The Breath of the Drowned
This is apart of 'The Great Ones', a Camp Willow plot. Read the [[[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|introduction]]],[[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege|Part One]]], [[[Page_not_found|Part Two]]], and [[[The_Search_Begins|Part Three]]].
Setting:
The village of the Northern invaders.
Characters:
Kolbjorn, the chief
Ayita, a captive
==
<---->The Breath of the Drowned<---->
==
|Part One|
The darkness swirls like the ocean. It is deep and impenetrable, as if she has sunk so deep that sunlight doesn't reach here. But it moves. And it speaks. Pushes against her chest, again and again. And then roars at her. There's a moment of light, and then nothing again. All of a sudden, it is not so cold, or heavy. It is soft and warm and gently bright. There is a fire nearby, and she is on a bed, dressed in dry clothes. She is in a wooden room with an arched ceiling, and strange but awfully familiar symbols are carved into the walls. There are voices outside. They seem to be getting closer…
The world comes together in flashes of light and searing pain. The first thing that the otter is consciously aware of is the pain in her chest, as if her ribs were battered by a storm against a rocky shore. Her throat is on fire, and every breath tastes like smoke and blood and salt... Is this what death is like? Is this the Dark Forest? Or... Was she too far away by the time she died, and is now doomed to wander the frost-bitten lands of the Northerner's gods...? No, that isn't it... It's warm, here, and soft. Ayita slowly opens her eyes, and blinks in the unfamiliar room - it is only when she struggles to bring herself upright, shaking and clutching a paw against her bruised chest, that it comes back to her. The roaring, the light, the sweet lull of sleep and peace snatched away from her. She was reborn screaming, salt water pouring out of her in a bile-ridden, grey, torrent - but things grow fuzzy after that. Her feet find the ground and she holds herself against the bedpost for support, hissing at the sudden intensity of every sensation, every thought, every breath... She is /alive/ - death is not even a liberty that she may take for herself. The fire draws the drowned otter, and she stumbles towards it, slowly regaining her faculties with receding frustration - because she has been given a second chance... She will do things /right/ this time around. Ayita drops to her knees in front of the fire and stares into it as the voices outside grow louder, she clutches at the fabric at her knees and growls... She has been reborn of salt and ice, just like Kolbjorn wanted. She is /here/, just like Kolbjorn wanted. Her path is clear, to her - she will not die twice.
The door opens with the loud creak of old hinges. Kolbjorn stands there, with what appears to be a horrid, pelt-wearing monster with a rat's skull for a head next to him. But no - it's merely a priest of some sort, who is shooed away by Kolbjorn. He smiles when he sees Ayita at the fire, wide and self-assured and satisfied. He strides into the room, shutting the door again behind him. There's some noise of clutter, and then a bowl of fresh water is given to her from behind. "I knew you were strong," he murmurs, kneeling down behind her. She can /feel/ his deep voice through her thin clothing, rumbling down her spine. "From the moment I saw you." Large paws grip her upper arms with surprising gentleness. "Where others fall, you stand. In the face of death you jumped into its jaws." His lips brush against her ear. "But I pulled you out. And you were reborn from the very waters of my home. Do you understand now? Understand that your fate… your /soul/… all of it… must now reside." He cups her cheek, turning her head so she must look at him. His dark eyes ablaze with anticipation. "With /me./"
The monstrously with the chief receives little attention. There is a cold stillness in her, and ice in her gaze when it meets the martens. Ayita holds it there, searching her captors face with a fleeting flash, a flicker, of something fierce. She is there, more present than she has been since the attack, and now her gaze shifts downward. "I understand." Her voice is hoarse, grated with sandpaper while salt was poured in the wounds. She pushes her paws against her knees and stands, forcing her back to straighten, pushing life into her exhausted body. If her survival, and the survival of the last remaining otters – if she can help it, rests on being what Kolbjorn wants, then she will be what he wants. She extends a paw down to the marten. "The one I was is dead... And you have made me new from the sea." Her gaze hardens. "I am yours."
Kolbjorn takes her paw and stands up to his full height, looking down at the ottermaid. Savoring the moment of triumph, when the spirit of another is shattered and then built back up in his service. Her beauty, her strength of spirit, her skill - now his to do with as he pleases. It remains as he said. What he wants, he takes. "Yes," he growls, and she can feel the air shiver as he speaks. "You are /mine./" He turns to the only table in the room, on which sits several small containers. He takes the lid off one and dips his fingers inside. They come back covered in a grey, ash-like powder. He turns back to Ayita, and his hands come down over her face. His fingers and thumbs slowly, deftly begin to draw runic patterns and symbols across her cheeks, her neck, and between and around her eyes. His touch is very nearly something like intimacy - this is clearly an important moment for the marten at least.
"Into my house and my service I take you. Let these runes be a sign of binding. No oaths shall you take to kings or carls - only to me. All will know you as my servant, and you will have my protection. Ayita Shae. Long was the struggle to take you. So you shall be my Sigfrithr. My beautiful victory." He coils his paw around the back of her head as he finishes marking her, and touches his forehead to hers.
The ottermaid is stock still, and her breath catches with an anxious hiss as he speaks. There is still fear, there - a great chunk of black ice in her chest; it stabs her every time he looks at her, every time he speaks...She is afraid of him, as she should be; and as he paints her over with the runes of the beasts who destroyed her home, as he scrubs away what was left of herself in ash, she is more afraid than ever... His /Sigfrithr/ will never love him, but property does not need to love its owner. Standing at his hearth, wearing his clothes, smelling of salt and ice, and painted with his runes... Everything that was once Ayita Shae no longer exists, but the fear persists. She swallows it, internalizes its desperate flame - her survival will lie in becoming what she so hated. She will serve the North beasts, she has no choice, she will dedicate her life to her conqueror... She will survive.
There is an intimate sense of fondness – no, /ownership/ in his touch, and while her muscles tense and her instincts revolt, urge her to flee, she does not move. Her paws remain at her sides, clenched into fists, and she does not pull away... This is her duty, now. This is her life. She breaks the contact with a small gesture, the smallest tilt of her muzzle away, as the panic threatens to overwhelm her still, stiff body. "Forgive me." Calm, Ayita. Speaking grates against her throat, still raw and angry from her frigid ‘demise’, but with a small, shaky breath, she continues. "Ayita is drowned and dead, but I will be... What you require of me, now. I w-was reborn of the North and if I am t'li- t-to - live here, I would like to learn." While her accent was always a more articulate one among her kin, she finds herself struggling to pull the proper and more prideful tone of the Northmen into her own tongue. She will learn. She dips her head, eyes squeezing shut. "...My new life is yours, I will be wha' - what you wish."
The move is not meant to show that Ayita will collapse willingly into his arms. It is a test of her endurance - has she finally learned that it is better to submit, even as he forces his way through her boundaries? She pulls away quicker than he would like, but he does not give chase. She has finally learned fear. She has finally learned obedience. He smiles again. She will learn patience too, soon enough. "Very good," he tells her, stroking her headfur. "There are a great many things I wish from you." He takes her paws and pulls her to the door. "Come. It is time to introduce you to your new life."
"Y-yes, of course." Ayita swallows at the lump in her sore throat, and sucks in a trembling breath. She is of the North, now... The sea re-birthed her, and her veins pump salt and ice - there is no room for trepidation. The jill allows herself to be led forward, and her legs gain sureness with each step, pulling her alongside him. Her eyes remain downcast in her submission, and at the door she pauses - hesitating a fraction of a second. Her chest rises and falls unevenly with the shaky breaths - and then falls on an easier exhale. Ayita pushes forward, and even braces a paw against the door as they reach it.
...She is not ready, but she is going.
Groups:
