Fate's Needle by Jerry Autieri

locked inside, Cara mostly slept. There was nothing else for them, except to wait for death. Cara claimed she had not been freed since the day Runa fled.
    The poison Aud fed Runa had not been strong, Runa had vomited most of it out the first night. Her head ached and her vision sometimes blurred, but she was otherwise unharmed. The lack of food kept her weak, but the plan for escape lent some strength to her pulse. Runa never stopped thinking about escape.
    She had tried to tell Cara her plan, but the other girl was like a starved rat in a cage—more interested in snatching Runa’s moldy cheese than in escaping. In the days since Orm had died, Cara had grown skeletal. Runa never imagined anyone could waste away so fast. She knew she had also withered, but hope kept her flesh clinging to her bones.
    This morning, Runa could hear Aud’s voice beyond the walls. Soon, a man unlocked the door and shoved in a tray. Runa regarded it with a raised brow. Nothing but bowls of murky water and hard wedges of cheese, and no doubt both poisoned to make her more compliant when the men came. Then they’d twist her neck and throw her on Orm’s funeral pyre or into his grave.
    Runa crawled to the tray, poured out the water, and buried the cheese in the corner. Cara might dig it out, but Runa guessed that the men would come soon. She planned to act drugged, since they would expect it, and when she had deceived them she would run. The plan was simple—likely doomed to failure—but she could not devise anything more sophisticated. She wished she had more strength, despite trusting fear to give her legs for the escape.
    Runa waited and watched. Beside her, Cara flinched and mumbled in her sleep. Runa tried to rouse her, but Cara just swatted at her and turned over. The hours passed. Soon, Runa heard voices approaching.
    “Are you sure about this, Konrad?” asked a young man. There was a jingle of keys and the clank of the lock. On cue, Runa sprawled out as if in a stupor. She hoped they would not feel her throbbing heart when they picked her up.
    “Just shut up and do what you’re told. Lord Grim put me in charge,” said the other voice, the man called Konrad. The lock ground open and white light peeled inside. “It smells like a dog’s ass in here! I just want the pretty one. Where is she?”
    Runa dared not open her eyes. She could feel the two men encroaching on the cramped space, filling it to capacity. Rough, sweaty hands grabbed her leg. Reflexively, she pulled away. “Ho! Here she is, and still with some fight! The other is a hag. Leave her. Anyone looking?”
    “No, sir,” said the young man. “I hope we don’t get caught.”
    “No one’s going to care anyway,” Konrad said. The hands climbed up her back and hauled her over one of the man’s shoulders. Runa let her head flail and her limbs slacken. She faked a drugged smile and dared a peek. All Runa could see was the door to the slave hut as he carried her outside.
    Konrad ran a short distance with the other man in the lead, seemingly headed for the barracks. Her body stiffened in fear. She had known Konrad’s mind the moment his lascivious hands grasped her legs, but had hoped it was not so.
    Inside the dim barracks, Konrad threw her on a pallet. Her head thumped against the wall and she became nearly as dazed as she was pretending to be. Desperate, Runa spread her legs and laughed, holding her arms out, beckoning Konrad to come her. She knew this was her final chance at escape; success depended on her acting.
    She squinted at her rapist as he dropped his sword to the floor with a clunk and grappled with his pants. All she could see was his yellow hair and wicked smile, and beyond, in her peripheral vision, the blurry shadow of a figure in the doorway.
    Konrad, his breath and beard rank with the stench of mead and fish, wasted no time. Pushing up her skirt, he exposed her to his over-eager flesh. Runa had experienced this horror repeatedly from her Svear captors.