Bonded to the Berserkers

Laurel

Laurel

The first scream came from the dormitory. It came loud and clear, ringing through the kitchen where I stood with my arms elbow-deep in soapy water.

“Curses,” I muttered, grabbing a cloth to dry my hands. Who was awake and shouting at this late hour? Which one of the orphans had cried out? We all knew to stay quiet, even when being punished.

Sage rushed in from the back hall. She was my age, but small and frail, and much too thin.

“What is it? What is happening?” I asked.

“Somebody cried out,” she said. “One of the girls must be having a nightmare.”

That couldn’t be it. No orphan would dare. Sage’s creased forehead told me she shared my thoughts.

Footsteps stomped up the hall—the friar coming to investigate. He would be angry at being disturbed. I’d drugged his draught that night, but obviously not enough.

Out of habit, I grabbed the mead jug, ready to refill his cup and placate him.

Another shriek rang out.

“What’s going on?” the friar roared from beyond the inner door. Sage shot forward, passing through the kitchen to hasten outside. I didn’t blame her. The friar would want answers, and while he treated me well enough—I was the only one who could make his favorite meals—Sage often bore the brunt of his rage.

Still, I backed into the corner. Maybe, in his haste, the friar wouldn’t see me, and Sage would also get away.

“Sage!” the friar entered the kitchen, to be greeted with another chorus of cries from the outside. Something was happening. Something was wrong.

Another scream from just beyond the door. This time, it sounded like Sage. The friar turned white.

“It’s happening,” he muttered.

“What?” I pushed away from the corner, grabbing the closest thing I could to use to defend myself—a pot. “What’s happening?”

But the friar turned and ran back the way he came, robes flying and sandals flapping.

The door to the outside banged open. But it was only Sage, backing away from the door, her face pale as the moon.

I gulped in a breath as a bearded giant entered the kitchen. He ducked through the doorway and rose up, taller than the tallest man I’d ever seen. Almost twice as tall as any orphan. He loomed over Sage, and then stepped aside, making room for his companion to slip inside. A massive grey wolf.

If this was a nightmare, we were all having it, all at once. My grip tightened on the pot.

“Please,” Sage said. “Do not hurt us.” She shook but stood her ground.

“No one will hurt them,” the warrior said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

“Leave them be,” Sage croaked.

The warrior advanced, the wolf stalking forward with him.

Sage glanced at me, and then away. She was so brave, and unwilling to give me up. The warrior had eyes for only her.

I had to help.

I inched from the corner, trying to get closer without attracting attention. More pots sat stacked on a shelf. If I threw the one I held, I could quickly grab another.

The warrior was talking to Sage, who looked as if she might faint. I didn’t catch what he said in his deep, growling voice.

“If you leave the others alone, I’ll come with you,” she answered. Brave, sweet Sage, always trying to save others, at the risk of herself. I wouldn’t let her be taken, not without giving her a chance of escape.

I took a deep breath.

The warrior gave up talking and reached for my friend.

I flung the pot as hard as I could.