Where is he? If someone or something has hurt him, I will…
An image in her mind of an axe falling, blood spraying.
She sucked in a deep breath, feeling the rage building, the ice in her veins tingling, with an act of will pushing it back down. Her son needed her, and all that mattered was finding him. A white-blinding anger would not help that.
The ground levelled and they crested a ridge and saw a pool spreading before them, its cold waters black and still. The stream that fed into their steading ran from here.
“Breca,” Thorkel cried. A shadowed form crouched at the pool’s edge.
“Papa,” Breca said, looking up at them, his small voice loud in the stillness.
Orka sped up, passing Thorkel and running to her son, a flush of relief and joy melting the icicles of fear in her chest. Breca was crouched by the poolside. White lilies floated, pale as winter. Orka dropped to the ground and skidded up to Breca upon her knees, wrapped her arms around him, crushed him so tight in an embrace that he grunted and gasped.
She kissed his cheek, blinked tears from her eyes, stroked his unruly black hair.
“Come away from the water’s edge,” Thorkel said as he reached them, eyeing the water suspiciously. He sniffed. “Smells like N?cken to me.” He drew his seax and stabbed it into the soft loam. “Move away,” he repeated.
“Why are you out here?” Orka breathed as she pulled Breca away from the water’s edge.
The thought that a N?cken should not be this far from its mountain river entered her thought-cage, but it was pushed aside by her worry and relief at finding Breca.
“I heard a sound,” Breca said as Orka released him. He looked down at his cloak, which was folded in his lap, and pulled it open.
Orka gasped, fell back on to her backside.
A creature lay curled in Breca’s lap, maybe half the length of one of Orka’s legs, if it stood upright. It had arms and legs with thick, pointed claws where fingers and toes should be, and fragile, parchment-thin wings wrapped about its torso. Blood leaked from beneath one wing, staining the skin. With a sharp nose and chin, it was hairless with large, black eyes and ink-dark veins threading pink, hairless skin, like a newborn rat. It turned its head, looked up at Orka and opened its mouth, which was very wide, revealing two rows of teeth, the outer one sharp, the inner row flat, like grindstones. A thin line of blood trickled from a cut on its lip.
“A tennúr,” Thorkel said from somewhere above and behind Orka.
Orka slipped to one knee and backhanded Breca across the cheek, throwing him flat on his back.
“You left our steading, left safety, for this,” she snarled, rising to her feet. “Vaesen lurk out here, and there are murderers and child-stealers.” Wordless sounds escaped her throat. “You witless fool, you could have been taken, eaten, killed.” The fear of that filled her and she lifted her arm for another slap.
The tennúr still in Breca’s lap spread its wings with a snap, shielding Breca, and it bared its teeth and hissed at Orka. Though it looked too weak to stand.
Thorkel caught her wrist, wrapped it in one of his huge hands.
“You’ve made your point.”
She could have fought him, would have won, but long years had taught her to trust her husband’s judgement, even when her blood was high and she didn’t agree with him. Especially when her blood was high and she did not agree with him.
Breca was looking up at her, the skin on his cheek already swollen and bruising. His eyes flickered to his father.
“It was a foolish thing, leaving the steading,” Thorkel said, his voice and eyes hard. “We are fortunate to have a son who still draws breath and who still has all of his blood in his veins.”
Breca’s bottom lip trembled.
Thorkel sucked in a long breath. “How did you find it?”
“I heard it scream,” Breca said, looking at the tennúr, which had collapsed back into his lap again, wings once more wrapped tight about it. “It’s in pain.”
You could have been in pain. Or dead.
Orka opened her mouth to scold him some more.
“It’s quiet enough now,” Thorkel said.
“That’s because I gave it one of my teeth,” Breca said and smiled, a gap in his gums proving the truth of his words.
“What!” Orka hissed.
“You told me, tennúr love teeth. One of my first teeth is loose, so I pulled it out and gave it to her.” He shrugged, putting a fingertip to the red hole in his gum. “Another is growing through.”