Oracle Dreams Trilogy

by Teri Barnett

  The Vikings pulled up their horses and stopped. Jorvik held up one hand to silence his companions.

  “What is it?” Maere asked.

  “Quiet,” Jorvik hissed. He cocked his head ever so slightly, turning his ear toward the soulful sound.

  The horses skittered when the horns sounded once more. Two short. One long.

  Jorvik raised his eyes to the luminous sky. “What have you done, Goddess?” he shouted. He raised his fist, shaking it in fury. “What have you done to my father?”

  “Will the trees really tell you where the Vikings took Maere?” Seelie asked as she lifted her brown nun’s habit and stepped high over a fallen log.

  Dylan smiled, more to himself than to the young woman. He answered over his shoulder, “Aye. They’ll tell me.” So full of questions, this one was. She reminded him of someone he knew once, a fey child with copper hair and freckles across her nose. He clutched a hand to his heart and whispered, “I will find you, Maere.” He looked up to the sky, which was just beginning to lighten. “I swear it.”

  “Did you say something?” Seelie called. “Were you talking to me?”

  “Just to the gods.”

  “To the gods?” Seelie stopped walking. “Don’t you mean ‘to God’ as in the one true God in heaven?”

  Dylan turned around and laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran his fingers through his hair and lifted his face to the warmth of the early sun.

  “Tell me, Seelie. What did you do—what did your family do—before you entered the abbey?”

  Seelie looked at him, confused. “My family farmed the land.” She stabbed at the forest floor with her foot. “But they were poor and I was one of their youngest children. They could only afford a marriage dowry for my eldest sister, the rest of us were sent off to different abbeys where the dowries were much less.” She took a deep breath. “I was given away when I was nine.”

  Dylan closed his eyes, his face still turned toward the sun. “Do you recall your mother and father burning fruits and vegetables in the hope it would give them a better crop?”

  She thought for a moment, digging into the recesses of her mind. “Aye. That I do.” Her eyes lit up with memory. “Mama made honey cakes for us to eat.”

  “That was the feast of Beltane you remember, Seelie.” Dylan opened his eyes and looked into hers. “The day is reserved for paying homage to Beltos so he’ll look favorably on the people in the coming crop year.”

  The light in Seelie’s eyes quickly faded. “You mean we were worshiping a pagan god?”

  “Not pagan or Christian.” Dylan said, his voice softening. “Just one of the spirits with whom we share the land.”

  Stunned, Seelie stood still for a moment. “You are telling me these beings exist?” She looked up at Dylan. “You expect me to believe this?”

  Dylan shrugged. “It matters not to me what you think to be true. But you’ve come to understand I can communicate with trees. And you’ve witnessed Maere’s powers, have you not?”

  Seelie nodded.

  “Why should this be different? I was there when Maere was born. She was blessed with her abilities by the goddess of the lake.” The same who haunts me now.

  “How can you know this? Even if you were there when she was born, how can you know anything about this supposed goddess’s blessing?”

  Dylan looked away. The images of Maere’s birth night were as fresh in his mind as if they’d just happened. Him, a small boy with wild hair, standing near the stream when he heard his name called out. And there she was—the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She talked to him and her voice was like a song. There was no indication then of the trouble he’d find in Morrigu’s embrace all these years later.

  “I know because the goddess told me this.”

  “You have spoken to such beings?” Seelie asked, her eyes wide.

  “I have.” He hoisted his brown leather pack and slung it over his shoulder. “And you have seen only the tip of it.” Dylan frowned as his thoughts moved again to Morrigu. “There is much evil still to be dealt with, this much I can tell you.” He turned and continued down the trail.

  Seelie hung back for a moment, considering the man and his words. Something stirred the bush beside her. In the span of a heartbeat, she leapt forward and ran to catch up with him.

  “Would you have me chase the Vikings down?” Eugis asked. “I hope that is not your plan.” He picked at his nails. “It would seem foolhardy to me. Dylan is a more amenable prey.”

  Morrigu rolled onto her stomach. “Put another log on the fire. I grow cold this fall morn.”

  “You? Cold?” Eugis shook his head in disbelief as he reached for the wood. “The way you go around here without a bit of clothing, I thought the weather never bothered you.”

  Morrigu pushed herself up like a cat, crouching on all fours, and leveled her gaze at Eugis. “What do you know of it?” she hissed. “I am whatever I choose to be and at this moment, I choose to enjoy the warmth of the fire.”

  Eugis raised his eyebrows but kept his thoughts to himself.

  Morrigu rose slowly into a long, languid stretch. She shook her head and her black hair slowly lengthened and swept around her body in long tendrils, forming a cloak. “As for Jorvik, I do not suggest you chase him down.” Her smile dripped with sweetness. “Unless, of course, you seek to end your life now.”

  Eugis grunted. “Very odd sense of humor you have.”

  She smiled wider, displaying an even row of sharp white teeth. “It is one of my assets, don’t you think?”

  He turned away from her gaze. She was playing with him and it wasn’t sitting well this morning, this talk of death. Did she know something he didn’t? Idiot. Of course, she does. She is a goddess, after all.

  Eugis looked back at Morrigu and found her now lying down beside him. Oh, she was ripe for the picking all right. Tightness grabbed his belly and worked its way down to his loins. He savored the pressure of his growing erection, the thought of forcing her legs apart and plundering her wet prize.

  Morrigu glanced at his crotch. “I see I’ve distracted you from the matters at hand.”

  Eugis leaned down on one elbow. “You are a distraction unto yourself, goddess.” He ran his hand lightly over her belly. “Tell me, did Jorvik realize his task? Does he possess Maere? Or is she still with Dylan? What should I do?”

  “Am I now a fortune teller?” She brushed his hand away. “Have you debased my station so?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Eugis protested. “I only seek your counsel. Does he have my niece?” Morrigu didn’t respond. He stared at her, but her face was completely void of any thought or emotion.

  Yes. Morrigu definitely knows something. “You say the Vikings have turned from here. I will venture to guess they do not have Maere then, that Dylan still has her.” He watched the goddess, but her expression gave no clue as to whether he was on the right track. “I’ll send two men to intercept them and bring her to me. Is that what you would have me do?”

  Morrigu raised her arms and stretched. She quietly said, “Do not push me too far, man. There are things you must discover on your own.”

  Chapter 26

  “Where is my father?” Jorvik demanded as he rode into his people’s camp. He swung a leg over his horse and dismounted in one quick motion, moving so fast Maere fell forward on the horse’s neck. She grabbed a handful of mane before sliding off sideways. She steadied herself and found she was alone except for the one called Grimnir standing nearby.

  A man walked past—looking her over—his disdain obvious. Maere pulled her cloak tighter around her as another man ventured near. This one stopped for a moment, grinned slyly, and moved on when Grimnir gave him a playful shove.

  “Jorvik’s done well this time, eh?” The men shared a laugh.

  Maere moved sideways along the horse
, away from the pair who spoke a language she didn’t understand. Every so often they would gesture toward her. Nervous, she fidgeted with the ties of her wrap and forced her attention away from the men. A colorfully dressed woman came near, her arm outstretched, offering a cup. Maere smiled gratefully as she accepted the water and drank it down. The women were about the same age, but the Viking was taller and wore her hair in many braids tied with copper ornaments. Maere gestured toward the shiny discs. “Beautiful,” she said with a smile.

  The Northwoman touched her hair quizzically for a moment, then nodded in understanding. She removed one of the ties and handed it to Maere. “Are you certain?” Maere asked. The woman continued to hold the item out. Maere took it, turning it over in her hand. The warm copper glowed with the morning sun. She bowed her head in thanks as the woman walked away.

  Maere watched as she entered a long wood structure covered with thatch, one of many in the camp. Blankets, serving as doors, were pulled back, allowing a view inside. A small cook fire smoldered in the center of the building. Off to one side were two or three cots, on the other, a loom and stacks of wooden bowls and utensils. Not so different from us. But if that were true, if they were so similar, why so much fighting and distrust? Why did these Vikings insist on overrunning their lands and taking from them what they so obviously already possessed? Perhaps it wasn’t about things as much as it was about the land?

  “Come,” Grimnir said, startling her out of thoughts. When Maere didn’t immediately respond, he grabbed her arm and dragged her along behind him.

  Jorvik was at the center of the camp and his people were gathering about him. There was something in their demeanor, she sensed. Fear? Of Jorvik? She couldn’t be certain, but they were definitely holding something back from him.

  “Where is my father?” Jorvik asked the crowd. There were no answers, only silent stares and heartfelt expressions of grief. He stopped and scanned their faces, one by one, each man, woman, and child.

  A gray-haired woman cried, dabbing at her eyes with a thin, supple scrap of suede. Jorvik approached her. Taking one gnarled hand into his own strong one, he knelt before her on one knee. “Tell me, Ragna, wise elder. Are my fears founded?”

  The old woman stared into Jorvik’s eyes for a moment, then turned her head in the direction of the rocky bank. Jorvik looked down, fighting to steady his emotions as he followed Ragna’s gaze. Slowly, he rose and began walking toward the water. Toward where the lifeless body of his father now rested.

  Those who weren’t following Jorvik quickly surrounded Maere. Hands reached out—seemingly bodiless—there were so many. Touching her all over—her hair, her arms, the green wedding tunic she still wore.

  One burly man dared touch the freckled skin of her fair face. Maere jerked her head this way and that. Still, the hands reached for her. “Make them stop, Grimnir.” She received no response. “Please.”

  Grimnir stood for a moment before stepping between his charge the burly man. “Oluf leave her be or you will have to answer to Jorvik.”

  “The great Jorvik,” Oluf said with a sneer. “You’re like a little boy hiding behind his skirts.”

  “I do not hide,” Grimnir said calmly, his eyes narrowed on the burly warrior. “He is my leader and therefore I respect his wishes. This girl is not to be harmed in any way.”

  Oluf grunted and cast one more glance back at Maere, then stalked off. Grimnir said something in their native tongue to the other villagers, an order by the sound of it. They turned and filed away, until only a small child remained, a girl with blonde braids and a red woolen apron. Grimnir proceeded to unpack the horses, keeping a watchful eye on Maere and the child.

  Maere smiled at the girl and crouched down. She held out her hand, palm up, in greeting. The girl looked from the hand to Maere’s face and back to her hand. She smiled back, dug in her apron pocket, and pulled out a small flat stone with a hole in the center and placed it on Maere’s palm. Maere gasped and dropped it like a burning coal. Another cursed charm!

  “No. I don’t want it.” Maere shook her head.

  The girl’s smile faded as she picked up the stone.

  A vague vision flitted from the edges of her memory of another little girl with a similar stone, giggling with pleasure at the magical world she saw through the hole in its center.

  “I’m sorry,” Maere said, reaching for the little girl’s hand. “My name is Maere. What is your name?”

  “They call me, Sassa.”

  “Sassa. What a lovely name. What does it mean?”

  “Divine beauty.”

  “Well, you certainly do resemble an angel,” Maere said.

  “What’s an angel?” Sassa asked, plopping down next to Maere.

  “Angels are lovely spirits who live with God in Heaven. Sometimes, he sends them out to deliver important messages to us.”

  “Oh, that sounds like a very important duty.” Sassa tapped her chin. “It’s like when grandma Ragna asks me to go to tell grandpa Ingar he is snoring too loud.”

  Maere burst out laughing and Sassa giggled too, clapping as she did so. The stone fell from her little hands to the ground.

  “It is a very nice stone,” Maere said softly. She picked up the stone and held it out to Sassa.

  “You can have it. I have another one.”

  “Thank you,” Maere whispered closing her hand around the stone.

  Sassa crooked her finger to Maere to lean closer. “Want to know a secret?”

  Maere smiled at the twinkle in Sassa’s eyes. “Yes, I love secrets.”

  “The stone is magical. It was given to me by a fairy princess. She looked just like you. With hair like fire and sun kisses on her nose.”

  “What are sun kisses?”

  “When the sunshine kisses you it leaves a mark on your skin.” The girl touched Maere’s freckles. “You’ve been kissed so many times the sun must love you the most.”

  “I am fortunate, indeed, to be so loved,” Maere said.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Ragna called out to the girl.

  Sassa sighed. “Grandma is calling me to supper.”

  “Well, you must go, you need to eat to grow up strong.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to grow up.”

  Maere smiled, thinking the girl was playing again. She kissed the tip of Sassa’s nose. “Thank you for passing the time with me and for my lovely gift.”

  Sassa touched her nose. “Maybe I’ll get a sunshine kiss too.”

  “Maybe.”

  The little girl skipped away.

  A shout rang out in the distance. Others were heading toward the water’s edge. “What’s going on?” Maere asked Griminir, who’d just returned from setting up Jorvik’s tent.

  Grimnir grunted. “It’s not your concern.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing you need to know,” he said. “You will attend with me and keep your mouth closed.” He grabbed her arm again and started walking in the direction of the others. This time, Maere stood her ground, refusing to move. Grimnir turned around, his eyes narrowed.

  “Remove your hand from me,” she ordered.

  “I will not.” He gave her a tug, fury twisting his face. “I won’t be punished for you running off again.”

  “Sir, my arm is sore and bruised. And I am too tired to run away,” she said. When he didn’t loosen his grip, Maere continued, “I swear by all that is holy I will not run off.”

  “What you and I consider holy are two very different things.”

  Maere raised her chin. “What does it matter? If it is holy to me, then I will not lie against it.”

  Grimnir studied her for a moment, then let go of her arm. “If you turn out to be Loki in women’s clothing, I will hunt you down and kill you. Do you understand?”

  She glared at him, then walked toward the crowd. Grimnir fo
llowed a few steps behind. “You think you could catch me only because your leader did before. I would not be so foolish again,” she called over her shoulder. “I would take a moment beforehand and dream you gone from here.”

  “Witch,” he muttered.

  Maere fought to keep back a smile, lest he see it and grab her again.

  As they reached the gathering, she spotted Jorvik at the center and made her way to him. He stood quietly over a neat rectangular pile of sticks and branches, surrounded by large stones.

  In the middle of the formation, on a berth made of wood, lay the body of an old man. Dressed in brown and white furs, a bronze helmet on his head and a silver hilted sword clasped in his hands, Maere thought he looked ready to rise at any moment to do battle.

  Jorvik met Maere’s eyes, his glistening with unshed tears. “Go away from me. You have no place here.”

  Her gaze swept over the dead man and returned to Jorvik. The resemblance was very close. “This is your father,” she said softly. “This is why you needed to return so quickly. Because you heard he had died.”

  “I needed to come back quickly to prevent his death, not witness it.” He turned away and whispered, “I know this is your work, Morrigu.” Then Jorvik pulled his dagger from its sheath and sliced his palm. He held his fist high in the air, blood dripping freely onto his father’s funeral pyre. “The wind will carry the message of my Valkyrie soul, my song of battle, to you.” He unclenched his fist and held his hand open to the sky. “I will seek you out, Goddess. It is not over between us. If I have to die in the process, I will avenge my father.”

  Chapter 27

  The moon rose slowly, its face embraced like a lover by streaky clouds tinged with orange. Dylan threw another log on the glowing embers that remained from the fire he’d made earlier in the afternoon. If it were up to him, they’d still be on the trail. They were so close to finding Maere. He felt her presence as a tangible thing deep in his soul. He saw her fair face and her wild hair flying about her. He saw the agony in her eyes as she struggled to remember anything of her past life, unsure if she should trust the stories he’d told her.