Arcanum

Alone in a Crowd

Whispered from mother to daughter the secret passed to only one woman in each generation; Agnethe's mother was dead.

As a child, she'd been told it would be her responsibility to know the truth and carry it forward to her own daughter. "When you are older and ready to understand," that's what her mother had said.

But now Agnethe stood numb as she watched the flames of the pyre rise higher into the air. Bile rose in her throat as the smell of burning flesh, wool and wood mixed in the air. There wasn't anyone she could ask. That's one thing her mother had shared; "no one else must know, you must keep the secret." Maybe she'll visit me on her way to the afterlife. Agnethe shuddered at the thought and her stomach knotted further.

"Come, child," Bierka, Agnethe's aunt, said as she pulled her away from the flames. "Let's go gather your things."

Agnethe only nodded, unable to form words. Beyond the haze of smoke on the other side of the pyre, she noticed a strange woman. Hooded in a dark cloak so her face was not visible, yet Agnethe could feel her stare as if directed into her soul. As she moved to step closer, the woman spun and walked away.

That was odd. The hairs on Agnethe's arms stood on end and brushed against the wool of her crimson tunic.

Bierka called to her again, snapping her concentration. Slumping her shoulders, she glanced toward the pyre once more before following her aunt. Because her father was away raiding and would not be back for months, possibly years, she would move in with his family. Maks, her older brother had gone with him as well, leaving their mother to run their textile business with Agnethe's help. The cloth they produced was not just fine quality but known for the intricate patterns and colors both Agnethe and her mother brought to life within the fabric. Even with the men gone, they could make a handsome living sending their finished work down the canal, that ran in front of their village to where it met with the River Trent. Agnethe would sometimes fantasize about her creations making it all the way to the capitol, Jorvik.

Managing the sheep and the looms herself would be difficult, so Agnethe would move in with her relatives, thankful that she would not be forced into a hasty marriage even though she was fourteen, and of marrying age. They would tend her flocks with their own until, or if, her father returned. While grateful for their care, she was uneasy at the prospect of living in close quarters with her four cousins and aunt. Her uncle, too, had gone on the voyage with her father, which she was glad of since he was a huge, hairy man who drank too much. But, so was her cousin. Even though he was only a year older, he towered over her and leered in a way that made her uncomfortable. The three girls weren't much better, always making fun of Agnethe for her light colored hair, bright turquoise eyes and fair complexion, the exact opposite of their dark features. Their broad shoulders and boisterous personalities dwarfed Agnethe, figuratively and literally, but her mother always told her they were acting out of jealousy.

"You have the presence of a well-bred queen and they don't, so hold your head up and act with dignity. Let them show themselves as fools," her mother would say. Now she was to live among them. Crowd into the same bed with them. It had been quiet in her home with only her and her mother, working side by side tending the sheep, or at the loom weaving cloth, talking and laughing together. There had been so many opportunities for her mother to tell her about the secret, about what she carried inside her blood and would pass on to her own daughter one day. But now, she was lost and alone.

Why didn't you tell me? When would you have determined me old enough?

Letting her mind wander helped keep her from dwelling on the fact they were approaching her home. Her empty home. The thatched roof and wattle walls resembled many others in Saxebi, but it stood out silent, and dark. Slumped, like it knew life would never brighten its walls again. Bierka and Agnethe entered through the front and Agnethe closed her eyes, breathing deep of the mint and lavender bundles that hung from the rafters. Her mother had insisted they kept the flies away and it must have been true because no other home Agnethe visited was as clear of the buzzing pests as her own. Her eyes stung, and she inhaled deeply to keep the tears from falling. Bierka was already loading cooking utensils into a crate as if the hands that touched them last, meant nothing.