Magick (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 2)

by Heather McCollum

  “You’ll die for touching me, you whore!” Dalla screamed as Merewin dragged the kicking, cursing girl toward the stream.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Merewin watched Vivien smack a horse on the rump, sending the beast flying with little Diarf on it toward Ribe. But she didn’t have time to think, to consider, she only had now, and this fighting she-cat in her grasp. All the anger of being captured, the constant fight to control her temper, the anxiety of trying to make friends and peace here in Denmark—it all rolled through giving her extraordinary strength to haul Dalla to the water’s edge.

  Dalla’s foot kicked Merewin’s shin, tripping her, but Merewin refused to release her hold. She’d rip the hair from Dalla’s scalp rather than release it. They both tumbled into a calm eddy of the deep stream. Frantic, wild splashing made Merewin wonder if Hauk had ever taught his daughter how to swim. Icy blades of mountain water stung every part of Merewin’s hot body as her feet found the bottom and propelled them both up. She hefted a spitting and gasping Dalla onto the bank, pinning her with her arms against her sides to the ground with her weight and thighs.

  “Let go of me!” Dalla’s pale lips grayed toward blue over chattering teeth.

  Merewin wasn’t about to give into any more demands. “How dare ye sneak into my room.”

  Dalla wiggled beneath Merewin, freeing a hand. The girl brought it up and Merewin tried not to flinch, waiting for an assault. Instead, Dalla held a leather cord in her fingers, held it out over the water. Merewin’s jade stone dangled on the end.

  “Let me go or I’ll throw it.”

  Merewin’s hand went to her throat but she knew it would be bare. Dalla had cut her mother’s necklace off while she slept. Merewin remembered the feel of the blade against her neck. A chill squeezed through Merewin, a chill deep inside where the cold hadn’t penetrated yet.

  “Doona throw it, Dalla!” Her words tripped over themselves as she pieced together the Danish translation. Her mother’s stone, the only part of her mother she had left.

  Dalla’s hand moved so swiftly, there was no way to catch it as she tossed the cord and pendant behind her head into the deep stream.

  Merewin’s heart flew upward into her throat, trying to chase it. Tears ached behind her eyes, as she watched the spot where the stone entered. Would she be able to find it? Merewin’s gaze moved back to Dalla who stared upward, head laid back at the edge of the water. Merewin moved over her.

  “Ye little bitch,” Merewin whispered. “How dare ye take what is mine, take what I love.” The girl stared back, brave, defiant. “Ye have no idea what I’m going through. I’m fighting for my life,” Merewin said in disjointed Danish. For the first time Merewin noticed tears swelling Dalla’s blue eyes. Merewin glanced away at the blue sky reflected in the calmed water of the eddy. Her own reflection stared back on the surface.

  Merewin’s wet hair lay flat and tangled against her head. Her gaze looked back wide with anger, fright, and sorrow. Her lips, open to suck in air that she hadn’t been able to fully breathe since being captured, trembled. “I’m fighting for my bloody life,” Merewin said again and looked back at Dalla beneath.

  Dalla stared back, hair flat and tangled against her head, her eyes wide with anger and fear and sorrow, her lips blue and trembling. Merewin studied the girl, so very much like her own reflection in the water. She looked between the two.

  How long it took for Merewin to comprehend what she saw, she didn’t know. Was it an instant or a full minute? Time moved at the pace of her pounding heart. The realization ripped through Merewin. It made the tears roll out and her body go weak.

  This ten-year-old girl was fighting for life, just as Merewin was. We are the same.

  Merewin rolled off Dalla onto her back, her body against the girl’s. They lay there, breathing hard, their breaths coming out in little puffs of white mist. Merewin spoke into the blue above them. “Ye’re fighting for yer life too, aren’t ye?”

  Dalla didn’t answer. Merewin turned her head to see Dalla’s profile as the girl stared up at the heatless sun. Tears coursed down the side of her face. This girl had lost everyone she loved too, including her own mother. Just like Merewin. Dalla fought to keep her father, keep him from death or from another woman. Dalla fought for life, the life she once remembered. She fought the only way she knew how.

  Chills from the frozen wind racked Merewin. She forced her water-laden body up and grabbed Dalla’s stiff hands. “Let’s get us inside to the fire before we freeze to the ground.” Dalla, the fight gone out of her, didn’t resist as Merewin half carried her trembling form into the house.

  ****

  Merewin rested on the small ledge that was her bed. The press of complete darkness made it difficult to discern if her eyes were open or not. Silently she moved a hand around in search of Bela. Out again, hunting. Bela hunted at night and slept all day.

  Merewin stilled, breathing even, listening. What had woken her? A quick intake of breath caught on a sob somewhere in the house. It was muted and distant, but Merewin could tell it came from Dalla. She propped up on an elbow, straining to listen.

  Hauk’s daughter hadn’t spoken to her in two days, not since the stream. Merewin fingered her sheared hair. Bera had ridden to Spring House later that day to even out the mess Dalla had made with the knife. Merewin’s hair fell to just below her shoulders and had much more curl and life in it without the tremendous weight. Merewin shook her head to feel the ends slide across her upper back. Liberating, she thought, as she ran fingers through the mass. What would Hauk think?

  Another sob cut through the night and Merewin stilled. She pushed legs over the side of the platform, slipping feet into leather shoes before wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. One hand brandished before her to stop her from hitting the wall, Merewin stepped through the curtain. The coals left from the fire gave enough illumination to show Merewin the curtained entrance to what had once been Hauk’s parents’ part of the house, now occupied by Dalla.

  Merewin crept closer. Uneven breathing punctuated by short, stabbing gasps of air. Merewin moved through the curtain into the large room. Coals of a small fire near the far wall lit the sparsely furnished area. Several narrow ledges stuck out from the walls and a lump on one of them shook. Merewin walked silently over to Dalla.

  As Merewin neared, Dalla rolled over. Her eyes, wide and terrified, froze on Merewin. “Mama?” she said.

  “Nay, Dalla, it’s me, Merewin. Are ye ill?”

  Dalla’s eyes remained wide and wet with tears. She started to cry again. Merewin tried to sit on the edge of the pallet that was as small as her own. She ended up just leaning against it. Merewin smoothed Dalla’s hair back from her face. “What is it?”

  A fresh bout of sobbing crested over Dalla like a heavy wave slamming down on the child. “It’s just a dream.”

  “A dream?”

  “Aye, I have it,” she hiccoughed. “I have it a lot.”

  “Tell me.” Merewin continued to stroke Dalla’s hair.

  “It’s my mother. She’s calling for me, but I can’t reach her. I’m almost there when she just disappears.” Dalla’s words slurred into sobs again. “...never see her again.” The girl’s shoulders lay square and rigid against the pallet. She wiped the back of her sleeve against her nose. “It’s foolish, I know.”

  Merewin shook her head. “Not foolish, Dalla. I had similar dreams about my mother.”

  The sobs ebbed. “You did?”

  “Aye, for a long while, but they faded after some time.” Merewin’s nightmares about leaving her mother to die had haunted her through her childhood. Navlin helped as best she could, but it was something Merewin had to work through. She still had the occasional tragic dream.

  “Did your mother die, too?” Dalla’s little voice asked.

  “Aye, she did, when I was six years old.”

  “I was seven,” Dalla said, her voice growing in strength. “How did she die? Was she sick?”

  “Nay,” Merewin started
, but then stopped. No need to fill the girl’s head with new nightmares of demons. “T’was, a storm. She died in a storm, but she managed to get me away to safety first.”

  “You weren’t there when she died?” Dalla asked sitting up under the furs.

  “Nay,” Merewin said, her own voice solemn in the darkness. The fact that she had abandoned her mother to die twisted Merewin’s heart with guilt. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t had a choice, that it made her mother’s death worth something, that it would save the bloody world. Guilt’s poison still coated Merewin’s conscience. “Nay, she sent me away before it happened.”

  Dalla grabbed Merewin’s hand. “Me, too. Papa sent me away. I,” she sucked in a sob, “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” And with that, the sobs crashed once more as Merewin cradled the girl into her body and stroked the top of her head.

  Merewin rocked Dalla for a while in silence. When the girl’s cries continued, Merewin remembered a lullaby that Navlin had sung to her when she could not settle down.

  “Hush little child, blows the gentle North wind.

  Sleep little babe, calls the eastern sea.

  Quiet now my love under the twinkling stars.

  Rest now knowing that you have me.”

  Merewin sang through another verse before coming back to the refrain. Dalla quieted enough to listen. The grip the girl had on Merewin’s hand relaxed as she lay back in her bed. Her erratic breathing evened out. It seemed she had fallen back to sleep and Merewin stood.

  “Don’t leave me, Merewin,” Dalla whispered in the hushed room. “Sleep next to me.”

  Merewin surveyed the small ledge. She noticed that none of the other ledges were made up for sleeping. “There isn’t room, Dalla.”

  Dalla sat up in her bed, swinging her legs over. “Papa’s bed is huge. He wouldn’t let them bury it with Mama like they did with all her other things.”

  “Hauk’s bed? Ye want us to sleep in Hauk’s bed?” Merewin asked, as a cool draft filtered up under her nightdress.

  Dalla hopped out of bed and tugged Merewin through the quiet house. Dalla grabbed a taper, lit it and headed into Hauk’s private territory.

  The circle of light bit into the dense darkness that filled the room. Even though Dalla was the one to lead Merewin deeper, somehow Merewin felt like she trespassed. Hauk hadn’t invited her into his room. Perhaps he didn’t want her here.

  “Dalla, are ye sure yer father will not mind us being in here?”

  Dalla shrugged her shoulders. “He’s not here to mind, is he?” she answered, with more than a hint of sarcasm. Dalla trailed her to the side of the enormous log hewn bed. Merewin swallowed hard as she surveyed the massive construction, so much like its owner. She glanced around the rest of the room, as far as the circle of light allowed. The large expanse stood nearly empty. Two chests and a small table flanked one side of the bed.

  Dalla placed the taper in a holder on the table and crawled up onto the high pallet. She burrowed under the heavy pelts. “Come, Merewin, help me warm the bed up.”

  Merewin pulled back the furs and woolen bedding and climbed in. She sank down into the soft down. Not what she had expected from the hardened warrior she’d met. “My, it’s quite soft.” She scooted close to Dalla. She rolled this way and that, floundering in the sinking tick. “I’m surprised,” she snorted, at last finding a comfortable spot, “that someone as,” she thought for an appropriate word, “hardened as yer father would sleep in such a soft bed.”

  “He says he likes it soft when he’s home, reminds him that he’s not sleeping on the hard deck of a ship.” The girl looked swallowed up in the furs and darkness. Only her little head peeked out. “But you should know about Papa’s bed since you shared it with him before he left.” Dalla watched her closely.

  Merewin shook her head slowly against the down filled head rolls. “Nay, I have not been to yer father’s bed, Dalla.”

  “But Svala said...”

  “Svala says a lot that is untrue, I’m discovering.” Merewin’s calm belied the anger Dalla’s words had sparked. That Svala was telling Hauk’s young daughter that she had been sleeping with him, just confirmed that the woman was cruel. Although, had they not been interrupted with Ivarr’s near death that night three weeks ago, she may very well be familiar with Hauk’s bed. But it was not something a child should worry about.

  Merewin smiled timidly at Dalla. “Time for sleep, then.” The chill under the covers had lessened to a mild warmth as they moved their legs back and forth.

  Dalla frowned. “What if the nightmare returns?”

  Merewin moved closer, right up against Dalla. “I’ll be here to wake ye. Now sleep.”

  “Will you sing to me again? My mother used to sing to me.”

  Merewin nodded and began the familiar words, soothing yet sad, at the same time. She tried not to let the tears fall. Just as she thought Dalla had fallen to sleep, the girl turned, her back toward Merewin. Half asleep, words came softly. “I’m sorry I cut your hair.”

  Merewin continued to sing softly. She stroked Dalla’s curls until she was sure the girl was asleep. Sitting there in the darkness, Merewin had the ironic feeling that she stared at her own back sleeping, as a child of ten, listening to Navlin’s voice. The sweet woman had raised Merewin as her own, stroked her hair, and guarded her against the nightmares of demons and death.

  As Dalla’s breath evened out, Merewin sunk back at once into the feather tick. Was it her imagination, or did she smell the faint scent of fresh soap, leather, and man. As she drifted into sleep, held securely in furs, surrounded by the warrior’s unique smell, Merewin knew her own dreams would involve the Viking warrior who liked to sleep on a bed as soft as a cloud.

  ****

  Hauk stared up at the familiar stars as he lay on the hard deck of the longship. He shifted, trying to find the most comfortable spot. The wind filled the double sails, so most of the crew had taken the opportunity to rest while the tillerman kept the course based on the stars. Clear skies and a strong wind from the west sped them toward Denmark, toward home.

  Let me get there in time. The image of Dalla holding a sharp knife against soft, pale skin played through his mind. An image of Merewin, angry and in tears. The words of the spirit woman, Drakkina haunted him.

  Magick, in him. He didn’t know which terrorized him more. The fact he may have a touch of magick or that he believed the magick of the woman and of the circle to which he’d been led. He believed it so strongly that he had ordered their departure that day. He hadn’t accepted magick since he’d ordered healers to cure his family. He’d invited magick into his house and it tortured those he loved until death had mercifully taken them to Asgard. And now he was putting his trust in it again.

  Hauk rolled his head to the side, the back of his skull grinding into the hard boards.

  Garrett’s new thrall sauntered along the boat, her robes whipping around her legs.

  Bjalki’s hand shot up to snake up her thigh. She pulled her robe close around her legs but smiled at him.

  Hauk rolled his head back so that he stared straight up at the inky, star-filled sky.

  Garrett would have to keep his thrall close else someone claim her. Perhaps Bjalki would take an interest in the Pict woman instead of Merewin. It would solve an immediate problem, yet Hauk still waited for the chance to accept Bjalki’s challenge. The man had insisted on returning with Hauk even though nearly half the men remained behind to further insure Danish rule.

  Hauk exhaled deeply into the clear sea air. Three full years it had been since the plague, and yet the words of a spirit woman had brought it all back to him as if it were yesterday. Time healed, time made one forget, he’d always believed that. Ignore it and it vanished, forgotten. Yet the pain of losing his son had crushed immediately, sickening his stomach, clasping at his chest, his heart.

  Was it the same with Dalla? Did the pain haunt her as viciously? His sweet daughter had indeed disappeared over the last three years, becoming cynica
l and openly angry and scornful. So if time didn’t heal his daughter, what would? Merewin? Did her magick stretch into the mind, into the nonphysical pain of grief?

  Hauk ran his hand through his hair. To ask Merewin would mean asking for magick, again. Nay, he wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it. “I don’t believe in magick,” Hauk murmured and closed his eyes. Life was easier that way, simple. If he trusted in magick, then he put his faith in hope. And if disaster struck anyway, he would relive the horror of three years ago. Nay, it was simpler to just not believe.

  Even as the denial faded in his mind and sleep overtook his tired body, Hauk’s subconscious conjured the spicy sweet scent and deep green eyes of magick.

  ****

  Merewin’s look snapped fire at the tall warrior standing stubbornly.

  “Gamal,” she said succinctly in his language. Without her necklace to aid in translation she had to concentrate more on the proper words to use. It probably made her sound more terse, but she didn’t care. “Dalla needs to go to Esberg.”

  “But her mother is dead.” Gamal shook his head, sending his shoulder length hair to slide against his broad shoulders. “She doesn’t need to see her.”

  “Aye, she does. She never had the opportunity to say goodbye.”

  “So she can say goodbye here at Spring House.”

  “But she’s not here.”

  “And she’s no longer in Esberg either, but gone to Asgard.”

  Merewin ground her foot into the frosty dirt to stop herself from stomping. “But her body is there, buried with all her mother’s things. And Dalla’s grandparents, Ingun’s parents must...”

  Gamal’s face hardened. “They have never wanted much to do with us, and I hear they moved on to Sjaelland several years ago.”