Savage

Author's Notes

Many thanks to Theresa (notsosaintly) of TPP, Jan (Magical Maeve) of MNFF, and Evie (apollo13,) my fantastic beta.

Savage

The high-pitched keening cry of a peregrine falcon sounded hauntingly from above, and Godgyfu's gaze darted upward, dark eyes searching for the elusive bird of prey among the sun-spattered clouds. But, glimpsing no sign of the streamlined sky-warrior in the cloud-muted blue of the cerulean autumn sky, Godgyfu's disappointed gaze dropped to the scraggly brush beneath her feet before snapping quickly back to her father's stormy countenance. "H-hello, pater," she whispered.

"Save your breath, girl, to cool your porridge. I'm not carin' where you have been, and I'm not desirin' your pathetic excuses," Uchtred growled, compulsively combing his roughened fingers through his graying beard. "More pressin' matters require your attention. Are you old enough for marriage, lass?"

Starting slightly, Godgyfu blushed pink underneath her freckles at the directness of her father's abrupt question: Never before had Uchtred shown such an interest in his youngest daughter, for he was absent from the manor a great deal, fighting the rabble bands of Pictish Scots along the untamed purple mountains of the northern Northumbrian border. Any miserable attention bestowed upon Godgyfu was always accompanied by insults, yet any acknowledgement was welcome to the tiny child standing cowed before her dismissive patriarch.

Godgyfu squared her thin shoulders beneath the weathered leather of her smock, swallowed, and lifting her chin, stated proudly, "I-I think so. I will be ten in a fortnight, sire, and bled for the first time last month ... on the Sanguine moon."

Uchtred narrowed his eyes and gazed down upon the upturned pixie face so like his deceased second wife's. Even though a sharp pain shot through his shriveled heart, he promptly flattened the pang of loss as he had learned to do through ten long years of wretched practice. Perhaps it was because he had lost his youthful love that Uchtred the Bold was able to kill without passion or feeling. He had earned his name justly, and due to the recent death of his father, his already fearsome skills had been honed by the ever-present need to protect his earldom from invasion. 'Twas true, then, that Uchtred's valor on the battlefield was unequaled by any in the land of Northumbria, and 'twas equally true that his ruthless, cold demeanor had earned him the admiration and respect of the troops he commanded ... and the fear, the utter terror of those he fought.

To be faced with such a man, then, Godgyfu might be called as courageous as her father, and yet, you see, she knew no other way of life. The hostile and negligent relationship between her and her father was constant in Godgyfu's young life...it had always been so. Yet she was allowed to run wild, for none seemed to desire the task of taming this wild faerie of the forests, not even the woman who had been Godgyfu's nurse for almost ten years.

So Godgyfu was not disciplined: She grew up as wild as the tangled bushes in the Tweedish-Peregrine Wood, and her unbecoming, unwomanly exploits were not unknown to the resentful, battle-hardened warrior-turned-earl standing squarely in front of her.

With a glowering look of supreme disgust, Uchtred reached out gruffly and seized his daughter by the chin, tilting her pointed, vixen face up to catch a beam of the rare sunlight. Turning her grubby face this way and that, Uchtred stared beadily down at his daughter with a glare matched spark for glimmering spark by Godgyfu's slightly fearful yet defiant gaze.

"Bled on the Sanguine? Not so worthless, after all," he mused. Snapping his teeth together, Uchtred reached up to pick at a louse in his beard before continuing. "Puny wean that you are," he muttered, "you will make a good marriage yet. 'Twill be a fair life for you when you wed Adamas the Studious, Roman scholar and guest of Ælgoff at Kiln." Uchtred dropped his hand from Godgyfu's chin as if his rough palm were on fire, then proceeded to wipe his fingers on the fabric of his tunic, his fierce, beetle-black eyes daring his daughter to retort. With a stare designed to quell, he gazed at the small girl standing horrified before him, an unreadable expression shadowing his stubbled face.

With a muffled squeak of astonishment and horror, Godgyfu numbly stumbled away from her father, her bare, callused feet scrabbling at the autumn leaf-covered field. She desperately hugged thin, dirty arms around her slight body, trying in vain to shield herself from the unexpected decree. Yet when Uchtred made no further announcement but continued to glare threateningly at his small daughter, Godgyfu felt her disbelieving eyes fill with tears, drops of her tender soul that she desperately tried to blink back, terrified that her father would see her shameful, female weakness.

The two stood there, frozen in time as scarlet and gold leaves blew serenely around them, one satisfied, the other terrified, but suddenly, Godgyfu could stand the eerie hush no longer and broke the stony silence with an animal cry. In beseeching penitence, she threw herself to the ground and clutched her father's leather boot-clad feet.

"Please, pater, dinnae make me marry," she whimpered, her tongue, caught completely off-guard, giving in to the dialect of the common people she had grown up with. The language that her father spoke, yet hated. "I'll be a good girl, a proper female creature who knows her place if only you will let me stay! Oh, pater, please." Sobbing dryly, Godgyfu clutched the smooth boot leather, willing with all the hope of her bleeding, broken heart that her father would not turn an unsympathetic eye on her. But the hearts of men and of monsters can be heartrendingly similar; with a grunt of disgust, Uchtred flipped his daughter off of his foot and reached down to grab the un-hemmed collar of Godgyfu's leather tunic, yanking her to her feet.

"You will marry whom-so-ever I see fit for you to marry. You, useless girl, are a horrible, fiendish demon, and I'll be well rid of you and the better off for it when you've been taken by Adamas," Uchtred spat, uttering the venomous words with agony and passion, for he had waited years to rid himself of the last reminder of his former love.

Shaking the child in hand violently so that her bones shook and her teeth rattled, Uchtred hissed, "Now, leave, spawn of the devil, leave and tell nurse to pack your belongings! You are to be married in a fortnight, and then gone will you be from my dwelling forever!"

Hot tears running freely down her pale, soiled face, Godgyfu endured the rough mistreatment of her young, fragile figure and endeavored to close her ears against the tirade of her cruel father, for each pitiless word pierced her keenly, but when he thrust her to the ground, pushing her with his boot in the direction of the manor, she suddenly became animalistic. With a feral snarl, Godgyfu pushed herself from the ground and leaped towards the sympathetic, beckoning forest, but unfortunately, Uchtred's boot connected sharply with her ribs and she dropped to the ground like a stone.

Gasping, Godgyfu fought for air as her father stepped closer, his mien menacing, his huge body...an ever-present reminder of his violent Viking ancestry...looming nearer and nearer. Though her ribs ached painfully, Godgyfu was determined to flee the horrifying man whose anger she did not fully understand but feared all the same. As Uchtred reached down to jerk Godgyfu to her feet, she bit fiercely into his hand, her sharp, white teeth drawing blood as they ground into his red, wind-scoured flesh.

With a yelp, Uchtred started back, pulling his hand from Godgyfu's mouth with a curse. In an instant, he had drawn back that same injured hand to slap his impudent daughter across her face, preparing to crush green bone and mutilate cartilage with a single blow. But as he did, a loud pop smacked deafeningly through the air, and Uchtred threw up his arms to hide his face. Within a minute, he had recovered from his surprise and, looking down, arm raised, he was met with an unexpected surprise: Where before there had been a sobbing child, there was none. Where before there had been a cringing, cornered animal, a flattened patch of heather uncurled its soft arms. Where before Godgyfu's slight body had been crouched, several drops of scarlet blood lay shining in the sunlight.

An expression of astonishment wreathing his weathered face, Uchtred gazed at the empty ground; then, with the lumbering and fearsome appearance of a bear, he whirled, gazing around the deserted, heather-covered field. Fury replacing the former bewilderment and glimpsing not his child, Uchtred threw back his head, and, drawing a deep breath that expanded his barrel chest to its full, drum-like extent, he yelled savagely, a fearsome, Celtic war cry cutting through the early-evening air.

*

Panting heavily, her wracking breaths interspersed with dry moans of sorrow and fright, Godgyfu wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself as she stared around the familiar clearing. She did not know what had happened, but just when her pater had seemed as if he would strike her, a huge popping noise smashed loudly about her tender ears, and a huge rush of wind, its force scrabbling viciously at her eyes, its eager fingers yanking her long dark hair from her throbbing head, pulled her from the field and deposited her in the familiar clearing beside the Tweed River.

With a gasping sob, Godgyfu glanced fearfully around, her deep brown eyes darting back and forth like silvery, tempestuous minnows sometimes caught in the Nor Loch. As her wild-eyed gaze finally determined that she was safe for the time being, safe in her little haven, Godgyfu let herself fall to the ground, where she crossed her thin, hairy legs beneath her, weeping uncontrollably...hot tears, salty and bitter...into her hands.

The minutes passed slowly by, each tick-tock of the universal clock drawing the sun nearer to its bed beyond the western horizon, but Godgyfu stayed in the grove, pressing her face into the peaty earth, crying each tear until there more no more tears to cry. Finally, exhausted and drained to the point of collapse, Godgyfu rolled onto her back, her pale, puffy face bone-dry. A hard expression settled over the delicate features of the faerie. Though her lovely face was still beautiful, still whole, innocence had gone and worldliness had conquered the child of the forest.

As she stared up through the leaves of the shadowy trees, Godgyfu felt her heart give a flutter, for there in the branches above perched the peregrine falcon, eyeing her with a mistrustful curiosity. Its pinpointed eye, ringed with gold, stared into Godgyfu's, and the purity of the stare, the honesty, the "knowing," penetrated Godgyfu's swiftly chilling soul. A glistening tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Slowly, slowly, the tear slid down her cheek and dropped from the sharp angle of her chin.

With a cree of sympathy, the proud falcon launched itself from the tree and, strangely, miraculously, spiraled downward...feathered fingertips widespread...to the leaf-strewn ground. Clacking its sharp beak, the falcon shuffled toward Godgyfu, each tentative step bringing it nearer to the small, spellbound girl crouching mere centimeters away.

Godgyfu hardly dared to breathe, much less move, but sat still and waited, her shallow breaths coming in measured, warm gusts. As the falcon hopped closer, Godgyfu slowly raised her hand, all the while keeping her gaze fixed upon that of the peregrine. The minutes ticked by slowly in the steadily approaching night, but the line of trust between Godgyfu and the falcon stayed unbroken.

Creep, creep, creep in the night, children of darkness. Flitter, fly-by, float through the dusky air, infants of the evening.

A thin line of sweat pooled above Godgyfu's lip, and her arm muscles began to ache as the falcon crept tentatively closer. Somewhere, nearby, faraway, she couldn't really tell, a bullfrog croaked and soon the air was filled with the sounds of the evening. But still she did not move, and seconds later, the oily head of the falcon was pressed under her palm.

In a soft kerree... the falcon spoke to Godgyfu; it rubbed its head against her weathered palm until the tears flowed from her eyes like rain on an April day. But she was silent, even in her grief. She shook and it was like the thunder; her heart broke and shattered like bolts of bright lighting, but she was silent. And by and by, the tears subsided, the heart lay in pieces, and the shaking was replaced by stone.

The peregrine falcon still bowed its head under Godgyfu's palm, but it seemed to know that she was comforted. With a soft sigh, the bird shifted from one foot to the other and with the tiniest start, Godgyfu seemed to remember where she was. Her gaze jumped down to the bird beneath her hand as if to reassure herself that it was still there. The falcon, in answer, tilted its sculpted head to the side and blinked one inquisitive eye...it was not leaving anytime soon.

Visibly relaxing, Godgyfu sank once again into the ground and into the strange embrace of the falcon. All around the companionable two sang the crickets, the frogs; all around whistled bats and starlings; all around bubbled catfish and slithered snakes.

The peaceful minutes ticked by until unexpectedly, suddenly, with a clack of its curved beak, the falcon shifted under Godgyfu's hand. Godgyfu turned her head to meet its yellow glare and seemed to read in that gaze something of her fate. Anger and fear twisted her features in a manner never before seen by the inhabitants of the forest. In that gaze, the falcon told of Godgyfu's future vanity and greed, her disregard for nature and her hatred of lore. In that gaze, the falcon spoke of whom would be the successor of the fierce and abominable Uchtred...Godgyfu.

With a cry of rage and dread, Godgyfu grabbed the beautiful peregrine falcon by its snowy neck, and, before it could utter a cry, she twisted her hands swiftly in opposing directions and broke the bird's neck. The entire forest went silent. No cacophony of the night sang out as, numbly, Godgyfu scrambled to her feet, still holding tight to the falcon. Anger, then fear, bitterness, pain flowed through her veins, and Godgyfu let out a piercing shriek, only this time, there was no answering cry, for the blood of the answerer cooled in the body grasped in her hands.

All at once, the tumult of the forest that had been held back by shock and by Ardwinna, fickle goddess of the wood, was let loose. A swarm of bats screeched into Godgyfu's clearing, whipping their diaphanous wings 'round Godgyfu's head, tangling her dark hair. The animals, once so familiar and loved, were now a source of terror to the shrieking child in their midst. The serenity of the woods was broken and the walls of that wood seemed to crowd in on her; glowing eyes narrowed and peered menacingly at her from behind bushes and from the ground, roots reached up like claws to grab her ankles.

With a sob, Godgyfu turned and ran, but she did not know in which direction to run, so she stumbled into the village of Bikko Edinburgh. The moment Godgyfu felt her bare feet crush the clay houses spread through the town, the remaining ties to her natural haven were severed. She had murdered the peregrine falcon; she had destroyed the homes of Bikko Edinburgh. Growling and screaming in wrath, hurt, loss, Godgyfu stormed through Bikko Edinburgh, kicking holes in the castle walls, trampling small families of squeaking, quivering dormice, destroying the elaborate gardens that surrounded the castle. Tears coursed down her face and mixed with the scarlet blood running freely from her scratched toes, but Godgyfu did not stop. She pillaged and wrecked and ruined the small town, and when she was done, when the carnage had ceased and the small bodies of animals and insects lay crushed in the wynds, Godgyfu sank to her knees and wept.

*

No one knows for sure what happened, but it was whispered among the household servants that Lady Godgyfu's nurse had found Lady Godgyfu asleep on the doorstep the next morning, her hair tangled with sticks and leaves, her feet bloody, feathers sticking to her small hands. They said that she was unhurt ("Prime for marriage," the old men smirked, chuckling nastily) but that something about her was different. Her face, they said, was sticky with the salt trails of recent tears, and it was hard. Cruelty, they said, was in her features.

Some said it was faeries. Some said she had gone crazy after a rough beating from her father. "Tsk, tsk," they mumbled and shook their heads. They spit in the dirt and rubbed the forbidden amulets hidden beneath their broadcloth shirts and dresses; some of the more religious crossed themselves in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Nurse massaged her toothless gums and said not a word though many pressed her for information. But whatever the reason, it was common knowledge by the next morning when the sun arose and day broke that Godgyfu had given her consent to marry Adamas the Studious.