Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

had disturbed her, but she did not doubt that he was telling her the truth, or that the sea was different with him. She had thought before that their mastery of the sea was due to the strength of their ships, but seeing him here, so at home in the river and hearing him describe the sea as being the same, Nena knew it was more than that. These Northmen had a powerful connection—almost a kinship to water.

She felt him crouch down behind her, and then his strong arm was around her ribs. Gently he pushed off the bottom, pulling her with him, until he floated next to her on the surface with her head on his shoulder. Nena fought the urge to thrash, every instinct telling her that one of them needed to have their feet on something solid. His arm tightened around her.

Then they were both floating together. When she was finally able to relax, the experience was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The sensation of pure weightlessness. The quiet. The strange feeling of buoyancy while remaining perfectly still. Jarl occasionally paddled with his other arm and moved them lazily around the pool. Nena didn’t want it to end. She’d never been able to enjoy water like this before and was disappointed to find he had maneuvered them back to the shore.

“Come,” he said as he dropped his feet to the bottom and helped her to stand. “Too much time in the water and your skin will wrinkle.” He began to wade to the bank.

Nena didn’t care if her entire body looked like a piece of dried fruit, and followed him only reluctantly. She watched as Jarl gathered their clothes and then spread them out side by side on the grass in the sun. They lay together on their backs, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, while the sun dried and warmed them. He rolled up and gently kissed the dark circle on her arm. It was still raised and tender.

“Why do you not have tattoos?” she asked.

“I have a few,” he responded.

“But not like your men.”

“No. Not so many as most of them do.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not opposed to them, and I understand why other men get so many; I just never cared to.”

“Gunnar has a great many, and I’ve often wondered why you did not decorate yourself in a similar manner.”

“Why? Do you like them?” Jarl asked, disturbed that she had taken such close notice of his second.

Nena thought for a moment. “The black ones I do not mind, but the green ones I do not care for. From a distance they look like bruises to me. Though perhaps it is because my people do not use any color other than black, and I’m just not used to seeing them.” She paused. “But it is strange to me that they have no meaning.”

“They do have meaning,” he disagreed.

“I misspoke. I understand they have meaning, but only to the bearer. And if they have no meaning to those who look upon them, then why have them at all? A man does not need them to remember things—his memories are forever within him. With the Dor each one tells something specific to all who look upon them. They are not for decoration.”

“Our men get them for many reasons. Some are to remember something important and, even though you’re correct and they do have their memories, by looking at the symbol, it keeps the memories fresh in their minds. Others bear marks that show unity or brotherhood. But some are for nothing more than decoration or to frighten the enemy.”

Nena thought of the Northman she had seen in the camp who had filed his teeth into sharp points and tattooed his entire face with scales like a serpent. It was repulsive to her, but not frightening. “Teclan do not need such marks, we believe in frightening the enemy with our weapons.”

Jarl chuckled. “As do I.”

They lay in silence a while longer.

“We need to get back,” he said, but made no move to rise.

“Yes,” she agreed, but also did not move.

He smiled at her and shook his head. “You’re a terrible influence on me. I could stay here forever.”

Tryggr was waiting for them on the outskirts of the camp, pacing back and forth, clearly agitated. He glanced at Nena, then at both of them, taking in their recently wet appearances. He scowled. “Nice ride in the country?” he asked sarcastically.

“What is it, Tryggr?” Jarl asked, not taking the bait and not amused.

Tryggr looked at Nena pointedly and remained mute.

Jarl turned to Nena, “Return to the tent. I’ll see you there. Have the guard take care of the mare. I’ll show you where she is kept tomorrow so you can do it yourself the next time.”

Nena nodded, nudging the mare forward with her heel.

When she was safely out of earshot, Jarl raised his eyebrows, not about to repeat his question. Had his afternoon not been so perfect, he would have given Tryggr a strong reprimand. Friend or no friend, Tryggr was pushing his boundaries and was going to have to be dealt with. Jarl took a deep breath. Some other time.

“You’re not going to believe who our men have found skulking ahead in a canyon.” Tryggr waited a few seconds to build the suspense. “Piltor.”

“What’s he doing there?” Jarl asked.

“I don’t know, but they said he’s not traveling with his whole caravan, just a small well-armed force.”

Jarl stroked his chin. “That’s very unlike our friend to travel without his comforts, more like how a raiding party might travel.”

“Exactly. What do you think he’s up to?” Tryggr asked.

“I don’t know,” Jarl lied. “But I plan to ask him. Bring him to me and increase the security around the camp.”

PILTOR ENTERED THE tent in such a rush, Nena knew he must have been shoved. He paused and readjusted his disheveled robes in a huff. She had wanted to go to the