Chapter Text
On a chilly summer evening as the sun hung low in the sky, a young woman lay on the Jutul altar, her hands and feet bound by thick rope. It had been wrapped around her ankles and wrists with great care, a far more graceful application than the scratchy length of rope that bound her torso to the altar itself. She wore a white dress but her shoes had been taken, leaving her barefoot and shivering. On her arms, they had painted markings in black ink, identifying her as an offering to the giants. The scented oils applied liberally to her hair filled the cave with the heavy scent of lavender, making her hair itself look wet.
The people in town had been growing anxious lately, aware that an offering was long overdue. Edda had a habit of offering goats, cows, or grain to the giants but in light of the growing shortage of food, they had elected to fall back on old traditions and send up a human to fulfill the role.
The woman struggled against her bonds. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light of the cave by now, aided by a handful of flickering candles, but there wasn't much to see. She had heard of the Jutuls, a family of giants who dwelled in the mountains and could bring good fortune to the town if they so wished, but very few people had ever seen or talked to them. Her breath caught in her lungs when she heard footsteps approaching and she halted her movements abruptly, hoping that perhaps if she didn't move, they wouldn't notice her.
She had no such luck.
"What's this, then?" a male voice asked from somewhere behind her.
"Looks like an offering," came the response, a woman this time.
"That's the first in, what, seventy years?"
A hand carded softly through her hair but she still couldn't see to whom it belonged. She wisely kept her mouth shut as they talked amongst themselves, reminiscing about previous human offerings. The male came to stand next to the altar then, and she risked a glance at his face. He was handsome, around her age in appearance, but she knew better than that. The Jutuls had been around for centuries. She averted her gaze immediately, but he had already caught her looking.
"Look at me," he commanded, gentle but authoritative. His fingers moved from her hair to her chin, moving it so she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. He was silent for a moment as he studied her face and the fear reflected in her eyes. He chuckled when she redirected her gaze to his cheek as soon as she was able. "You're afraid," he stated, "aren't you?"
She nodded once.
At the foot of the altar, a blonde woman — Ran, she'd deduced from the earlier conversation — had found and was reading the letter written by the alderman. "Then why did you volunteer?" the woman asked in a flat tone that held no interest at all.
"I didn't," she said softly, afraid of their reaction but equally afraid of what they would do to her if she were to lie to them.
The male giant frowned and snatched the letter out of Ran's hands. Her heart pounded in her chest while she waited for him to finish reading. She silently prayed the alderman had kept his message simple and respectful.
"You didn't volunteer," he repeated once more. The letter crumpled in his hand as he balled it into a fist.
"Fjor," Ran warned, but he shut her down with a look she couldn't decipher. It must have been clear enough to Ran, however, because she simply sighed and walked away, leaving the two of them alone.
Fjor grabbed the ornamental dagger off the altar and twirled it once. The silver blade glinted as it was illuminated by one of the candles set up around her.
"Please," she begged, though she didn't know for what exactly. Please don't kill me. Please make it quick if you do. Please.
He shushed her and, instead of plunging the dagger into her chest, made quick work of the rope restricting her movements. The knife cut through easily and one by one, the loops around her skin came undone. They left red markings and irritated skin in their wake but the painful sting was only an afterthought as she moved her wrists and ankles in small circles to stimulate circulation.
"We don't take forced offerings," Fjor said eventually, the knife still held tightly in his hand. "It's an insult." He thrust the letter at her and motioned for her to get up and off the altar. Whatever he had expected to happen, it wasn't the dull thud of her knees hitting the cave floor.
She bowed her head and put her palms down flat on her thighs; a submissive pose that had been drilled into her in the past few days. "I can't go back," she confessed, the words of the men who'd taken her echoing in her head. "I was chosen as a sacrifice to pay off my father's debts. If I go back... if they have reason to believe I have displeased you..." She gathered her courage and looked up at the giant to whom she'd been offered, her gaze settling somewhere just below his eyes.
He regarded her for what felt like forever the only sound in the cave, that of a distant source of water dripping periodically. Finally, he broke the silence. "Very well. Seems like we have quite a dilemma on our hands, but you're in luck, you've caught me in a good mood." Fjor tossed the dagger back onto the stone slab and turned on his heel. "Come on," he called over his shoulder, not once looking back, "let's see what we'll do with you."