The willing and able-bodied males had ridden out immediately after the last village lit their flames. Mere ontics before their small sun made its first wink over the mountains. My hands grip a broom far too large for me to use with any true skill as I drag it over the entrance to what I guess is their city hall. Mostly, I was given a nothing job because everyone else was doing something and I wanted to help. Uncomfortable with sitting on the side while everyone else prepared. I don’t mind too much; it gives me a much-needed ontic to gather my thoughts.
Bhaurnul females are much like their male counterparts, every bit as large, maybe a bit slimmer, a bit more graceful in their lines. The fundamental difference seems to be that they keep their horns filed down, unlike the males stretching curved ones. I had expected there to be more children, but there are only two. I watch them as they play, chasing each other through the natural wood columns, occasionally skidding and wiping out on uncoordinated hooves. My heart does an odd flip to think that in a few years our—Fafnir’s child will do the same. It’s an odd, bittersweet feeling I hadn’t expected. One I’m thankful Faf isn’t here to watch me sort through.
“Bhaurnul pregnancies are long and hard, so you won’t see many children.”
My head snaps toward a female, her arms laden with butcher blades. I just nod. “Are one of them yours?”
She laughs at that, a light, pretty sound so at odds with what Fafnir has shown me of their people so far. “No, I think they were reared by Ivet and Hosen, but to be honest, most of us forget by the time they’re this age.”
She must see the confusion on my face, so she continues, a patient and sympathetic tone in her voice. “Of course, a male wouldn’t bother explaining anything to you before they bred you.” She’s smaller than the rest, perhaps younger too. Her light coloring and bright eyes shift around us conspiratorially. “We raise our young as a whole, not as an individual. As soon as the babes are old enough to be weaned from their dam, they come to the Halthara.”
Her words are a mix of their language, but mostly mine. I make out her meaning well enough. The thought only further unsettles me. “So, he won’t raise the child—er kit? Will he come to see it?”
She shrugs, but her eyes have changed. They aren’t as lighthearted anymore, and for a moment, I worry I’ve offended her. “Most come every day and night to the Halthara. Fafnir is…” she takes a breath, “not like everyone else. I’d imagine if he’s still here, he might stop by before he goes out to wander.”
“To wand—‘
She steps closer suddenly, damn near stepping on my foot. The hall is buzzing with activity. When she takes notice, she seems to lower her voice further. “Are you not… nervous to be paired with him? How does this breeding thing work? Are you unable to break your contract?”
My heart seems to still in my chest. “No, why would I want to do that?”
Another female walks by, scowling at us both, but not in an aggressive way. Like the way Mom would scowl from across the room when my sisters and I were doing something she didn’t like. “Elat, enough. You know we shouldn’t be—’
“She has a right to know!” another female chips in. Apparently, this hadn’t ever been a conversation for two. The new female who joins us is… beautiful. Unfairly so, her dark brown skin looks stunning compared to her pale fur and hair. I shift on my feet as they fuss with each other. Refusing to feel less than, I force my chin higher, my back straighter.
My first attempt to get past their arguing falls under the current, so I make my second one louder. “Hey! What is it I have the right to know?”
Their eyes all shift to me before glancing at each other. The first female, Elat, seems to make up her mind quicker than anyone else. “Fafnir, he fought too long, took more contracts than is… respectable. Sixteen years is a long time at war. Far longer than any other males of our village have ever fought. If war madness hasn’t taken hold, it’s only a matter of—’
“Enough.”
All our backs stiffen at the command barked across the hall. The same older woman who looked so regal passing the torch to Fafnir stalks toward us, and like me, the other females have the decency to look like deer in headlights.
“You younger females too often speak before you think, especially in the presence of an outsider.” She scolds before regarding me with a softer air of sympathy. “No offense, human, it is simply our way of things.”
The urge to smile and say it’s fine is strong. To laugh it off and bury my head in the dirt even stronger, but I do neither. My hand fists on the thick handle of the broom harder than necessary. “If I am to stay here for at least a year, to bear a child that you will all raise, to nurse a Bhaurnul child… I am not so much an outsider. Am I?”
Her chin lifts as she regards me silently. The moments pass like sap dripping down the bark of a tree before she speaks, and more than once, I remind myself that Fafnir wouldn’t have left me here if I wasn’t safe. “Fafnir is an honorable male.” She barks more at the other females than at me. “He has fought past his prime for his reasons alone, and I have no doubt Valhyr looks down on him with his favor. Unconfirmed accusations of war madness are every bit as shameful as the sickness itself.”
I watch the females around me shrink in on themselves, nodding their agreement. Only the female with the dark coloring dares to speak up. “Are you not concerned for her well-being?”
My eyes blow wide, darting to the elderly female. She ignores her, staring directly at me.
“If it gets that far, he will do what’s needed. You have nothing to fear from him.”
“I wasn’t scared,” I say it loudly, louder than perhaps I should’ve. Pointing my stare not only at our group but those around us, the ones who have slowly stopped to listen. The stoic older female nods before barking at the women to go about their duties and stalking off, her polished hooves thudding the wooden floor.
It’s Elat that lingers, shifting the sheathed blades in her arms to grab my wrist. “Ask him about the symptoms. Human… if that male’s mind goes—’ She shudders, actually shudders. “I fear there is not a warrior here strong enough to kill him. They do not fight for that long, not for a lack of honor, but because they do not live that long. The berserker… it’s a curse on their minds. Anything longer… it isn’t done for good reason. If he has lived, it is not because the war god blessed him out of kindness.”
Another barked command from an adjoining room has her pressing her short horn into the space above my head, something I’ve seen the females do a few times in a familiar kind of greeting. Like a hug. The gesture isn’t lost on me, but I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the rapid pounding of my heart as I drag the broom across the floor.
Perhaps there is a better reason than even I know for the class B grade of Yolmarth.
