Borrowed, Not Stolen
We, and by we I mean my captors and I, have been in this beast for ten days. I only know it has been ten days by looking at the floating map showing the elapsed time of our trip. The strange black beaded bracelet of the blonde man shows that we are almost to our destination. I recognize nothing around me, we are far from my home.
I have had nothing but the honey, nut, fruit bars and water from the clear jugs for days. My woolen clothing, perfect for the weather at home, is sweltering in the heat of this dense jungle. I refuse to ask for someone to remove my cloak, too afraid that I would never see it again, or that they would take the pouch I have hidden at my hip. It has been ten days since I have had use of my hands. My ankles have been freed once a day, every day to allow me a five-minute walk around. I assume it is so that I do not succumb to the waking death of the immobile. It has been ten days since I have done my hair or washed my body. I know my braids are beyond redemption, and the sweat gathering on my body means a bath is in order, not that I will be able to find a cool stream in which to bathe near here. I imagine all the water is as warm as the air.
We pass through another border, the blond one hands a group of leather-bound books to the guard. He looks in on us, Long ago my captors hid the metal binds under my cloak and instructed me to appear to be sleeping at each border. I do what I am asked out of fear. I am too far from home for any hope of being able to return. The stars no longer look similar. We are waved through and enter another bit of dense forest. I raise my head up and Sowulo Mannaz ((sun man) the blond one) looks at me in the rear facing mirror and nods at me. I know I have done what he required.
Soon we happen upon people, a village not unlike my own. Children chase the beast down the path laughing. We pass corals for large leather covered beasts with horns and armor. This is not like my home, I want to go home. One of the beasts roar, causing me to jump and try to get away. Uruz Mannaz ((power man) the dark-haired one) chuckles and wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer to his side, half turning me so I can hide my face in him. As much as I fear my captors, I fear the leather beast more and hide when another one roars. I know I am shaking yet I cannot care as fear coursed through my system.
The wise woman in my village always said that fear brought out four instincts in a person, fighting, fleeing, cowering, or copulating. I have always cowered, and here I am still, cowering into one of my captors.
Thinking of my village saddens me, have they noticed that I am missing? I doubt it. I was the village orphan if I disappeared they would think I was lying dead in the woods, sent on to Hela by a pack of wolves or some such. None would miss me, just as none have wished me well. I am sure that is why my captors chose me to abduct rather than any of the others.
When I remove my face from Power man’s side I watch as we cross through a barrier. What appeared to be a dark forest soon becomes towering buildings, metal, and new wonders all around me. My mind goes blank with these new sights and sounds. Dizziness besets upon me, I know my face has lost color. I cannot think. I have come too far from home, too far from all I have known in this beast’s belly.
I know about modern technology. I know this beast rambles through the paths of most the world. I know my people and my village are protected people speaking an ancient language many don’t know. I know we have not adapted with the rest of the world, shunning these modern amenities in order to keep with our traditions. Yet I knew of the rest of the world, of America and glass rectangles called phones, but this, this place is beyond that. This place reminds me of the tales of Asgard, the golden city of the gods.
Sun Man speaks in the strange tongue that I cannot understand and Power Man looks at me. He is speaking to his bracelet but to the world is tilting too bad that I cannot read. A gentle humming breaks through my addled mind. It is a soft tune, gentle as a brook. It is soothing. Power Man gently lays me against his side, not as I had been, but with my head facing the front glass. The dizziness dissipates slowly and the color in my face returns. Sun-Man nods to Power Man in thanks. I, myself, am thankful for his kindness.
The beast goes toward the largest hut in this grand village, I can only assume the chieftain lives there. I am afraid of what this means. For what must be the thousandth time, I wonder why they have captured me. I am useful as a slave I suppose, but I am not a tradesman. I don’t know a specific skill that would lead to my sale. I could be for a wife. That thought scares me. I am old enough to marry and bear children. In all my twenty winters I have always imagined marrying for love, not out of force or necessity. I am no good for wealth, as I have none. I speak not the language of my captors, nor of the people in this village. Its tongue passing through the sunken glass with the wind, cooling the still too hot air. I am not as beautiful as the other women in my village. I have no sun-colored hair or blemish free skin. I bear the scars of life. A scar from a wolf attack on my eyebrow, calluses on my feet from walking in the woods barefoot before I found things to trade for sandals. I know not what they require of me, yet have too much fear to ask.
I sit up, looking into my lap, as we pull to a stop in front of the grand hut. I am afraid to look up. I am gently pulled from the beast; a beeping noise and a sudden rush of blood telling me my shackles are free from my feet. For the first time on this trip, I am thankful for my cloak as it covers my slight frame. I shake in fear of what is to come, yet refuse to look up. I would rather face the oncoming terror with submission rather than defiance. It is one of my defining traits according to the children in my village.
I am walked up to a multitude of steps and through a set of large doors. This hut is made of smooth stone and metal, with vibrant colors all around reflecting off the polished surface of the stone floor. I feel inadequate to step foot in what I am sure are hallowed halls to the people of this village. My captors and I are greeted by a figure in black, his sandals similar to mine in black leather, and much less scuffed. He speaks in the strange tongue of my captors but with a strong accent. I assume he speaks the language of the village natively and learned the language of my captors later. The man and my captors greet each other joyfully and with merriment. I stand in place, quaking in fear. I cannot look up. I have not the strength.
The man comes before me, I can see his hands. His skin is darker than Jara Mannaz (the earth man). I know not what this means. The man kneels before me his head coming to my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. I dart mine away quickly. His hands reach for mine and I hear beeping. My hands are free, the rush of blood bringing pain to the previously numb appendages. I do not think, or wonder, instead I run.
I have never been one to flee, but at this moment I cannot help but run. I run and run and run. I do not go to where I know the large doors are, instead I run and hide behind a pillar by a tapestry. Puffs of breath come in and escape from me as I try to control my breathing. I sink to the ground and hide my face in my hands. Finally, after ten days of constant fear for my life, I cry.
I cry for the life I have lost, for my home. I cry for the knowledge that I can never return. I do not know how to return from this land of unending heat, where the air feels like fire. I cry until I cannot cry any longer. I am out of tears, tired, and still very afraid. I hear people calling for me throughout the large hut. I cannot make my self speak. My throat is raw; I have no words to say.
Power Man finds me. He does not seem mad, but I do not look at his face. He picks me up and cradles me as mothers do babies. I am returned to the group of captors and the strange dark man. I expect to be hit or flogged for my escape but I am not. I am simply set on the smooth stone. Confused I look up into the eyes of the dark man. His eyes hold nothing but warmth.
"I know we have taken you far from your home, far from what you have known. I apologize that we could not find a way to negotiate with your people for you, or for your services. I am sorry that we had to steal you from your home. You do not know us, just as we do not know you. My name is T’Challa and I am the king of Wakanda." He speaks and the black beaded bracelet placed upon me nine days ago translates.
I am even more confused now. What services could I provide, I know no tradecraft. They tried to negotiate for me from my people. I was not aware of that occurring. Nor would I be, most my people do not care for me, and would not care if I were to leave.
"What do you want from me?" I murmur as his beads translate.
"Your name is Kara Atlisdottir, and you are the soulmate of two of your captors. He sighs out. Then he continues, Every soul mark is different. When a child is born their soul mark is copied into their medical files. Yours was as well. You disappeared at age three, stolen by your father's people. Your mother had left your village soon after she figured out she was pregnant. In your file is marked down that she didn’t want her child to grow up in the village due to the medical malpractices there. She escaped into the modern world. When you turned three she was murdered, we assume by your father’s people and taken to the village. No one could find you, and you were assumed dead. Natasha, the woman right there went to your village on a mission to find an arms dealer hiding in the village when she saw you. Your soul marks the same as marked in your files and matching two files she had read many times. It was then she told us about you. We knew we needed to find you and bring you. We made sure they didn’t speak to you directly, but rather to a translator so as to allow you time to get used to the idea and learn English."
I sit back and put my head in my hands. I have soulmates, who kidnapped me and took me to this strange country. It’s all too much at once. Looking up I see the faces of Power Man and Sun Man. Both are biting their lips in worry and looking at me with miserable sad eyes. I just stare at them.
I turn to T’Challa and simply say "I can’t think right now."
Thankfully he seems to understand. He calls for his sister, a dark woman I learn is called Shuri. She leads me down the hallways and into an alcove in her rooms which are called a lab. She has made them look like a large hut from back home. It has a sleeping palette and dirt floor, the palette is covered in furs and there are protective runes carved into the wood near the entrance. Shuri explains that she had this place made for me out of wood and just built an extra room in her lab so that I would not be alone, and could come out of the hut and straight into the English lessons and modernization classes in her lab.
"You don’t have to see Barnes or Rogers if you do not want to."
"Barnes and Rogers?" I ask
"Your soulmates. Their last names are Barnes and Rogers. Has no one told you their names, or who they are?"
"No, no ones told me. I think they are afraid to."
"Tall dark and handsome is called James Buchanan Bucky Barnes, but most call him Bucky. He is the winter soldier, an assassin, but he doesn’t do that anymore. He was brainwashed into it. Tall Blond and Patriotic is Steven Grant Rogers, most call him Steve, he is Captain America. A superhero. Both of them are, really. They are stronger than your average humans with a heightened healing factor and both are 98 and 97 respectively. They’ll live a long time."
I have to pause to understand what she just said. My soulmates, the ones who are supposed to be perfect for me, are literally superheroes, nonagenarians, and built to be the perfect humans. I feel more inadequate than when I got here.
"Thank you Shuri, I think I should retire now. I am tired from all the traveling."
"Of course, call out if you need anything. I’ll have fresh clothes sent to you. Would you like a lighter version of what you have on, or something different?"
"Just a linen shift and a light overdress, as well as a binder cloth, please. Thank you for your hospitality."
"You’re welcome. It’s nice having another young person around, so many old folks you know?"
"I’m afraid I won’t be much better, I was raised in what equates to the Middle Ages, from what I’ve been told."
"That’s okay, you can teach me about your culture and I can catch you up on the rest."
"I would appreciate that Shuri. Am I to call you princess, your highness, or just Shuri? I am confused as your brother is the king."
"Just call me Shuri. It will be better for both of us, I’ll call you Kara and you’ll call me Shuri."
"Very well, Shuri. Good night, may Frigga smile upon your dreams and bless your marrow."
"Goodnight Kara, may Bast keep watch over you tonight."
She turns back into her lab and I head into my hut. It is bigger than my hut on the edge of my village. My hut was barely big enough for me, this one could easily fit four maybe five sleeping palettes. The furs are soft and warm, yet the lambskin underneath them is soft and cool to the touch but not drastically so, as if they were designed to be comfortable in the hot weather of Wakanda. The dirt floor is comforting under my bare feet, my sandals abandoned by the door. My cloak hangs on a hook by the door, looking so normal amount everything else. I can almost imagine myself back at home with this hut, but strangely I find I don’t want to be back at home. At home, I was nobody, the village orphan. Here I am wanted, at least by two soul matches, and by Shuri. I think she is excited about teaching me culture after I learn enough English. I sit on the sleeping palette and curl into the warm furs and cool soft lambskins, and succumb to the bone-deep exhaustion.