Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

still, holding the tall three-split, white banner. The blanched fabric rippled and flowed above her on the breeze. It was the only movement. The only sound.

Nena doubted the Northmen would know its significance, but she was counting on them to consult Altene. She prayed Altene had not been taken from her tribe too young to know what it meant. She would know. She had to. Altene seemed to know everything, Nena reassured herself as she stood alone in the open.

Tryggr handed the scope to Gunnar and waited for him to focus before asking, “That’s her, isn’t it? Jarl’s woman? What does she want? Why is she just sitting there? Do you see any sign of Jarl?”

“No,” Gunnar replied, his voice grim.

They’d been watching her ever since a scout had first reported her exit from the canyon. It had been ten minutes with no change. “What do you think that flag means? Do you think he’s dead?” Tryggr wondered out loud.

“I don’t know,” Gunnar replied.

“Have you ever seen a flag like that?” Tryggr asked.

“No.”

“It could be some sort of trap to lure us closer.”

“I might agree, but she has stopped well outside her archers’ range. They couldn’t reach us there.”

“I’ll go get Altene; maybe she’ll know.” Tryggr left and returned with her shortly.

Gunnar handed her the scope and the two men waited impatiently as Altene struggled to familiarize herself with the strange tube. As her untrained eye bounced up and down over the target, bit by bit, she was able to take in her rival and the three-layered split white flag. Her next words were cryptic. “She has a message.”

“About what?” Tryggr asked.

“I don’t know, but that’s a safety banner, to exchange messages unharmed, even in battle,” Altene explained.

“It could be a trick,” Tryggr muttered.

“I will go. I’m not afraid,” Altene offered, her voice flat. “It will be a message about Jarl.” Her lack of enthusiasm and the fact that Jarl wasn’t bringing it himself, told both men what she feared the message was.

“Bullshit. I’m not afraid. I’ll go,” Tryggr said. He paused and looked at Altene before adding, “and I guess it might be good if you came, too.” He lowered his voice to a menace. “But I can tell you right now, safety flag or no safety flag, if Jarl is dead—so is she.”

AFTER JALLA WATCHED Nena ride out with the white banner, she returned to her tent and dragged a stool over in front of her shelves. Climbing up on it, she retrieved the heavy wooden box from the back of the top shelf. She knew what had to be done. She understood the reasoning behind Lothor’s delaying the fight, but only Jalla could see what it was doing to Nena. Her niece was clearly tortured by the Northman’s presence. Since his arrival, she had barely eaten and her sleep was wracked by nightmares. It had to be the constant reminder of what she had endured at their hands. Though she had never spoken of it, Nena’s reaction now told Jalla how terrible it must have been. To make matters worse, Nena insisted on tending to the prisoner herself. Jalla respected that Nena was following her warrior training and confronting her fears head on, but the toll it was taking on her was too high.

When the Northman was dead, it would no longer be an issue. Lothor would most likely take care of it, but Jalla was old enough and had seen enough, to know not to believe in certainties. Especially after seeing what the Northman was doing to Nena—a female equivalent to Lothor in strength as far as Jalla was concerned. What if, by some fluke, Lothor failed and was killed? Meln would be destroyed. The tribal leadership would be in disarray. And Nena? What would it do to her? Jalla could not allow that to happen. This needed to be over once and for all.

How and when she was going to accomplish the feat of dispatching the Northman had proven to be quite problematic. That was, until Nena had announced her decision to personally deliver the message that morning. She had actually requested that Jalla take over providing for him. Everything had fallen into place. Jalla was certain the gods were behind it; they were happy with her plan.

She lifted the heavy wooden lid and gently sorted through the tiny vials inside. Smiling, she withdrew one from the box and stepped down off of the stool. She pulled the cork stopper and carefully tipped it over the tray of food, watching with satisfaction as the clear droplets fell, one by one, and disappeared as they made contact. Invisible. Odorless. Tasteless. She replaced the cork and washed her hands thoroughly, careful not to touch any part of her body or face with her fingertips before they were rinsed, even though she was sure none of the liquid had touched her. One could not be too careful; it was not worth the risk.

By the time Nena returned, it would be too late. The Northman would be dead—or perhaps still dying. The poison she had chosen was not overly quick, but there would be no saving him. He would die painfully—as he should. Lothor and Meln would both be furious with her, and there would be punishment, of course. For anyone, even the chief’s sister, to go against his direct order would mandate that, but Jalla knew she would survive it. It was for the good of the family and the good of the tribe.

Jarl tried to remain calm. His strength was returning rapidly, and he chafed at the restraints now more than ever. Nena would be delivering the message to his men. He could only pray that Tryggr would seek Altene’s counsel and not do something stupid. Over and over he played out different scenarios in his mind. In many of them, Nena ended up dead at Tryggr’s hand. He berated himself for ever suggesting that a message be taken in the