by Darby, Brit
As she tossed more things she thought she might need into a woven tapestry bag, Hulda entered her room, sniffling. Cailin sighed and turned to plead with the woman.
“Hulda, please. If anyone could understand my reasons for going, it should be you. I only follow my destiny. You saw it yourself in the runes.”
Hulda dabbed at her swollen eyes. “I cannot lose you too, dottir. It would break my heart.”
“I must seek the truth myself, there is no other way.”
“If Thorvald is dead, you cannot bring him back by discovering the truth of it.”
“He is alive, Hulda. I know it.”
“Then Odhinn will guide him home to us. Thorvald’s fate is for the gods to determine, Cailin. You should leave it be. To seek the truth alone is too dangerous, the risk too great. Your father would agree.”
Cailin sighed. How could she explain what lay in her heart? “Perhaps you are right; Thorvald would not want me to go. But by seeking the truth, I follow my own destiny … my own path. Somehow, the answers to my own future lie with this quest.”
“Why?”
Cailin wondered this too, but trusted her Dragons. “If I find Fadir, I find answers.”
Hulda waved her off, her shoulders sagging. “Then go, leave me behind to wither and die alone in my grief.”
“Do not say such things. I cannot bear it if we part this way.” Cailin wanted to go to Hulda, beg her to understand, but the woman must come to terms in her own time. Still, Cailin wondered how she could walk away with anger lying between them like a cold stone wall.
“You are right,” Hulda said as her tears began anew, “I do not mean what I say. I know you must follow your Dragons, Cailin. Have I not always told you to trust them even when you can trust no one else in this world? My talents are great, but yours, my child, are extraordinary. I never told you, but what you see is far beyond anything I will ever see in the runes. I knew it the first time I saw you, standing bravely against your father and his stubborn anger.”
Cailin ran to Hulda and hugged her, but gently, as if the fragile old woman might break in two. “I love you, Hulda. In my heart, you are my mother. The woman in Northumbria is merely someone who birthed me, a sweet but faded memory.”
If Hulda had more to say, she did not, her voice drowned by the tears flowing down her cheeks. A knock sounded and Cailin put the tapestry bag into the trunk, closed it and went to the door. She was disappointed to find it was Gunnar, but out of respect she let him in. The fact he entered the main house without invitation disturbed her, but perhaps during their talk they had not heard him knocking at the outermost door.
Hulda quietly disappeared to give them privacy.
Cailin would have preferred she stay. Gunnar’s attentions made her uncomfortable. For nearly five years, he proposed that she marry him. Cailin knew he also pestered Thorvald about it, but fortunately, her father let her make her own decisions.
Whether it was Thorvald’s desire for her to be independent, or merely that he didn’t want to take the time to bother with her, Cailin did not know. For this one thing she was grateful, never having met a man yet she wished for a husband or lover.
“Are you feeling better, Cailin?
She raised a brow at his question. “I wasn’t feeling unwell, Gunnar.”
“I thought …” He didn’t finish, his expression reflecting discomfort.
“Please, Gunnar, sit.”
She gestured to a stool, but instead he sat possessively on her bed. His action made it seem he staked claim to her personal space. It made her uneasy, but she reminded herself Thorvald loved this man like a son, and certainly more than her. She owed Gunnar respect, if nothing more.
“Can I get you some mead, or wine perhaps?” Cailin offered.
“No. Please, we must talk.” He pointed to a place next to him on the bed.
Instead, Cailin chose to sit on a wooden stool beside the bed. The coals in the stone-lined hearth glowed red, heating the room, but she still felt a chill of dread at his presence. She hugged her arms about herself. “What is it, Gunnar?”
She guessed the reason for his visit, a natural expression of sympathy perhaps, and out of courtesy she would allow him to express it.
Nervously, he cleared his throat. “Before Thorvald died, we spoke of you and I being married when we returned from this journey.”
That was not what she thought he would say. Cailin felt heat rise to her face. “Married?”
“Ja, that was Thorvald’s decision.”
“I do not believe you. He always allowed me to make my own choices in such matters. Why would he suddenly change his mind?”
“He did.” Gunnar’s voice rose in anger. “I say we came to an agreement on this voyage, Cailin. Marriage is arranged by a woman’s father, it is the way it is done.”
“Not for me it isn’t.”
His eyes narrowed. “Thorvald told me he was far too lenient where you are concerned. He said you would never marry if left to your own accord. So, he made the decision for you. I am to be your husband, Cailin.”
Cailin stood so fast, the stool toppled in a clatter. Her anger rose to challenge his. “So you say. I do not.”
Chapter Four
“THIS TIME,” GUNNAR’S VOICE lowered, as a warning tone crept into it, “Thorvald is not here, and you have no choice.”
Cailin was shocked by his threat. “Get out.”
He ignored her demand and rose to his feet, looming over her.
“I said get out, Gunnar. You are no longer welcome in the House of Thorvald.”
He smiled and that incensed Cailin more. She picked up a piece of pottery from the table and threw it at her target, missing Gunnar’s head only because he ducked in time. “I won’t tell you again. Get out, and stay out!”
Her anger seemed to delight Gunnar, and she saw an evil gleam in the dark brown eyes. It frightened Cailin more than his size and strength. It was as if his true self was finally showing through, revealing its ugliness to her. Lust, avarice … even hatred, twisted his face. There was no sign of the love he had professed all these years. He was openly gloating, the bastard.
“I have waited too long to have you, and no one, not even you, can stop me,” Gunnar said hoarsely. “I will take my grievance to the Ting, and the kvidr will decide in my favor, Cailin. Everyone knows of my patience, of your indifference to marriage. Hearing it was Thorvald’s last wish, they will not deny my right to take you as wife.”
“So you plot to force me into marriage, Gunnar? Is that the wife you want? One who despises you?”
His big shoulders lifted in a shrug — it did not matter to him how she felt. He would have her. He would wait no longer.
“Do you hate me so much?” Cailin asked quietly, unable to believe this was the same man who had humbly sought her attentions all these years. She stalled for time, inching closer to where her swords lay in the chest.
“No, Cailin.” His sigh was tortured, sad. “I love you. I always have. Yet, you fight me on the idea of marriage. I see no other way to have you, except by forcing my hand.”
“Gunnar, I don’t love you.” Her voice shook from anger and hurt.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does to me.”
He shook his head and waved his hand impatiently. “Enough, Cailin. Go tell Hulda to pack your things. Tomorrow you become my wife.”
“No!
“Is it because of that thrall?” he sneered. “Ja, I see how he stares at you, like a hungry dog.”
“You are the dog, Gunnar.”
He regarded her grimly. “So be it. No other man will want you,” Gunnar stepped closer, “not even a filthy Pict, after I’m done with you. If I plant my son in your belly now, there will be no further dispute.”
He grabbed for her and his meaty fingers clamped around her wrist. Cailin tried to jerk her hand free but could not. He grinned at her. Slowly, step by step, he pulled her to him.
Cailin saw the plan in his e
yes; his threat roused a deep-seated fear inside her. His other hand grabbed her long braid, wrapped it in his fist like a rope and tugged her closer yet.
When she hit his chest, his cruel, hard lips swept down and claimed hers, prying, demanding she let him invade her mouth with his tongue. Cailin felt sickened by his kiss and pushed hard, hammering her fists against the broad expanse of his chest. He never flinched. He was like a mountain, immovable.
Gunnar let her wrist and hair go and picked her up about the waist. He tossed her like an empty sack onto the fur-lined platform where he sat as an honored guest moments before. He knelt on the bed beside her as she scooted away from him.
He yanked off his tunic and hurled it aside. “Do not fight me, Cailin, and I’ll not hurt you.” His eyes narrowed. “But I will have you, woman. This can be pleasant for us both, or only one. I care not.”
In answer, Cailin balled her fist and struck him as hard as she could on his jaw. Pain exploded in her bruised hand but he seemed unaffected by it, except for the red seeping up his neck and staining his face.
He struck her back with the open palm of his hand, the stinging slap more insult than pain. From somewhere within, Cailin felt fury rise. It possessed her, filled her with a choking rage she never experienced before. To her own surprise, she struck him again. Harder. And this time, she saw him flinch.
Gunnar exploded, his long, low growl filled Cailin’s ears as he roughly threw her beneath him. She struggled with all her strength but it made little difference to the bulk of a man on top of her. He stared down at her, his lips snarling into a baleful grin.
He pulled up her overtunic and smock and desperation touched Cailin. Gunnar leaned down and laughed into her ear as he loosened his trousers. The brooch on her tunic pressed her flesh as his weight bore down on her.
Cailin fumbled for the brooch and jerked it free. Without hesitation she plunged the pin into Gunnar’s arm, deep and sure. He howled and pulled away, clutching the bleeding puncture. It gave Cailin the seconds she needed to scramble out from under him. He reacted quickly and seized her ankle before she was completely off the bed.
Before he dragged her back beneath him, Cailin’s flailing hand touched a leg of the toppled stool. Desperate, she grabbed the stool, twisted about and slammed it over his head. The resulting crack was loud, whether wood or bone, she neither knew nor cared.
Gunnar stilled, his eyes glazed with pain and rolled back in his head. Then, slowly, he toppled back into the furs. Blood poured from his head. An eerie quiet settled upon the room. Cailin’s heart pounded in her chest and she sank to the floor, her legs trembling so hard they would no longer hold her up. Sweet Sigrun! She had killed him.
“CAILIN?”
Hulda had gone outside to give them privacy. When she reentered the house and Cailin’s room, she quickly took in the chaotic scene; Cailin sitting upon the floor, the stool still clutched in her white-knuckled hands.
She went to Cailin and pried the stool from her death grip. “Are you all right, dottir?”
Cailin felt numb. “Is he dead?”
Hulda moved to Gunnar who still lay unmoving on the platform. She did not ask what happened — what had transpired was obvious by his loosened trousers. With her lips pursed in disbelief and outrage, she checked him over. “He lives. But I do not understand why he attacked you. Was he drunk?”
Cailin shuddered. “I only know he went berserkr. Gunnar is mad, Hulda. I must go now, tonight,” she said and struggled to stand, her legs still wobbly beneath her. “I cannot wait any longer. I must not be here when he awakens.”
“Go? How? Where?” Hulda’s voice was full of the anxiety her face showed. “You have not had time to prepare for the journey. No man here will aid you, not against Gunnar. All look to him as leader now with your father gone.”
It was true. Cailin knew she could not expect any sympathy or help. “Then I will go alone with the few supplies I have.”
Hulda gasped. “That is certain death. You cannot be serious.”
“What choice do I have? If I stay, Gunnar will force me to marry him. He has the ears of the kvidr. I would sooner die than stay, Hulda.”
Cailin turned to prepare for her escape, but hesitated and turned back to her great aunt. “Speaking of die, see that Gunnar does not. I do not wish his death on my conscience, no matter his foul intentions.”
STILL NUMB FROM WHAT happened, Cailin changed clothes. She discarded the tunic splattered with Gunnar’s blood, and pulled out a fresh brown one with a clean linen shirt and wool trousers. It was the outfit she usually wore when sailing with Thorvald. She slipped into the trousers and tightened them with a drawstring about her waist. She lifted her arms and drew the smock and tawny, long-sleeved tunic over her head, then fastened a leather belt about her waist.
A knife and purse filled with silver and gold already dangled from the belt. She tugged on her leather boots, then wound the crossbands snugly about her ankles. Finally, she grabbed her heavy woolen cloak and pinned it securely over one shoulder and tucked her braid beneath a small leather cap.
She was ready.
Or was she? Cailin froze with indecision. Where would she go? What could she hope to accomplish alone? Nothing, except dying.
Hulda’s warning clamored in her head, confusing and distressing her. Cailin straightened her sagging shoulders and set her jaw. What choice did she have? She would not stay and become Gunnar’s wife, his possession. Never.
She fetched the Dragon swords from the chest, slung the leather-wrapped scabbard low across her back and tossed her cloak over it. She grabbed the tapestry bag with the few supplies she had gathered thus far and reached for the door latch. A flash of memory flickered across her mind; so vivid and strong it stopped her.
“Dragon,” she mumbled. The man called Drake entered her mind. Again, she heard herself say aloud, “He is the Dragon.”
It made no sense. Why would she think of him, especially now? She had no need of a slave.
Again the vision touched her, this time more insistent, more intense. She saw swirls and knots, twisting, forming a bold, beautiful design. The intricate scrolling created two creatures … face to face, as if intimately entwined. Dragons, the same she now carried on her back marked upon his flesh …
A flush scalded Cailin, disturbing her more than Gunnar’s ugly attack. She flung open her door and stepped out into the main hall. Hulda left Gunnar’s side and called after her.
“Please, dottir, you must not be foolish and flee into the night unprepared.”
Ignoring her plea, Cailin turned back and asked, “Will you be all right, Hulda?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Hulda drew her thin frame up.
Cailin’s gaze moved past Hulda to Gunnar, still unconscious upon her bed, his head now bandaged, the bleeding stopped. “He cannot harm you in any way, can he?”
Hulda’s scraggly eyebrows rose and her eyes flashed, the spark not dulled by age. “I should say not. He would dare not.”
Cailin reached out and touched the old woman’s wrinkled cheek, smiled sadly. “Good. Now, I must go.”
Hulda sucked in her lower lip trying to still the sudden tremble in it. But she could not keep the tears from her eyes. She closed them and whispered a prayer to Freyja.
“Great Goddess, Mistress of cats, Lady of love, beautiful Vana-Goddess, fulfill my greatest needs, o glorious one.”
Hulda lifted her tear-streaked face toward Asgard. “Teach our dottir the magick she needs. Give her a glimpse of your deep wisdom. Teach her in dreams and give power to her Dragons. Enrich her life. O Lady, you are Golden-Tears of Asgard. Lady of love, beautiful Vana-Goddess, you are the Shape-shifter, the Sayer, The Independent One. Give her the strength and magick she needs.”
Calmer now, Hulda opened her eyes and gazed lovingly at Cailin. “Your Sight will protect you. Trust in it.”
“I will,” Cailin assured her. She hurried to the outer door, before she found herself in tears as well. She hated tears.
“Take care, old woman.”
Cailin slipped out into the chilled night, feeling the nip of winter in the wind. No one in their right mind would start out on a long journey at this time of year, but she had no choice. Hulda came up behind her and stood in the open doorway.
Suddenly, from out of the darkened sky a raven descended, his blue-black wings fluttering down to earth; the sound loud in the quiet of night. He landed on a fence only a few feet from Cailin and tilted his head, dark eyes watching her.
Hulda gasped, her hand trembling as it covered her open mouth. The raven called out three times, its caws piercing the air. It jumped down to the ground and hopped closer to Cailin.
“Odhinn has answered my prayers, dottir. He sent a gift of the raven; he will watch over you while I cannot.”
Cailin eyed the bird; it seemed unafraid of her. Hulda’s look told her she believed what she said. She decided on the spot she would call him Disir, a supernatural being, a hamingjur, a lifelong guardian of a human, who appeared to give warnings and advice by dreams.
She said so aloud, knowing it would comfort Hulda. “Yes, Disir is a sign. I shall be fine.”
She started down the path but turned back one last time. “Always remember that I love you, Hulda … my true mother.”
SILENTLY, CAILIN MADE HER way through the town to the docks, carrying a lantern. The quiet flutter of Disir’s wings was like a persistent shadow behind her. Her mind worked frantically. She planned to row a small boat across to Sweden. There she would buy a horse and travel across country to Birka. Once in Birka, she would seek a ship crossing the Baltic Sea. From Novgorod, she could travel south to Kiev and on to Miklagard, if not by the River Dnieper and across the Black Sea, then she would travel on horse by land.
She mulled over the route. It would be dangerous; tribes of Slavs were always a threat. But Cailin saw no other way and her mind was made up.
The docks were quiet, compared to how they bustled by day. She went unnoticed as she made her way to the pier where the boat was moored.