“You’re late. Spert dying of hunger,” the creature grumbled.
“Here you go, then,” Breca said, placing the bowl down on a rock beside the stream. “Best eat before you collapse and die.” The many-legged creature crawled out of the water, its segmented body glistening. Spert paused, lifted its head and sniffed, its spiked antennae twitching.
“Vaesen,” it hissed, and abruptly its mouth seemed to grow, skin peeling back, the bones of its jaws protruding, opening wide, its teeth sharp and slick. It hissed, a black vapour issuing from its throat, becoming a cloud in the air.
“NO,” Breca said, holding up a hand. “It’s only Vesli.” He pointed at the wounded tennúr in the cart, who was staring at Spert, her lips drawn back in a blend of fear and threat, like a cornered fox.
The black smoke pouring from Spert’s mouth stopped bubbling, hung in the air.
“She is injured, has been outcast by her pack. She is alone, just like you were.”
“Don’t trust vaesen,” Spert muttered.
Breca laughed.
“You’re vaesen,” he said.
“Huh,” Spert grunted. “Tennúr are sly, not to be trusted. They will steal your teeth.” One of Spert’s many legs rose and stroked his bristling fangs. “Spert like his teeth.”
The tennúr shifted in the cart, the blanket around her falling away to reveal the bandages Breca had wrapped around her wounds.
“Vesli be true,” she said in a voice like the rustle and scrape of wind through leaves. “Vesli swear oath to Spertus and Maeur-boy.” She looked from Spert to Breca. “Vesli swear to be a friend to Spertus and Maeur-boy. And friends don’t steal teeth.”
Spert stared at Vesli, his too-small, old-man face creased and thoughtful. “Swear it with blood, then. Blood is binding.”
Vesli looked from Spert to Breca. With a shrug and ripple of her wings she placed a taloned finger against her palm and drew it slowly across her skin, blood welling. She bunched her fist, blood dripping.
“Vesli swear to be faithful and true, to the Maeur-boy Breca, and to his guardian Spertus. Vesli swears it on her life-blood.”
Spert regarded her, then his body also rippled, like a shrug, and he took a deep breath, sucking back in the black mist that was hanging in the air. His head dropped into the bowl and he began to eat his porridge mixed with Orka’s blood and spit, for it was she who had caught him and bound him to her, all those years ago. There was much slurping and sucking.
“It looks like he has a new pet to play with. As if Spert wasn’t enough,” Orka said, frowning.
“That evil little bastard is no pet,” Thorkel said. “But Spert does his job well enough. We all sleep safer for him. And that tennúr, it will be bonded to Breca now. It owes him a blood-debt, if it survives. I think he is safe enough. And besides, vaesen live a long time and friends are good. Does it ease your mind that Breca will have a tennúr watching over him when we are food for worms?” He smiled at her, prodded her shoulder.
“You won’t be smiling so much when you wake up to find the little shite has stolen all the teeth from your gums.”
Thorkel blinked at that and put a hand to his mouth.
“Do you think she would?”
Orka sheathed her seax in its scabbard and stood.
“That thing you said earlier, about making a brother or sister for Breca…” She held out her hand and Thorkel smiled up at her.
“We’d best be quick about it. Your smile won’t charm me the same once it’s just red gums and your teeth are in Vesli’s belly.”
Thorkel took her hand, pulled himself upright and they walked into their hall.
A sound drifted through the steading. A horse’s whinny, the jangle of harness and the steady rhythm of hooves.
“Breca, take your new friend inside,” Orka called out as she stepped inside the hall and reached for her spear. She stood at the top of the steps, listening, as Thorkel disappeared into their hall. He reappeared with a long-hafted axe in his fists, the haft as tall as him, the blade bearded and sharp. Orka stared at it, in her head heard an ear-splitting scream and saw a warrior silhouetted by flames swinging a long-axe, gore dripping. She felt her skin prickle with sweat, then looked at Thorkel, saw that he had that flat, dead-eyed look, like a shark when it strikes.
Thorkel looked back at her.
“There are child-stealers in this land. They’ll not be taking my son from me.”
A curt nod from Orka. She shook her head and gave a shudder of muscle through her whole body, as if shaking off memories like a horse does flies.