Blinking into the dim light of a single candle, Aven looked up into the stunned faces of Haakon and Jorgan. She scrambled away from Thor and dropped the scissors with a clatter. What was happening?
Ida rushed in and Thor lay back, chest heaving. Blood seeped through the sleeve of his shirt just above the elbow. Jorgan called for a lantern as he knelt beside his brother.
“Was he shot?” Jorgan’s voice was sharp as he ripped back the bloodied sleeve.
With a groan, Thor sat up and pointed at Aven. She’d never seen him this angry. He made a scissor motion with two fingers, then thrust that fist toward his bleeding arm.
Jorgan’s jaw fell as he swiveled on his knee toward her. “You stabbed him?”
“He grabbed me!”
Jorgan looked to the bear of a man who was still glowering.
Haakon snorted, slid a gun from the table, and left the kitchen. The sight of those masked men still swimming before her eyes, Aven sank back against the cupboard and pushed the hair from her face. Thor sliced a hand through the air, then shoved the tips of his forefingers together. Last, he aimed one at her. He looked up at Ida so earnestly, his desperation seared right into Aven.
“I’ll tell her, Thor. I’ll tell her.” The gray-haired woman knelt beside him and wrapped his arm in a long strip of cloth. She knotted it tightly, and he winced. Thor rose, picked up the gun, and with one last glare at the fallen scissors, walked into the other room.
Turning to Aven, Ida spoke kindly but firmly. “He said he’d never hurt you.” She took Aven’s hand, holding it tight. “There’s some things you need to know about Thor’s ways. Now ain’t the time, but rest in ease that he done meant you no harm. He meant only to help you along.”
Grief tightened her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Ida lifted a sharp look to Jorgan. “And ya’d all do well to take better care to not be so dad-blasted stubborn and hushin’ up so much about this’n that. The poor girl’s scared to death. Don’t know nothin’ of Thor’s ways ’cause she ain’t been told.” Ida smeared a hand back over her forehead in frustration. “Come mornin’ this must be set to rights.”
Jorgan accepted his chastisement with clear regret.
Ida squeezed Aven’s hand, then her focus shifted to the blood on Aven’s skin and dress front. “You hurt? Or be that Thor’s?”
“His.” The admission pained her. “I’ve only a few bruises of my own doing.” She trembled as Jorgan helped her to her feet.
Pulse still racing, she followed him into the next room where two women stood together. Their skin was like coffee with a trace of cream, and they each wore patterned scarves tied around their hair, capping it snug. Remembering Jorgan’s declaration that Ida’s family lived near, Aven realized the older of the two women had to be her sister. Cora was it? The other must have been her daughter. A young man was there as well. A little girl peeked out from behind him, so small she couldn’t have been but six. Her twisted black braids were tied with a scrap of yellow cloth, and Cora worried a finger around and around and around one of the loose ends.
Jorgan motioned them all to sit, leading Aven near to do the same. “Stay low.”
She wouldn’t have argued even if she wanted to. Settling against the wall, she pulled her knees up. Two small candles burned at opposite ends of the room, keeping the space dim. Back throbbing, Aven arched it gently. Pain shot through her hip, and she stifled a gasp. ’Twould be best not to try and move.
A tall span of windows ran the length of the great room, making up the front of the house. Gun strapped over his shoulder, Haakon climbed onto the desk there. Reaching overhead, he gripped a squared beam and kicked his feet up to clamp on. He clamored over the side of the beam until he was kneeling atop it.
Gun balanced in one hand, he stood and stepped gingerly toward the upper windows. He crouched against the ledge there and lifted the sash on the nearest pane of glass. “They’re burnin’ the wood crib.” The glow of flames lit his profile, and he spoke without emotion. As if the destruction bore no surprise to him.
Jorgan paced with equal composure. Thor stared out the windows without moving. Aven tried to wrap understanding around their lack of fear. Was this cruelty to be expected? Or did the brothers truly feel no threat? Perhaps neither. Perhaps they were simply trying to maintain calm within the room.
Thor moved across the stretch of windows, profile stern in the glow from the other side where a half circle of torchlight was being formed in the yard. He looked Aven’s way, but when Jorgan motioned for his attention, Thor switched his gun from one hand to the other, then aimed it at the glass.
Haakon wedged himself into the corner, rifle poised. “Incoming!” he shouted, his voice higher than usual. The other men crouched as a flame arced through the night sky, falling toward the upper windows. Haakon ducked low, covering his head with his arm. Glass shattered.
A rock bound with burning cloth clattered to the floor and Jorgan rushed to stomp out the flame.
“Hold your fire,” Jorgan snapped, ducking low again. “That means you, Haakon.” He pointed up to his brother.
“I’m not gonna shoot.” But after Haakon shook glittering shards from his shirt, he raised his gun as though he wanted to.
A pane above his right shoulder looked patched, and now she understood why the rug was charred in spots. This had happened before.
“They mean only to frighten,” Jorgan said.
The hand beside Aven’s felt soaked in perspiration, and she squeezed it. The young woman gave her a sad look even as she whispered comfort to the child in her lap. The small girl’s crying muffled against her sister’s blouse.
Somewhere upstairs, another window shattered.
“Check for fire,” Haakon called down.
Jorgan hit Thor’s shoulder, and with fingers raised, waggled them like dancing flames. Nodding, Thor started for the stairs. His hand brushed the top of Aven’s head as he rushed by as if to make sure she was still down. Blood had seeped through the rag binding his upper arm.
A few moments later, stomping shook the ceiling overhead. When he returned, he set aside a charred stone. Wind whistled through the broken window. Beside it Haakon scanned the room in such a way that indicated something wasn’t right. Suddenly he hollered out.
“On the left!”
A shatter came from the kitchen door, followed by three men striding in—each mountainous in height with pointed hoods and white robes. Their faces were covered as though they were figures from the underworld, but behind the narrow holes cut for eyes were the glittering traces of real men.
Fear gripped her, but the brothers stoically faced their company. Thor took a step forward, rifle still in his grip. The disguised men peered around at the room, looked up to Haakon, then down to the huddle of women. The dog crouched down, whimpering.
One man aimed a solitary finger toward Ida’s nephew—making it known that he was seen. The dark-skinned lad set his jaw, not flinching.
The forefront of the ghostly figures pulled a fold of paper from within his robe. His hands were gloved, and those giant, angled fingers moved slowly as he opened what he bore. The dusty hem of his robe swayed over patched boots. A trickle of smoke stung the air.
His hooded face lowered to read. “We hereby charge you with enabling those who have been granted undue liberties by great price.” The man spoke in a deep, slow voice that disguised his identity, distorting even the drawl of his accent. “Those who were taught hard labor but are now prone to idleness and insubordination.”
The stark fabric over his mouth trembled as he spoke. “If you were to turn an honest heart to the cautions of we—a noble assembly—you would find realities to awaken your sympathies of higher attitudes. He who fails to do so remains at risk of having the breath beat out of him and his soul set free from the wretchedness of its cage.”