A Fiery Cleansing and Unwanted Encounters

“Enough, Freya, don’t approach us until we’ve finished our wash,” Noren declared, submerging her head into the bath barrel, her long hair fanning out across the water’s surface.

“Fleas, just as I suspected!” With a swiftness that belied her submerged state, two small surges of water erupted beside her arm. In an instant, she snatched several fleas attempting to escape the barrel, crushing each one between her fingers.

Even had they managed to escape, a fiercely burning cordon of fire encircled the bath barrel. A few crackling sounds were all it took to reduce any disease-mongering flea to a pile of ash.

Their former night clothes had already been consigned to the fiery ring. Noren, for one, harbored no desire to wear them again; though they could be cleaned, the thought alone was deeply repugnant—more so, even, than leather tanned by the Red Mages.

Under the cloak of night, they currently found themselves at a secluded spot outside the village, far from any roads, cleansing themselves.

Freya and her younger brother, Frey, had been lured to this spot by stones Noren had cast outside the village. Perhaps she had thrown with a touch too much vigor, for one stone had crashed into the livestock shed, eliciting loud crowing from roosters and frantic neighing from horses that echoed from afar. The agitated animals had roused the slaves, who, in turn, awakened Frey. Under the subtle guidance of Noren’s stones, Frey and the slaves, armed with sticks and pitchforks, had ventured beyond the village. Eventually, from a distance of over ten meters, Noren had instructed Frey and Freya to bring the bath barrel, an iron-bound shovel, wine, and torches.

With the imagined stench of rats now washed away, Noren felt a significant easing in her heart. She rose, wrung the water from her long hair, and then, using the barrel’s rim as a spring, gracefully leaped outside the fiery perimeter.

“Are there any red spots on me?” Noren asked, turning a slow circle.

“None at all, Sister Noren,” Freya replied, stepping forward to gently dab the water droplets from Noren’s skin before offering her a clean dress.

“It’s far too short, Freya,” Noren commented, tugging at the skirt’s hem in a futile attempt to make it reach her knees.

Freya’s eyes positively twinkled with mischief as she lunged forward, brandishing an expensive facial cleanser. “Sister Noren,” she chirped, “you know Frey would never dare open your chest. This is my dress, and since I’m not as tall or as… *developed* as you, it’s bound to look short on you~ Especially in the front, hehe, *slurp*~”

“You!” Noren exclaimed, flustered by the beautiful maiden’s sudden closeness. She quickly pushed the girl away. “Hey! Don’t, don’t press yourself against me like that.”

Freya, wiping a hint of drool from the corner of her mouth, instantly reverted to the image of a dignified and composed young lady, serene and demure.

Noren found herself utterly speechless. It appeared that girls, regardless of the era, were truly masters of the art of ‘face-changing’.

Standing beyond the earthen trench dug to contain the flames, Noren unstoppered her wineskin and cast it, along with the torch, toward the bath barrel, further invigorating the blaze.

As she watched the flames utterly consume every inch of the barrel’s interior, Noren considered her task complete. It was time to ascertain Tolke’s progress.

****

“Tolke, jump! You’ll be a roasted suckling pig if you don’t leap out now!”

‘What in the world is happening?’ Noren wondered, cautiously peering out from behind a tree.

Tolke stood stark naked at the barrel’s edge, the flames already licking at his *root*. Frey, in his frantic eagerness, hovered before Tolke’s *root*, looking for all the world like a golden-furred monkey fiddling with its long, *tail-like* appendage (TL Note: The Chinese terms ‘root’ and ‘tail’ here are euphemisms for male genitalia, adding a layer of crude humor to Frey’s comparison.).

Noren emerged from behind the tree, her face a mask of displeasure, casually yanking out a sapling a mere inch or two in diameter.

With a forceful exertion of both arms, a sharp *snap* echoed as the sapling broke cleanly in two.

Noren smiled, a chilling edge to her voice. “Tolke, cease swinging that monkey’s tail of yours.”

“Jump, I say! Leap out of there!”

“Otherwise, I shall treat your *tail* precisely as I treated this sapling… and snap it clean off!”

The moment Tolke saw Noren step out from behind the tree, his *monkey tail* involuntarily perked up.

Yet, Noren’s subsequent words descended upon him like a bucket of icy water, drenching his spirits. His *monkey tail* drooped, and a cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead.

“Alright, I’ll jump right now!” Tolke declared, his eyes hardening with sudden resolve. His entire demeanor shifted dramatically, his muscular physique seeming to be etched with bolder strokes, transforming him into an iron-willed tough guy.

“Ha!” With a mighty thrust of his powerful legs, Tolke burst through the curtain of fire as if taking flight.

His eyebrows and hair promptly caught fire…

****

Noren watched the young man on the ground, frantically trying to smother the flames by rolling.

She hesitated for a moment, a silent invocation of “Bloodstone” forming in her mind.

The very next instant, a transparent, expansive net enveloped him, and the licking flames were extinguished with astonishing speed.

The net swiftly re-coalesced into tendrils, retracting back into the Bloodstone. However, during its withdrawal, it inadvertently brushed against Noren’s calf.

Noren recoiled with a jolt, as if struck by lightning.

“Damn it all, the tentacle touched *the tail*!”

“And the tentacle that touched *the tail* then touched my leg!”

“That’s so utterly repulsive, so utterly vile~”

Her mind reeled, her hands and feet trembling uncontrollably.

Her body rigid with revulsion, Noren frantically cast her gaze about, searching for anything remotely clean to wipe herself with.

Alas, apart from the trees and flora, only the two Norse men stood before her—and none of them could be deemed ‘clean’.

‘To hell with it all,’ she thought.

Noren’s legs wobbled, her knees knocking inward, as she shuffled, step by agonizing step, toward Freya.

Having skirted several thick oak trees, Noren finally rejoined Freya.

At that very moment, Freya was diligently filling the fire pit with a shovel, her face smudged with ash and her dress soiled with dust.

“Freya, clean, fragrant, the back of your dress is clean.”

Noren, using her calf, rubbed against the clean hem of Freya’s skirt from behind, as if scrubbing away an imaginary taint from her skin, and in doing so, alleviating her psychological distress.

Freya tilted her head adorably, her voice soft and sweet. “Sister Noren?”

“Nothing at all! I’m heading back now!”

Faced with Freya’s bewildered gaze, Noren felt a flush of embarrassment. She mumbled a hasty excuse or two before turning tail and fleeing.

She scurried back to the blacksmith’s hut, rummaged for her own clothes, and quickly dressed.

Only once she was fully clothed did the lingering sensations of disgust and shame finally dissipate.

She fervently hoped she would never again engage in such a perilous endeavor.

After all, driving in neutral is only for those who are tired of living (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘kāichē guà kōngdǎng chúfēi xián mìng zhǎng’, implying taking unnecessary and dangerous risks.).

“What time could it be?”

A wave of drowsiness began to wash over Noren. She cast a weary glance at the sky beyond the hut—

The Goddess of Night, having shed her silken nightgown, now donned a pristine white suit, and before departing, bestowed a tender good morning kiss upon the sun.

The sun, peeking half its face from beneath the celestial covers, let out a languid yawn, its lazy breath scattering the myriad stars across the sky. The moon, seizing the opportunity afforded by its mistress’s departure, quietly slipped away through the back door.

‘The sun is so vast and scorching; it seems, Terra, you simply cannot compare. The moon’s departure from you is merely a matter of time.’

Her fanciful musings on celestial family dynamics concluded, giving way to the gentle chorus of morning birdsong.

Having remained awake throughout the entire night, she blinked a few times, then allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, succumbing to sleep…

****