Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

“Keff,” he said. Sit. He spoke the singular word I’d learned with a note of exhaustion in his tone. I related with every fiber of my being, mentally and physically, and I gladly collapsed on his bed. My entire body immediately sank in relief, threatening a total pass out.

Velloc laughed. It was the first time I’d heard the sound from the very serious man. I rolled over, regarding him. The smile transformed his rugged, bearded face into almost handsome. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a lean, muscular physique—features he shared with his people. They were a few inches shorter on average than their Highland descendants, which lent credence to historical opinions about the Viking raids occurring later. Velloc stood a couple inches taller than me, placing him under six feet, but nothing about the man appeared small.

He grabbed food and a skin with liquid from the table, bringing them to my boneless body. In silence, he broke off pieces of cheese and salted meat, feeding me. Too tired to argue, I clamped my teeth onto the bite-sized portions he lifted to my mouth. Both the meat and the cheese were hard, giving my jaw a good workout. The deerskin pouch held amazingly pure water, which I gratefully swallowed, quenching my thirst and washing down the meal.

“Velloc?” I propped up on an elbow, addressing him for the first time since my initial failed attempt. Before sleep claimed me, I wanted some semblance of communication—partly because I was alone with him, and he’d assumed the role of my ally and protector, but mostly, because I was alone with him . . . in very tight quarters . . . with one bed.

A reaction registered across his face upon hearing his name in my low-spoken tone. His eyes widened in surprise, but the shift ran hotter, like a spark arced from a live-wire connection. He lifted his hand, the pads of his fingers caressing my cheek.

Overrun by the events of the past twenty-four hours, weariness dragged on my mind and body. Gravity pulled me into its undeniable hold, away from Velloc’s touch. My head drifted down onto cushioning furs, heavy eyelids falling closed as I felt the blankets being adjusted around me.

The darkness increased. Sounds of the ocean waves muted.

Velloc sidled his body up against mine, and it oddly calmed me. I shivered in response to his sudden warmth. Strong hands turned me, grabbing my hips and tucking my body close as his entire form wrapped around me from behind. With gentleness, he loosely clasped his hand around my forearm.

In a foreign place, in the strange story that had become my life, I accepted the security Velloc offered. My last thoughts as consciousness slipped away were of the man who held me and how I would fit into his world.

Because I’d become lost, uncertain what even defined my world anymore.

Soft fibers tickled my skin. A salty earthen scent teased my nose. My heavy eyelids blinked open to darkness, recognition slowly settling into my waking mind. I skimmed fingertips down my torso confirming a suspicion: I’d been stripped naked beneath the animal-pelt covering.

How delightful. And thoroughly sobering.

For reasons I had yet to fathom, the only two men I’d become close to in my life both felt the need to completely undress me after I’d fallen knocked-out-cold unconscious. I briefly wondered if the two men were distantly related—it wouldn’t have surprised me.

Light flickered in as a burst of wind jostled the animal skin hanging over the front entrance. Details of my situation floated back . . . minus any explanation of why all my clothes and boots had gone missing. I sat upright, holding the insulating fur up to my chest, and scanned my surroundings, my eyesight adjusting to the darkened room. Blessedly, I’d been left alone.

With all the grace of a giraffe righting itself from the ground, I got up limb by limb from the pallet, managing to wrap the fur around my body as I straightened. A quick inventory of the place yielded none of my former attire. I did find small leather pieces and an additional fur that hadn’t been there the night before draped over the back of a low wooden chair. I hesitated, not entirely certain they were meant for me, until I noticed soft leather boots about my size next to the clothing articles.

Since no “Dress Yourself in Pictwear for Dummies” manual had been left, I did my best to figure out how to wrap and fasten the skins around my body. Interestingly, the outfit resembled the hunting garb Iain had provided me, only Velloc’s version—a bikini halter top and short, wraparound skirt—made me feel like I’d stepped onto a photo shoot for the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Lovely.

Dressed in my only option, I swallowed my modesty. I sat down and slipped on the first boot, crisscrossing the strips of leather up my shin and securing them. The leather-bound poultice had been removed from my other foot, so I examined the slightly swollen ankle. Near-painless rotation in every direction proved the injury had mostly healed. I laced up the second boot as I considered the pelt that remained over the chair. The fur’s long, course-looking hairs felt soft as I ran my fingers through them. The winter coat of a wolf, perhaps. I grabbed one edge and spun it around, draping part of the material behind me and tossing the extra length over a shoulder.

High-pitched yips and squeals of little ones rose above the continuous rushing of waves. With no window in the small structure to spy from, I remained rooted to the dirt floor, bolstering my courage. I took a deep breath and exhaled to the count of ten, reminding myself of who I’d become—a survivor.

I peeled back the entrance flap. Vivid reality beckoned me to come out and play, activity abounding everywhere. Children chased or were being chased by four small pups. Women chatted and laughed in small groups, performing various tasks: drying fish, treating and working leather, and carrying baskets across the meadow toward the forest. Five girls sat around a smoldering fire pit, their hands occupied with something in their laps.

The men were nowhere to be found. Velloc hadn’t just left me alone . . . he’d left. Anxiety fluttered up from my stomach. My sole protector had left without a word.

But then, what should he have done? Left a yellow sticky note? I laughed at the thought, my humor calming the sudden panic like a dose of Valium.

Curiosity spurred me on. I wandered unchecked amid round stone buildings with thatched roofs. The bustling people paid me little heed.

A thick blanket of cloud cover concealed the exact location of the time-telling sun, but it seemed like I’d slept well into the afternoon. Repeated stress and sleep deprivation had knocked my exhausted ass out as if I’d been chloroformed. No wonder I’d been cluelessly disrobed.

Motivated by a natural inquisitiveness and a need to assimilate, I meandered toward the women by the fire. They sorted baskets of food—shellfish, vegetables, roots, and herbs—as they laughed and whispered, appearing to gossip. One glanced up, said something, and the whole group hushed. Faces popped up, assessing the newcomer approaching their clique. I straightened my spine and forced a wide smile, ignoring the nervous roil of my stomach as I realized their topic of discussion: me.

In an empty spot on a broad log, I sat and nodded, opening my extended hands. The one closest to me handed me a basket of mussels, and I watched carefully as she sorted them. Open or cracked shells were tossed into a discard pile. I touched the rough edge of one shell, and it snapped shut. I gasped, jerking my finger back, and the entire group laughed.