The Black Witch (Isolde Saga Book 1)

by Robert Jones

  "That's no way to speak to an old friend now is it?" he calmly repeated.

  "I could have killed you, Skaldi," she said in shock, but all he did was laugh and wrap his arms around her. She fell deep into his embrace and for the first time in years, she felt a warmth she had forgotten she missed.

  "I wasn't talking about me, Isolde," he said, refusing to let her go. "I meant that if I were Harald than that would be no way to speak."

  Isolde broke his embrace and looked up at the old man, her face full of sorrow.

  "You don't know, Skaldi. Things have changed," she said.

  "Things always change, Isolde," he smiled. "Just don't forget that you are changing too. Don't be so harsh to those that love you. Harald is a good man."

  Isolde sighed and changed the subject, "so where have you been? What news have you brought with you?"

  "Everywhere Isolde, but mostly in the south, there's trouble abroad," Skaldi said. "But nothing is of more interest to me now than all this change that you have mentioned. Do tell an old man what is going on."

  The two returned to the stone circle and sat down against the ancient monuments. The rising moon shone down on them through the clearing of trees and filled the hilltop with silvery light that glimmered off the standing stones. Isolde paused for a moment to think her words through.

  "Well," she began. "It's been a while since you've been around. Do you know about Hrothgar?"

  "Hrothgar?" Skaldi murmured. "The High-King may have escaped my councils but not my attention. What is bothering you about him?"

  "Skaldi!" Isolde snapped. "Don't act a fool, I know you know. Hrothgar took the north like lightning in the sky, now he's trying to take the south. He had men at our gates last night!"

  "Did he now?"

  "Yes, he did."

  "And what came of it, Isolde?"

  She paused for a moment.

  "Nothing, I guess," she said. "They wanted grain, a payment... no, a tribute they said. But father refused and they left."

  Skaldi smiled. "That doesn't sound like too much trouble if you ask me."

  "But they'll be back," her voice quickened, "and how are we suppose to defend ourselves?"

  "So you think your father made the wrong decision?" Skaldi asked, his eyes sparkling as they fixated over Isolde.

  "I think we need to do something!" she said.

  "And what would you do if you were Jarl, Isolde?"

  "I would... I would..." Isolde stammered for an answer. "I don't know."

  "Well think about it. You are a woman now and the blood of a mighty shield-maiden courses through your veins. What would you do? Your words are as powerful as any now, choose them wisely."

  Isolde had no answer for the old man. She sat in contemplation and Skaldi watched her. Her face strained as she gazed into the distant space of thought, she was trying to conjure a solution, yet nothing would come and she surrendered in frustration.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Far better to admit it than say you have an answer when none is present," he said. "Well, what are the choices? Would you have killed the men that came?"

  "No..." she slowly conceded. "No, that would send a message of war and we can't hold out against Hrothgar and the men of Ravenscar."

  "Would you have paid the grain and bought your safety?"

  "Never!" she snapped. "I'd rather die than live like a slave! And if we had paid him, why would he not come back to demand more?"

  "Would you if you were him?"

  "I am not him, Skaldi, and I would not. But he would do it, I think."

  "I think he would too," Skaldi said, smiling at Isolde's answers. "So we cannot kill them because they would kill us, and we cannot pay them or they will starve us. Could we refuse the payment and send them home?"

  "I don't know... if they return then we are in the same situation, right?"

  "Yes, if they return," he stressed. "But they may not. Hrothgar knows you sit on the border. Your freedom is not only won by blood but by geography, you are a small town on the edge of many kingdoms, he may not return because the reward is not worth the risk."

  "But he may still return."

  "He may. We cannot discount it. Yet fate may surprise us all and anything could happen between now and then. Who can say?"

  "Then what is the right answer, Skaldi?" Isolde snapped in sudden frustration. "How do we know what to do?"

  Skaldi laughed at the outburst and his eyes lightened with joy.

  "My dear, Isolde," he started. "So much like your mother. Do you not understand that there is no right answer? You just have to decide what is for the best at the time, and sometimes that is only a choice between the lesser of evils. Imagine your father, the Jarl, set upon by thugs at the gate, he had to make this decision on the spot. Do you still think he made the wrong one? Perhaps not the right one, but maybe that choice wasn't an option. If his decision did nothing more, then it has at least bought you all a little more time."

  Isolde looked at Skaldi through squinted eyes. She knew he had tricked her, but he was right and she hated it.

  "You treat me like a child," she muttered, but this troubled Skaldi. His face changed slightly, his smile faded and his eyes darkened a little. He shifted himself on the floor and looked back at Isolde.

  "I treat you the same way in which I treat everyone, Isolde. It is your choice how you react to our conversation and if that makes you feel like a child then it is no fault of mine."

  "It doesn't surprise me," she said, dismissing his words. "Nobody respects me as a woman, let alone the daughter of a Jarl."

  "Maybe you should act in a more respectable way?"

  "Well maybe if people respected me, then I could act respectable," she snapped.

  "Which comes first, Isolde?" he asked. "It is the opinion of many that the hero must prove himself before being called such. Is it not true for all things?"

  Isolde didn't answer him.

  Skaldi continued, "I heard about your little display last night."

  This caught Isolde off guard. Her cheeks reddened.

  "I could have killed him," she said under her breath.

  "Don't be a fool, Isolde!" Skaldi snapped with an immediacy that shocked her back into the conversation. "Wulfric could have crushed your skull in the palm of his hand if he had chosen to. I have spoken with you for but half an hour now and the energy it has taken to endure your attitude has all but spent me. I have retired from days of hard-fought battle more refreshed than I feel now. If you want to prove yourself so badly then I will give you the opportunity!"

  Isolde sat with her mouth aghast. She had never heard Skaldi speak so brazenly, nor been spoken to so honestly in all her seventeen years. With the ending of his sentence, the old man stood up and fixed his gaze again on the girl. With eyes cast downward, Isolde stood up.

  "I am sorry," she said. "I just want to be seen as an equal."

  "You want more than that," he said. "And you will get what you desire, but do not blame me when you later wish for a happy life of anonymity."

  Isolde was puzzled by the statement but had had enough of lectures.

  "Skaldi," she said. "Before you snuck up on me, something was in the woods."

  Skaldi raised an eyebrow, "go on.."

  "I don't know, something was following me I think. I heard laughter shifting through the wind, voices maybe. I swear a stream of light danced just out the corner of my eye. But when I tried to find it there was nothing there except you."

  "Well, it wasn't me," he frowned and began to murmur to himself. "Light might be the children of the woods maybe, no, too far north I think, the Sidhe perhaps, but unlikely in this age..."

  "Oh," she cut in excitedly. "The animals are gone. Listen there are none around us."

  He looked up at Isolde perplexed at what she said.

  "Well," he said. "Now that is something. How did you feel when all this happened?"

  "I was scared, Skaldi, but I was alone at night in the woods."

&nbs
p; "But you felt happy before?"

  "I felt relieved to be on my own."

  "And now?"

  "I feel tense, safe with you I guess, but it's like I can feel eyes on me."

  "So do I," he murmured, peering over his shoulder.

  "I think it may be time for us to head home, Isolde."

  As he said this and turned to leave, the wind picked up. It pushed against their backs and sent their hair forward. The distant laughter floated on the wind. Skaldi turned and grabbed Isolde by the arm, pulling her in.

  "Come now, Isolde, stay close."

  He powered forward but she noticed that he made a point of not running and of keeping himself tall. Without warning, the wind abruptly changed and forced itself against their stride. Isolde's hair flew back with the wind stinging her face. The sound of laughter engulfed them in a cacophony of voices. Some high like children, others low and menacing, all laughing, cackling and hissing. Skaldi gripped her hand like a vice and forced her onward, but each step forward was like fighting a raging sea. Her face and hands stung in the cold. The gusts became so fierce that she could barely open her eyes and the air around them was so chaotic that their senses were close to being overwhelmed. She felt her head begin to daze this way and that and her sight waning in and out of focus, only being brought back by the tight grip of Skaldi and the odd jolt he sent through her arm as he dragged her along. Her head was going light and she tried to grip his hand tight but her eyes were slipping in and out of darkness. Suddenly, the wind came to a halt. Without its resistance to hold her up, Isolde stumbled forward into Skaldi and the two tumbled down. She hit the ground hard and rolled, they hadn't realised how close to the edge of the hill they had come, and now without the strength to stop she tumbled round and round, down the slope. Every tree found her, their ragged roots flying out to strike at her body, rocky outcrops tore at her clothes and dead branches speared out like the vengeful spirits of fallen warriors. When she finally found the foot of the hill, she lay dead to the world, sprawled out bruised and beaten. Her head still spinning but the night was calm and silent.

  "Isolde..." Skaldi called out from the darkness, "Isolde?..."

  Moaning in pain, she was hardly able to move and Skaldi almost tripped over her battered body in the dark.

  "Come, my girl," he said, reaching down to help her up, "we must get back right now."

  His voice was fast, Isolde had never seen the old man so startled. He got her back on her feet and quickly led her on. Without the unrelenting wind holding them back, they found themselves quickly passing trees and outcrops and before long the end of the forest was within sight. The great trees at the wood's edge groaned and swayed as they passed into the free air of the fields. They seemed like great watchmen glad to be rid of the intruders. Skaldi led her along the river toward the village gates with the same haste he had in the woods.

  "I must see the Jarl," he said with a wild spark in his eyes, "you need to pack for travel. Meet me in my quarters as soon as you can."

  With this, he stopped and gripped Isolde's shoulder,

  "We do not have time anymore, Isolde," he said looking into her eyes with the seriousness of a parent, "come at once!"

  CHAPTER VIII

  It was the middle of the night when Isolde came to Skaldi's cabin and quietly knocked three times. The town was alive with people still in the street and questions were on everyone's lips. Where did that wind come from? Why has Skaldi arrived so late and in such a rush? What had happened to Isolde?

  Faced with a solid oak door, Isolde waited for Skaldi. The bitter night air stung her face and she wondered if she had brought enough clothing to keep her warm. It was quiet with only a light wind carrying the chorus of chirping crickets. It seemed an eternity before Skaldi opened his door. He was hunched over under the doorway and held his finger to his lips before allowing her in. It was only a small house which housed a wooden door leading into a single room with a low wooden bed, a few heavy oak chests, two shuttered windows, all surrounding a central hearth which cast deep shadows as it slowly died out.

  "Have a sit on that chest there, Isolde," Skaldi said as he pulled back his hood and stretched his neck. She brushed off some dust and cobwebs from the aged oak box and sat down.

  "I am sorry for the mess," he laughed, reaching for the tongs to bring the smouldering embers back to life and add a little light to the room. "I have only just got back from seeing your father, and he did not like what I had to say."

  Isolde leant forward, her hands held together between her knees as she gave the old man her full attention.

  "I do not know what attacked us, Isolde," he continued. "But I heard the voices and I fear the message."

  Isolde frowned. "I don't understand."

  "There were voices in the air, Isolde. Dark voices."

  "What did they say?" she said as her heart quickened its rhythm.

  "Only one word..." he whispered, "...Isolde..."

  Her eyes widened.

  "They were calling you," his voice hissed in a whisper.

  "I... I... don't understand," she stuttered, not daring to mention the shadow she had seen. "Who is calling me?"

  "I do not wish to hazard a guess, not yet, but your friend Harald swears it was the elves and he may not be far from the truth."

  Isolde laughed nervously.

  "Don't laugh, Isolde. He may well be right. In any case, the time has come. I have made a decision to give you a choice. What you do with it is up to you." He paused to let the words sink in. "Open up that chest you're sitting on. I have something of yours."

  She stood up slowly, watching the old man with doubt. The chest was stiff but opened with little effort, its hinges creaking with age. It was too dark to see clearly, but she reached in and felt soft cloth covering something hard and heavy. She lifted it up and in the light of the fire could see it was long, but the old rags were folded around with care and bound with twine.

  "Open it," he said, leaning forward in excitement, his eyes bright as he watched her every move.

  She untied the cord, and slowly unwound the cloth until the shimmer of steel sparkled in the dancing light. The rags fell to the floor and she gasped. She held before her a broadsword of fine craftsmanship. Its edge was razor sharp and the blade's length was engraved with ancient runes running down to its hilt. The guard was short and melded into a handle bound with dark leather which itself flowed into a heavy round pommel that encased a crystal of fiery red. She was speechless, her eyes fixated on the runes that she could not read, and her fingers began to trace the markings.

  "In God's Hands," Skaldi said. "That is what it reads."

  She looked up at him slowly, a single tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  "Skaldi, thank you. Thank you so much."

  "It was your mother's idea," he said, trying to stifle his own tears. "She said that all mothers were God because they bore life."

  He stood up and took Isolde in a warm embrace by the fireside. He held her for a long time, both sobbing in silence.

  "She was a great woman, Isolde. She would have loved you. She wanted you to have her sword. It was her final wish for me to keep it, you know. To keep it safe until you were ready to face your own destiny."

  Isolde held Skaldi. She could find no words as her heart was mingled with both joy and sorrow. As Isolde fought back tears she found her eyes drawn into the deep crimson crystal. It seemed alive as deep dark swirls like a whirlpool twisted and writhed within its body.

  "The dragon's eye," said Skaldi, following her fascinated glance. "It is the one your mother ripped out."

  Isolde gasped in awe as she looked at the jewel set within the hilt of the sword.

  "She swore it showed her things," he said, "and I have heard tales, but never has an eye opened up to me."

  Isolde looked up at him, her eyes wide in amazement.

  "In the old days," he continued, "the lore masters used to say 'Temper a lie with dragon's fire and the blind will see with burning eye
s.' But I always thought that you could see just fine with your own two eyes."

  Skaldi chuckled at his own words but Isolde's eyes were entranced on the deep swirling in the crystal. It drew her in strangely as though it watched her.

  "Anyway," Skaldi said, sitting back down on his bed and gaining Isolde's attention once more. "The hour grows late and we must talk. You are going to take up this sword and seek out Orlog. It is what I have decided."

  Isolde burst out a laugh, her eyes wet again.

  "So you have spoken to my father?" she asked. "Skaldi, I do not know how to thank you."

  But Skaldi was not smiling. His face had returned to a grim countenance.

  "Your father does not want you to go, Isolde. I said that I had decided, and he trusts my decisions, but only so far. The decision on what you do is yours alone. You wanted to be a woman. To be respected. Well, now you must make a choice and live with the consequences."

  "He'll kill us," she said.

  Skaldi smiled grimly

  "He cannot shelter you forever. Your name is on the wind and it seems you have a destiny to fulfil. And Isolde," his dark eyes bore into her, "if the Black Witch does catch you, she will have you begging for death before she is done."

  ***

  Isolde and Skaldi left the town as quiet as a mouse with the full moon and twinkling stars high above them on the clear autumn night. He led her north up the cleared hills toward the southern border of the Watcher's Wood. She followed in silence listening to the nocturnal world as it chirped and squawked and howled, each sound stronger than the last until the very breeze felt as though it was alive itself.