BRENIN/ Chapter 2

He was forged in Fire.

"Go-on," Ilsabata urged her son. Brenin shook his head defiantly. Ilsa could not help but admire his backbone. "I won't leave you alone with him. He will not be pleased that we have elected to move so far from the village. He forbade us to move out to Gayde's hut."

Brenin looked at his mother anxiously. The idea to move and thumb his nose at his father's brutish ways had been equally appealing to him. Brenin had happily agreed to aid his mother in the removal of their things from the spacious hut that Hrolf had had built for them, into the smaller, much dingier hut that Gayde, had willed his mother upon her death seven months ago. Gayde had been a tiny, wrinkled, fiesty git, but she'd been like a grandmother and he'd understood the sadness that had overtaken his mother. He'd thought moving into Gayde's home, closer to her, would make his mother happy.

She didn't look happy.

She looked... worn. After Gayde's death, Ilsabata had mourned deeply but she seemed to come back to herself after a fortnight. But the past month she'd been... waning seemed to be the only word for it. His mother had great beauty: Hip length jet locks of hair that shined from continued brushing, large violet eyes in a small, round face, the confidant sway of her hips and her slight figure had turned more than one Norseman's head in the village. The hungry looks the men oft times gave his mother made Brenin ever thankful that Hrolf had made it clear that no-one was to touch her in and out of his presence. And if a man had to lose a hand once in a while to learn that lesson, Brenin felt it only what he was due for his lechery.

But those men wouldn't look twice at her, now. Her once glorious hair hung in clumps down her back, she hadn't brushed it in weeks. Those intense violet eyes that had caused his mother so much trouble in her youth were sunken and shrouded with black circles. Her shoulders hunched as if she suddenly found herself with too much to carry. Her golden skin was pallid and her face was worried,... or pained. He couldn't distinguish. She was withdrawn, quiet, forgetful. His mother who had ever been full of spirit seemed to be fading away.

Brenin blamed his father.

"Mother..." Brenin hesitated, kneeling at her feet, "I am afraid for you. Are you ill?" His mother nervously worked the edge of her shawl. She looked out the window for a moment, calming her fingers. He would not leave her if he worried. Ilsabata looked at her son.

What a beautiful, beautiful boy. He looked much like herself, she thought with no small amount of pride. He had thick black waves of hair that fell in an unruly fashion into deep violet eyes. His hair just touched shoulders that at 12 were beginning to show signs of being quite broad and strong. He stood tall and straight,( he got his height from his father), and stared at her with an anxious look on his face. She sighed. Life had not been easy for him. She was afraid it would soon become much harder.

Ilsabata put her hand on his. “I am fine. I have felt a bit under the weather, but I am feeling much stronger, now. You know I took Gayde’s passing very hard. I have just been mourning.”

She patted her son’s hand and said with a much stronger voice than she had used in weeks. “Go. Enjoy your time, for you will not have much longer to be a boy. Tomorrow you will have to be a man.”

BRENIN/ Chapter1/ Part 3

The witch's scream was said to have been what caused Elder Herlg to go blind, even though he had been half blind already.

In the poor slaves hut on a straw pallet on an earthen floor, Ilsabata struggled and screamed to bring forth the only heir to Hrrolf the Bloody, the Feared Birskir King of Scotland, a 10lb. baby boy with a shock of jet hair. The baby didn't cry, he didn't fret, as the mid-wife and her helpers wiped and swaddled the boy. They looked at each other in mute concern and fear as they handed the strangely quiet baby to his mother.

 

Ilsabata looked over the bundle. She had expected to have dislike for or even hate the boy, when she had first found she was with child. But she felt nothing but pride... and love. She felt the love swell in her heart and pledged to do the best she could by him. The boy opened his eyes and the midwife and her helpers gasped. He had the most intensely bright violet eyes; eyes like his mother.

Witch's eyes.

The midwife crossed herself and gathered her tools. She hustled herself and her people out of the fur covered door to alert the Laird of his new son. She sent the blond girl to go inform the Laird's wives of the boy. They would not be pleased that this outsider, this witch, had given Hrrolf is only heir.

"I will call him Brenin." Ilsa smiled at the baby. The smile lit up her face, making her radiant. Gayde paused in cleaning the girl and stared for a moment before she spoke.

"Hrrolf may have a mind to name the boy after him," Gayde warned, though she knew Ilsa would have her way on this. Many thought she held a supernatural power over the Laird. Though she defied him at every turn, Hrrolf had never given this one up to the other men as he had so many other slaves before. He'd even built this hut, when the other slaves lived in the communal lodge house. Gayde reached down and took the boy from his mother. Ilsa looked as if she would be asleep any moment. Gayde looked over the boy.

Healthy and perfect. But Gayde had expected nothing less. She touched the soft face with a wrinkled hand. The baby reached up and gripped her forefinger. He looked at her face intently. Hrrolf would have much to deal with in this one. He would not bow and scrape and be the model son. The boy would be stubborn. He was his mother's son.

Gayde chuckled. She hoped to be there to witness that.

"He will be Brenin, " Ilsa said. She shifted, painfully, and yawned. Wearliy she whispered, "Hrrolf will agree, I know. For the name means, King."

Gayde checked the girl again left her to sleep and regain her energy. The Laird would want to meet his son.

BRENIN/ Chapter 1/ Part 2

The others thought Ilsabata a witch because of her unusual violet eyes and the fact that she had been brought from the Ancient Welsh lands. The legends say only Witches lived in the Ancient Welsh forest and that they kept their lands hidden from humans. People had been known to travel into the Welsh lands and never return.

Ilsabata had refused to answer any questions about her home, which frightened the villagers.  Even after their king had beaten, raped, and enslaved her, she laughed in his face and even cursed him.  The villagers thought her a crazed sorceress, and gave her wide berth.   Even the other slaves, captured from different lands, were wary of the girl.  Gayde had no patience for such nonsense.  Ilsabata had been lost and afraid and that had been all Gayde needed to know.

Ilsa grunted and it brought Gayde back from her memories. 

The girl had labored for the better part of a day already. The worthless mid-wife and the two young girls she apprenticed were afraid and ineffectual. They feared to touch the girl but were terrified that the baby would die and the King would take out his wrath and pain on them. He had three wives but, no children had survived beyond the first few months of pregnancy. This slave girl could be the only heir that the Laird would get.

Hrrolf, the Bloody, would probably kill the one who brought him the bad news. Gayde had been at the hut door since she found out Ilsabata would give birth and the mid-wife had kept everyone out, ignoring Gayde's threats. Mid-wife Fromld had finally consented to let Gayde into the hut after the girl had already labored for 12 hours. The mid-wife figured that if the witch died she could blame the old woman.

"You should have taken Hrrolf's offer to allow you to have the babe in his home. At least the sheets would be clean." Gayde threw the hovering mid-wife a hard look.

"I will not lie is his home." Ilsa labored to say. "He is a monster."

Besides his two wives and three daughters were there and they all hated her. When Hrrolf was out on raids, they made sure to keep Ilsa busy with all of the most back breaking or demeaning tasks they could find. If they didn't like her efforts, they would punish her in ways that didn't leave bruises for Hrrolf to find. Often mucking the stalls and spreading horse manure for the gardens, were their favorite assignments for Ilsa. And she did it without complaining, but she would be damned before letting those women get their hands on her child. He would die within the hour. His wives were not pleased that she had conceived his child and carried it with no problems.

"That he may well be, girl, but you need proper care, " Gayde muttered. She glanced at the mid-wife. "This worthless git, would let you die here on the floor before touching you. Of course you might die from her filthy hands, too." Gayde motioned to the blond girl beside the mid-wife. "Make yourself of some use and fetch me some water, girl." Gayde turned back to Ilsabata. "I'll have to turn the baby. He's stuck. This will be painful." Gayde rubbed Ilsabata's hair again.

Gayde reached for the water the blond apprentice brought a moment later. Now was the time to turn the baby. Gayde took a deep breath and reached for Ilsa.

BRENIN/ Chapter 1/ Part 1

A.D. 1103

He was born into blood.

The girl’s screams could be heard around the village.

"Ilsa," Gayde's age worn face showed every bit of her 52 years as she urged on the laboring girl. "You must push, now."

"I cannot," the girl breathed and looked up at Gayde with weary violet eyes. Ilsabata was no more than 16 and tiny, so the birth had been a difficult one for her. The large size of the baby was no help, and now there was some bleeding. Gayde rubbed the girl's matted black waist length hair and wiped the sweat from her pale face with a damp rag.

"You MUST." Gayde helped the girl sit up and forced her to push.

Ilsa must not die, Gayde thought this for purely selfish reasons.   Ilsabata was all Gayde had after the death of her own son and husband in a raid 22 years hence. Gayde released the girl to rest a moment and then forced her up again. Gayde felt Ilsabata's belly and frowned at the knot there. This would not be easy. The baby was sideways.

She worried.  Gayde had taken the girl on as her daughter since she had been brought to their land 2 years ago.  She remembered the first time she'd seen the girl.

Gayde has seen Ilsabata on the docks, fighting the sailors tooth and nail, not cowed and quiet like the others they’d stolen.   She watched as the girl clawed the face of a man after he’d back-handed her, a hit that should have knocked the small  girl out, but she’d kept struggling, even as the men tied her flailing hands and ankles together.

Ilsa had been 15. Small and lonely and beautiful, she stood on the dock with ropes tied to her ankles and wrists, and with her head held high.  She wore rags, but rags of such a golden fabric Gayde had never seen the likes before.

Gayde noticed that the men seemed to keep their distance and avoid her eyes even as they roughly handled her through the village. Ilsabata did not protest, but she did not cower either. Gayde had found herself smiling at the spectacle. The girl certainly had backbone. From the bruises on several of the sailor's cheeks, the girl had given them a hard time. Hah! They probably deserved it.  Gayde was still somewhat bitter about being stolen from her own lands as a child, though she could barely remember it.

As the girl and her rough escorts passed Gayde on the street, Ilsa suddenly turned to pierce Gayde with the strangest eyes she'd ever seen. Large, violet, and intense, those eyes seemed to know everything. They saw straight into your heart and knew your deepest secrets; things you'd kept from yourself.  Gayde felt drawn in, as if she was drowning in a pool of warm violet.  It was at that point, Gayde understood why the men avoided her gaze.  Those eyes held power.

Then, even as the sailors pulled her towards Hrrolf's home, --the place where she was sure to be repeatedly raped before being given to the other men to finish--, Ilsa smiled. A tiny lift at the left corner of her lip. This girl might have been captured, but she was no slave.

Gayde watched the men haul the girl up the street. That little girl would have hated it had she known, but the time spent in the girl's eyes had allowed Gayde to see something which had touched her own life much; fear. Gayde had seen into the girl’s soul as well and found fear and a deep well of sadness. It was then Gayde had made her own way up to the Laird's home.  

She would be there for the girl when she was released.

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