“Do not worry, Cousin. Aylaen will not carry out her promise,” Raegar said confidently. “Treia told me so herself. She’s spent two days talking to her sister, trying to dissuade her. Aylaen is headstrong and wild, but she’s not stupid.”
Skylan shook his head and went to angrily berate a young warrior who had stowed his sea chest in the wrong place.
The sun climbed above the horizon and teetered on the ocean’s flat surface like a bright coin. The ships should have set sail by now. If they didn’t get under way soon, they would lose the fullness of the tide. Skylan was about to send a messenger to fetch Treia, when the Bone Priestess appeared, walking along the dunes. Aylaen walked behind her.
The entire Torgun Clan had gathered along the shoreline to bid farewell to their warriors. The mood was festive, everyone laughing and cheerful, certain that bad times were coming to an end. When word was whispered about that the two sisters were coming, all talk and clamor ceased.
Treia walked in front. Most of her possessions were already on board. As was customary, Skylan had given the Bone Priestess the cabin belowdeck for her own personal use, and she had stowed away her clothes and other necessities. She brought with her a small rosewood box containing vials of potions, unguents, and ointments she would use for healing, since the goddess was no longer around to answer her prayers. The jars and vials rattled as she walked. She trod carefully, peering down with her weak eyes to see where she was putting her feet. She did not want to fall and break her precious cargo.
Aylaen came a few paces behind. She walked with her head high, her face flushed, partly embarrassed, wholly defiant. She stared straight out in front of her, pretending to ignore the staring eyes, the gasps, the pitying cries from the women, the growls of disapproval from the men.
Her red curls were gone. She was almost bald. Treia had hacked off Aylaen’s hair at the scalp line. Perhaps due to her poor eyesight, Treia had botched the job, leaving Aylaen with red tufts of hair sticking out of her head and bloody patches of skin.
Aylaen carried a shield that had belonged to her father, painted with his colors, blue and white. She carried her new sword.
She wore man’s clothes, and surprisingly, they suited her. Aylaen was tall as most men, though more slender. She had altered the garments to fit her, and she liked the freedom and the comfort they afforded her. She wore leather armor studded with iron that had been her father’s, and new boots, a gift from Treia.
At the sight of her daughter dressed like a man with no hair to speak of, Aylaen’s mother ran to her and grabbed hold of her, weeping and begging her to stay.
“Mother, you are shaming me!” Aylaen said angrily, trying vainly to free herself from her mother’s tearful pleas and clinging grasp.
Grim-faced, Treia walked back to deal with the situation. She said a few sharp words that left her mother pale and mute. Friends led the mother away with soothing words and irate glances for her two daughters.
“She is shamed! Hah!” Sigurd was on board the ship with the warriors. He glared at Aylaen, then turned his back and refused to look at her.
The entire village had been witness to his fury when word reached him of Aylaen’s decision. He had stormed off to Norgaard to protest, demanding that the Clan Chief put a stop to this fool notion.
Norgaard had gone so far as to try to speak to Treia, who coldly rebuffed him. Aylaen had been called by the goddess to undergo this ritual. The Kai Moot had sanctioned her decision, and no one, not even her stepfather, could argue against the will of Vindrash.
Norgaard leaned heavily on his crutch, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, and wondered how much the goddess had to do with Aylaen’s decision. Pain had not blurred his vision. Norgaard had been aware for a long time that Garn and Aylaen were lovers, and he wondered if it was Vindrash who had summoned Aylaen to war or her love for Garn.
And what would happen when Skylan found out, as he was sure to do on this voyage. Up until now, his own love had blinded him. Once he knew the truth, he would lose the two people he held most dear. Watching Aylaen walk in her man’s boots across the dunes, Norgaard asked Torval to guard these three young people, whom he dearly loved. Three he feared in his heart he would not see again.
Treia walked up the gangplank. Skylan welcomed her with solemn if somewhat rushed ceremony. No one noticed. Everyone was staring at Aylaen.
She walked up the gangplank, her shield slung over her shoulder. The plank was wet, with men tramping back and forth through the water, hauling sea chests, rope, barrels of pitch and ale, and sacks of food on board. Aylaen had gone about midway when her new boots slipped. Arms flailing wildly, she toppled over and fell into the water.
The crowd hooted and laughed. Aylaen sat up in the shallow water. She was drenched. Her face burned in embarrassment. She looked for a moment as if she were tempted to curl up in a ball and sob. Her lips tightened. She rubbed the water from her eyes and stood up. Water poured off her. She walked up the gangplank, her jaw clenched, her head high.
She stepped onto the deck. The men watched in silence, stern and disapproving. Aylaen gave them all a sweeping glance of defiance. She went over to the rack, where the other warriors had hung their shields. She placed her shield alongside Garn’s. She looked at him, gave him a small and tentative smile.
He lowered his eyes, shook his head, and turned away.
Skylan stared past her, out to sea, as he spoke. “I have ordered your sea chest stored below. You will sleep in the cabin with your sister.”
Aylaen’s eyes flashed. “I will sleep on the deck with the other warriors!”
Skylan fixed an exasperated gaze on her. “And will you also piss in the sea with the rest of the warriors?”
Aylaen flushed crimson; then she went fire white. Her emerald eyes sparked. “Yes, I will,” she said clearly, and she began to unlace her trousers. “In fact, I think I have to go right now. . . .”
Skylan grabbed hold of her hands, scandalized. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“I guess I must be,” she said tremulously.
She looked up at him. He looked at her, and suddenly they both began to laugh. Aylaen’s laughter was deep and rich; Skylan’s loud and boisterous. The laughter bound their wyrds together, closer than they had been in years.
“Welcome aboard, Warrior,” said Skylan. He bent close to her to whisper, “But, please, do not pee in public! Go below with your sister!”
“I promise,” said Aylaen, smiling. “But I will sleep on deck with the other warriors.”
“Have it your way,” said Skylan. He reached out his hand, gave her head a rub. “By Torval, you look like a badly shorn sheep!”
Skylan turned to face the men on the ship and the crowd on shore. He raised his hands to silence the laughter and the talk.
“Hear me!” he called out. “This woman, Aylaen Adalbrand, has been called by the Goddess Vindrash to become a Bone Priestess. The Kai have judged she shall undergo the ritual known as the Man-Woman. Aylaen’s journey is a holy one. The gods are watching her, and they are watching us, for all of us have been called upon to undertake this ritual with her. The curse of Vindrash on any man who disrespects the goddess’s chosen!”
Aylaen gave Skylan a radiant smile. Some of the men continued to regard her with disapproval, but most looked ashamed of themselves. Bjorn and Erdmun asked to see her sword and offered to show her how to clean it to keep it from rusting. Only Garn was still angry. He shook his head and walked away.
Skylan wiped the sweat from his face. The sun beat down on the deck. He felt tired already, and they hadn’t yet left the shoreline. Once out to sea, the air would blow fresh and cool. He would leave his problems and cares on the shore. He looked over at the other two dragonships bobbing in the water, their warriors lining the sides. All was in readiness. He turned to Treia.
“Bone Priestess, ask the Dragon Kahg to imbue the ship with his spirit and take us out to sea.”
Treia placed her hand upon the spiri
tbone and spoke softly to the dragon. Kahg’s eyes flared red. The carved wooden scales seemed to take on a metallic glitter in the sunshine. The ship glided away from the shoreline. The Torgun cheered.
The Vindrasi were going to war.
The women did not weep, though many knew they were seeing their menfolk for the last time. Tears were shameful, brought dishonor. The women cheered and held small babies high in the air to witness the grand moment. Boys ran into the water, waving and shouting, and dreaming of the time they would hang their shields over the side of the Venjekar.
The Torgun warriors stood proudly on the deck, pleased and excited, laughing and talking among themselves.
The Dragon Kahg thrust his head into the wind. The ship bounded over the waves, picking up speed.
Norgaard waved farewell. Skylan’s gaze fell on his father, and his heart smote him. He had meant to apologize, meant to tell his father that he was sorry for everything, for breaking his vow, for taking away the chance to be Chief of Chiefs, and for more than that. Skylan thought unhappily of the times he had termed Norgaard an old granny—the times he had spoken of him disrespectfully, ignored his advice and counsel.
The wind blew strong and fresh. The waves broke beneath the keel. The sea spray splashed in his face. The dragon’s eyes glowed. Skylan was no longer tired. He braced his feet on the swaying, rocking deck, drinking in the wind, tasting the salt on his lips.
I will apologize to my father when I come back, Skylan said to himself. When I come back a hero!
The Vindrasi were going to war.
CHAPTER
6
The sea was smooth, ruffled by a light breeze. Fluffy clouds scudded through blue sky, casting shadows that glided over the water. Skylan, like everyone else on board, was in a good humor, enjoying the wind and water and freedom, looking forward to battle and glory and the rich rewards that would solve all their problems.
Skylan sat on a sea chest with Raegar, the map spread out between them, fluttering in the wind. Raegar pointed out the prominent landmarks as the ship sailed past them. The dragonships always sailed within sight of land if possible. The position of the sun by day and the stars by night gave them some idea of a ship’s direction, but only by watching landmarks were the Vindrasi able to determine their exact position.
The Vindrasi never used maps. Skylan had never seen one. Since none could read or write, maps were useless to them. Skylan found it difficult to fathom how a bunch of lines could tell him where he was.
Raegar pointed out how the lines indicated landmarks.
“Imagine,” said Raegar, “that this map is the board for the dragonbone game. You move your bones along the paths, using the ‘landmarks’ on the board as a guide. Our ship is the bone and we are moving along this path.”
Raegar pointed to a squiggly dot on the map.
“We will soon sail past an island, which will be on our right hand,” he said. “The Southlanders call it Gull Island because of the large numbers of seabirds that inhabit it.”
Skylan knew the island, which the Vindrasi called White-Winged Rock, for if ships sailed too near it, the birds rose up from it in raucous alarm, white wings flapping.
The island soon came into view. The squawking of gulls filled the air as the birds flew about the dragonships, looking for food, the boldest diving down onto the deck to pick up a dropped morsel.
Skylan couldn’t believe Raegar had known the island was coming just by looking at a dot. Still, he had to admit his cousin had been right.
The map had other features, which Raegar attempted to explain, but Skylan could not understand them, for these involved the use of a device known as a “compass” and some means of measuring the distance from the fixed star called the Eye of Torval by the Vindrasi, who believed that whenever Torval had to go to war in another part of heaven, he plucked out one of his eyes and set it in the sky to keep watch over his people.
“Because of such navigational techniques,” Raegar continued, “the Southlanders can sail their ships far, far out to sea without having to keep close to land.”
Skylan could not see much point to that. Treasure was found on land, not in the middle of the vast and dangerous ocean.
“Sailing across open water saves time,” Raegar explained patiently. “You sail across the mouth of the fjord from Luda to Vindraholm. You don’t follow the land all the way around. That would take days.”
He showed on the map how a ship could cross the sea from one point of land to another, a trip that would normally take months, but which he claimed could be made in a week. Another advantage was that the ships would not have to make landfall every night, as did the dragonships. They could continue to sail even in the darkness and not lose their way.
Skylan had to admit he was impressed. “Can you teach me how to do this?”
Raegar grinned and shook his head. “Each ship’s captain brings along men who are skilled in this science. They use special instruments to take readings of the stars and the sun, and every day they mark the ship’s position on charts so that the captain always knows his ship’s location whether he is within sight of land or not.”
Skylan had always scoffed at learning. A warrior needed nothing more in this world than his sword and shield, the sea and a ship to make his fortune. Skylan studied the map, and his mind opened to new possibilities.
He thought about Raegar’s comparison of the map to the board for the dragonbone game. Thinking of the game made him think of the draugr, and he smiled grimly to himself. He had thwarted the draugr, or so he hoped. He had left the dragonbone game board behind, and he had forbidden any of the warriors from bringing boards with them. He wanted their thoughts to be on war, not a game. A few had grumbled at this, but there were other games to play, and, in truth, the Torgun were too glad to be going to war to complain about the loss of something so trivial.
The sun began its downward dip. Bands of red and orange and violet streaked the sky and bloodied the sea. On land, shadows were closing in. Skylan needed to find a safe place in which to shelter the dragonships for the night. He remembered from the last time he had sailed these waters that nearby was a cove on a sparsely inhabited stretch of land that would suit his purpose. Raegar found it on the map and said the cove was not far away. They would reach it well before sunset.
Skylan began sorting out in his mind which men he would send ashore to refill the water barrels and which he would leave on board to guard the ship. A muffled shriek pierced his thoughts, sent him bounding up off the sea chest in alarm.
Wulfe came scampering up the ladder, running as if his life depended on it, which, perhaps it did, for Treia came right behind him. Her fists were clenched. She was livid with fury. Wulfe caught sight of Skylan and flung himself behind his friend, using him as a shield. Treia pointed an accusing finger. “I found him hiding in my bed!”
Everyone began laughing. Treia glared around at them, and they changed their laughter into coughs or clapped their hands over their mouths. Raegar came striding across the deck, angry and indignant, to scowl at Wulfe.
“This is no laughing matter, Cousin,” Raegar said irately. “Something must be done about this young imp. He should not be aboard. He is unlucky.”
The men were no longer laughing, which meant Skylan had a problem. If his warriors took it into their heads to decide the strange boy was bad luck, they would insist that Wulfe should be left behind when they next made landfall. While Skylan tried to think how to counter Raegar’s claim, Aylaen provided the answer.
“The boy is part of Skylan’s wyrd. If anything happens to Wulfe, a thread breaks.”
The men thought this over. Their wyrd was bound up in Skylan’s. The wyrd of every man is affected by the wyrd of others. If a thread snapped, the tapestry of life might start to unravel.
Raegar remained unconvinced. “I still think we should get rid of him, Cousin.”
Annoyed at Raegar’s daring to challenge him, Skylan said, frowning, “On this ship, I am not your
cousin, Raegar. I am Chief of Chiefs, and you will address me with respect.”
Raegar did not back down. His eyes locked with Skylan’s like shields in the wall, both men shoving at each other, testing each other’s defenses.
Treia smoothly intervened. “Raegar did not mean for you to harm the boy. But you must keep watch on him . . . lord.”
She placed a subtle emphasis on the word, and Skylan suspected her of mocking him. He had to swallow it. He was the one at fault. Busy with preparations for sailing and worried about Aylaen, he had paid scant heed to Wulfe. He had assumed that the boy would not want anything to do with a ship sailing off to war. He remembered, too, that he was responsible for keeping peace on his ship, not an easy task when so many were forced to live together in a confined space. Above all, he could not afford to quarrel with his Bone Priestess.
“I apologize, Priestess,” said Skylan stiffly. “I did not know the boy had sneaked aboard. You are right. I should have been keeping better watch on him. And now, you need to tell the dragon that it is time we made landfall.”
Treia spoke to the Dragon Kahg, who presumably relayed the information to the other two dragons, for all the dragonships changed course and began to sail toward the land.
Once this was done, Skylan seized hold of Wulfe by the arm. “You should thank Aylaen for saving your ass.”
“I had to come,” said Wulfe defensively. “You are my geas.”
“Whatever that is,” Skylan muttered.
“I saved your life. I have to watch over you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of watching over myself.” Skylan glowered at him. “Keep out from underfoot. Don’t bother the men, and stay away from Treia. Understand?”
Wulfe gave an emphatic nod, then added, grinning, “It’s a good thing I came. You forgot your dragonbone board. I packed it up and brought it with me.”
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