Ceralt looked at me, keenly questioning. No wish had I to meet his gaze, yet his hand came to my face and turned it to him, his fingers gentle and warm upon my skin.
“How do you fare?” he asked, his voice overly soft as though at the urging of great anger. I could not take my face from the hand in which it was held.
“I fare as do all captives,” I made answer, no longer avoiding his gaze. “My value in trade is not much diminished, therefore may you set your mind at rest.”
“As I thought,” growled Ceralt, the anger ablaze in his eyes as he released me and rose to his feet. “See you now my meaning, Lialt?”
“Ceralt, it matters not,” protested Lialt, his face full to his brother’s. “None know as well as I how sorely she was wounded, yet I bound her in leather, increasing her pain. I did not inform you of my doings to have you place the blame upon her!”
“The blame must be placed where it most belongs,” said Ceralt, his hand upon Lialt’s shoulder. “Ever has she been so, able to tear at a man’s pride so that he wishes to do naught save show her her vulnerability. She knows not where she stands among men for none have taught her. When I have drawn her from the circle, she will begin to learn, yet now her manner must be borne. Are you able to wait for full punishment to come to her?”
Lialt shook his head and turned away. “I know not,” said he, his back to Ceralt, his hand arub upon his neck. “Sooner would I tend a true hadat, for she seeks ever to oppose my will. Is there naught you may do, Ceralt?”
“I may do no more than take some part of the burden from you,” replied Ceralt, turning once more to study me where I lay. “I shall assist you with her feeding, and shall also seek a punishment which might be given her now. In such a manner might we all survive her healing.”