Dream of Me/Believe in Me

them, a dark wave of pressure overtook her. She heard a buzzing in her ears as though a swarm of insects had suddenly surrounded her. Panic rose in her as her heartbeat accelerated wildly.
    Desperately, she fought against the sensations that threatened to overwhelm her, taking deep, steadying breaths as she frantically summoned up the vision of the wide, high, sturdy wall within her that she had learned to build stone by stone over the years.
    When she could finally proceed, she walked slowly and carefully toward the crowd. Before she could see what lay beyond, what she heard confirmed her worst fears.
    A man was tied to the punishment post a short distance to the side of the timbered hall. His tunic had been stripped away, leaving him naked to the waist. Long, red welts darkened his back.
    As Cymbra watched, her lips pressed tightly together to contain the scream that threatened to break from her, a guard positioned behind the man raised a black leather whip. It coiled like a snake, lashed through the air, and struck with a harsh crack. The man cried out and arched against the pain, straining at his bonds. The guard drew the whip back, raised it once more, and delivered another savage blow.
    Watching impassively from the side, his face a mask, Wolf raised a hand, signaling the guard to stop. The manslumped against the post, unable to stand upright, blood trickling from his wounds. Instinctively, Cymbra took a step toward him.
    At that moment, Wolf saw his wife—and in the same instant realized what she intended. He grasped her arm and yanked her back against him. “Do not,” he said.
    She stared at him in disbelief. “You can't mean that. He's been punished for whatever he did. Surely, that's enough.” So shocked and sickened was she that she paid no heed to the startled looks of the crowd, their attention diverted by this new spectacle. Wolf, to the contrary, was keenly conscious of the avid gazes directed at the jarl and his defiant wife.
    “He stole a man's plow and another's horse,” Wolf said through gritted teeth. “Had he not been caught, the thefts would have robbed two families of their livelihood. For such a crime, he is lucky to get off this lightly.”
    Cymbra looked again at the man who now appeared unconscious. What she saw sickened her. His back was a mass of wounds. She judged he must have been lashed at least several dozen times. Bile rose in her throat. She spoke with loathing.
    “Lightly? He's been all but whipped to death. You must let me care for him.”
    Wolf did not answer, but walked away, the crowd parting before him. He still grasped Cymbra's arm so that she was compelled to run alongside him. When they were some distance from the post, he stopped.
    Without releasing her, he said, “He will hang there until morning. It is part of his punishment. If Odin wills and he lives through the night, Ulfrich will see to him. You are not to go anywhere near him. Is that clear?”
    When she remained silent, glaring at him, he tightened his hold on her arm. “And you are never again to question anything I do.” He paused. “At least not amongour people. If you have some comment to make, do so when we are private. Is that also clear?”
    Distraught though she was, Cymbra could not miss the significance of what he had just said. He was insisting on her absolute obedience and respect—in public only. Much as she wanted to hold on to her anger and disgust at what she had just witnessed, she could not quite do so in the face of so great a concession.
    Slowly, not taking her eyes from her husband's stern features, she said, “I am not accustomed to such things. This is … difficult for me.” It was the closest she had yet come to revealing the truth of herself and the strange curse/blessing that had shaped her life. What would he think of her—this man of such grace and strength—if she told him how very different she truly was, even to the extent of suffering the pain of others? Their ills, their torments, their wounds and scars, all their afflictions could overtake the outward beauty he saw and twist it into a hideous thing of endless suffering.
If
she did not find some safe place for her gift in the suddenly changing landscape of her life.
    “I know that,” Wolf, who did not know at all, replied. His voice gentled. “You lived a very sheltered life at Holyhood. I am sure that even among your brother's people, such punishment is common.”
    Cymbra could not contest that. Indeed, she