The Thief

The market seemed to forget all about the battered and brusied battalion that had marched through only moments prior, because the market was back in full swing as if nothing had ever happened. 

Back to bartering, to shouting, to pushing and shoving, and stealing. Aelwyn shook herself and hitched the bag up higher on her shoulder. Pushing down her growing feelings of unease. 

She wandered her way through the mass of people, occasionally her finger would find their way into an unsuspecting purse, an unawares passerby's pocket, or ungarded vendor. Before she would slip the spoils into one of the many pockets of her new cloak. 

She walked until she saw a break in the crowd. Ducking down the same alleyway tucked beside brothel. 

Her feet froze to the spot. The drunkard was gone. All that remained was a flattened area of snow, frozen vomit and a trail of shuffling footprints. 

Her skin prickled, the hair on her neck standing. Had he seen her? 

Has he gone to report me? Should I follow... Her eyes followed the meandering trail of footsteps. He seemed to have dragged himself away from the main street. She followed them for a couple of steps until they led to her towards the back of the brothel, before seemingly disappearing into the dense forest. 

Did someone one find him? Aelwyn contemplated to herself. She shook her head and turned her back to the forest. It wasn't any of her concern.

And if he did report getting robbed, I shouldn't stick around. She dug her fingers into the ice-caked stone walls and began the quick climb up to the roof. She paused for a moment, throwing one last look over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the tree-line.

Perhaps the All-Mother felt merciful today...

***

At the edge of Outer Skáld, surrounded by snow-heavy branches of pine trees was a small, two-story building made of ancient oak and clay shingles. 

Out front, playing in the snow were two young boys. They laughed and danced and upon closer inspection, Aelwyn spotted long sticks fashioned together to make crude swords in their hands. 

A few paces away, sitting on the wooden steps of the building, two young girls braided each other's hair and between them, a little girl no older than eight played with a raggedy doll. 

It was the youngest of the girls who noticed Aelwyn first. She lept to her feet, dropping her doll on the steps and let out a high-pitched squeal. Running down the steps and past the two boys who had stopped their play fighting. 

Aelwyn had just enough time to stoop down before the young girl threw herself into her arms, laughing with delight. 

"Aelwyn! You're back!"

The young woman chuckled, "Of course I'm back, Sebbie! Where'd you think I'd go?"

"Did you bring us treats?" One of the boys-Kaylor asked, the stick swords abandoned in the snow, his twin- Boyce coming to his side. 

At the mention of treats, the older girls- Mika and Nevyah stood from their spots and came to her side. 

"Yes, I brought treats," Aelwyn shrugged off her bag and popped it open, "there's never been a time where I haven't brought you guys a treat." She began handing out the loaves of sweet bread to the children. 

She watched them eat and laugh with one another on the steps of the orphanage. A warmth of happiness spread through her as they began to regale her of all the mischief they had gotten into in the last fortnight that she had been gone. 

What she wouldn't give to be innocent of the world again...

"Aelwyn," her attention shifted to Mike, her dark brown eyes shadowed with wariness, it immediately set Aelwyn on edge. "There's a man in the woods."

Aelwyn followed Mika's gaze.

Lurking at the edge of the treeline was a man. He was crouched on the ground, half-obscured by snow-clogged tree branches, his back to them. 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. 

"Nevyah. Mika. Take your sister and the boys inside. Tell Mother Helena to lock the doors."

Aelwyn whispered, handing off Sebbie, who gave a whine of disapproval. 

"I don't wanna go back inside!" 

"Sebbie. Go with Mika." Aelwyn said firmly, leaving no room for complaints. 

Beckoning Kaylor and Boyce to her side, they let their stick-swords fall into the snow and she passed them off to Nevyah and ushered them inside. Her eyes never leaving the man as she did so. 

Once she was sure that the children had found their way inside and heard the lock click into place, Aelwyn began her approach. 

She moved with caution, reaching her hand for the knife that she kept hidden in the hem of her pants.

She crept towards him quietly, her feet crunching in the snow. He didn't seem to hear her as she drew near. 

The sound of slurping and crunched came from the stranger. It made her skin crawl. The stench of rot and the coppery reek of blood wafted in the air, chocking her. She grimace, slapping a hand over her mouth and nose. 

What the hell? Is he... eating something?

She was about to call out to him when something stopped her. That unsettled feeling shot through her like a bolt of lightening, making her skin feel clammy and her heart careening in her chest. 

She noticed that he was not dressed for the cold, he was in a yellow-white tunic, and a thick pair of breeches and fur-lined boots. 

...And he looked horrifyingly familiar.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. 

Fuck! 

She dropped down behind a fallen tree stump, knife clenched tight in her frozen fingers. 

How the fuck did he find me? Did he follow me somehow? 

She sucked in a deep breath, trying to will herself to calm down so that she could think clearly. Risking another glance, she peaked over the branch.

In the late evening light, her eyes caught the large gash that seemed to split the man's scalp, his hairline folded over and hanging off at an odd angle. 

He wasn't like that earlier! Did someone try to rob him again after I left? And did they do that?  

She had seen an injury like that only once before when a young courtesan in-training had accidentally gotten her hair caught on a spindle wheel. The spindle had peeled her scalp all the way to her ear before the elder courtesan could stop it. 

That's how the man's own scalp looked. Red and fleshy, with drying brown-black blood matting the hair around it. A bit of his skull showed a dull white through the stark contast of peeled flesh. 

Maybe it was instict that made her back away slowly; leaving the man to his own devices. Or maybe it was divine intervention, she had no idea. 

All she knew was that: she needed to leave and she couldn't let him see her.