the woman’s face had Agata moving toward her instead of going to see Stian and telling him what was going on. She was several feet from the hut, but from her vantage point could see Stian through the window still. The thick bushes concealed the young woman.
“You are Saxon, yes?” the woman asked.
Saxon?
“You speak my language?” Agata asked, and although it was broken up, a little hard to make out, Agata felt this thrill of having someone that she could communicate with fully.
The woman nodded, but looked over her shoulder, her eyes moving back and forth.
“But how?”
The woman faced forward again, closed her eyes, and breathed out. “Years ago, when I was a very young girl, there was a woman that wandered out from the woods. She looked strange, not of our land with the clothing she wore and the color of her skin.” The woman took a deep breath and spoke lower. “I was only four years of age, but one of the village men fell in love with her. He taught her our language, and when no one was looking I would sneak into her hut when the men would go hunting and she’d teach me hers.”
The woman spoke fairly good English, and although some of the words didn’t sound right when she said them, or placed in the right context, it was easy enough to follow.
“What happened to the woman and man?”
The woman shook her head. “The elder was furious that he would take a woman that wasn’t of our kind. There was a decision that she would be cast out, but before they could be called forth they’d disappeared in the night. No one has seen them since.” The woman looked down. “She was very kind, told me to always practice speaking and I would never forget, and I did, always practice.”
Damn, Agata could have asked the “Saxon” where she came from, if that witch woman had brought her here as well. But it seemed like the couple had been smart and had run and never looked back.
“I never spoke of this language to anyone, because I was too afraid.” She looked over her shoulder at the woods. “They will be coming soon.”
“Who?”
“The village men to finish Stian. They don’t feel the elder made the right choice in banishing him after what he did.”
Agata swallowed. “What he did?”
The woman nodded. “He slew his parents,” she said in a soft voice.
Agata felt her eyes widen.
“But he didn’t do it because he enjoyed the kill. He did it because his mother and father hurt him countless times.”
Agata looked over at the hut, saw the big, shadowed body of Stian in the window, and felt her throat close. She remembered all those scars on him, ones that were probably not all from battle. “What?” she asked in a shocked, wavering voice.
The woman couldn’t have been much older than her late forties, but she looked far older with the worry and strain around her eyes.
“He was but a mere child when he took the lives of his parents while they slept. The elders found him the next morning, crying and covered in blood in his hut, his parents dead. He didn’t deny it, and even if we all knew he was abused, it isn’t our custom to get involved.”
Anger the likes of which Agata had never felt filled her. Those bastards had known Stian had been abused, stood by and probably watched it happen, and when that little boy couldn’t take anymore he’d found his solution. She wasn’t about to try to understand this world, but from where she came a child was to be protected.
“He could have been sentenced to death for his crimes—”
“Even as a child, even though he was just protecting himself?” Agata asked outraged.
“Shh, please,” the woman said, then nodded at Agata’s question. “Yes, in our culture anyone that takes a life is subject to death, and now that the elder is dead they’ve come to collect on his life.”
It made no sense to put a child through that when they were abused, condemning them to death when they were in a horrible situation and had no other options, but
“You are Saxon, yes?” the woman asked.
Saxon?
“You speak my language?” Agata asked, and although it was broken up, a little hard to make out, Agata felt this thrill of having someone that she could communicate with fully.
The woman nodded, but looked over her shoulder, her eyes moving back and forth.
“But how?”
The woman faced forward again, closed her eyes, and breathed out. “Years ago, when I was a very young girl, there was a woman that wandered out from the woods. She looked strange, not of our land with the clothing she wore and the color of her skin.” The woman took a deep breath and spoke lower. “I was only four years of age, but one of the village men fell in love with her. He taught her our language, and when no one was looking I would sneak into her hut when the men would go hunting and she’d teach me hers.”
The woman spoke fairly good English, and although some of the words didn’t sound right when she said them, or placed in the right context, it was easy enough to follow.
“What happened to the woman and man?”
The woman shook her head. “The elder was furious that he would take a woman that wasn’t of our kind. There was a decision that she would be cast out, but before they could be called forth they’d disappeared in the night. No one has seen them since.” The woman looked down. “She was very kind, told me to always practice speaking and I would never forget, and I did, always practice.”
Damn, Agata could have asked the “Saxon” where she came from, if that witch woman had brought her here as well. But it seemed like the couple had been smart and had run and never looked back.
“I never spoke of this language to anyone, because I was too afraid.” She looked over her shoulder at the woods. “They will be coming soon.”
“Who?”
“The village men to finish Stian. They don’t feel the elder made the right choice in banishing him after what he did.”
Agata swallowed. “What he did?”
The woman nodded. “He slew his parents,” she said in a soft voice.
Agata felt her eyes widen.
“But he didn’t do it because he enjoyed the kill. He did it because his mother and father hurt him countless times.”
Agata looked over at the hut, saw the big, shadowed body of Stian in the window, and felt her throat close. She remembered all those scars on him, ones that were probably not all from battle. “What?” she asked in a shocked, wavering voice.
The woman couldn’t have been much older than her late forties, but she looked far older with the worry and strain around her eyes.
“He was but a mere child when he took the lives of his parents while they slept. The elders found him the next morning, crying and covered in blood in his hut, his parents dead. He didn’t deny it, and even if we all knew he was abused, it isn’t our custom to get involved.”
Anger the likes of which Agata had never felt filled her. Those bastards had known Stian had been abused, stood by and probably watched it happen, and when that little boy couldn’t take anymore he’d found his solution. She wasn’t about to try to understand this world, but from where she came a child was to be protected.
“He could have been sentenced to death for his crimes—”
“Even as a child, even though he was just protecting himself?” Agata asked outraged.
“Shh, please,” the woman said, then nodded at Agata’s question. “Yes, in our culture anyone that takes a life is subject to death, and now that the elder is dead they’ve come to collect on his life.”
It made no sense to put a child through that when they were abused, condemning them to death when they were in a horrible situation and had no other options, but
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