With Dragons She Walks

by Darby, Brit

  As if to confirm his prediction, a wall of wind chased over the small craft, its chill a promise of what lie directly ahead of them. Rain pelted them in sheets of cold, hard drops, drenching them and the boat within seconds.

  Dark, thunderous clouds rolled across the night sky, obscuring the map that guided them. Drake glanced up to watch Cailin as she fought to steer the small ship through the growing swell of the waves, the prow cutting the wet blackness like a knife through butter. But soon it was no longer easy. The rowing was harder, the boat’s course erratic as the sea tossed them about at will.

  Cailin’s form was barely an outline in the darkness swallowing them, the rain dousing the meager light they had aboard. Drake found himself unable to keep from seeking her out, his eyes searching in the dimness for her. Each time he found himself looking, anger fused inside him, chasing the chill from his blood.

  Surely she was like all the women he had known, conniving and deceitful. Yet, he was drawn to her — even to her craft of skillfully appealing to male chivalry to gain their help. Could he be wrong about this woman, Leo’s Viking goddess?

  Drake forced his gaze away from her, stared into the remote blackness that stretched out endlessly in every direction. He worked hard, fighting the sea with strength and determination; willing his stiff fingers maintain a tight grip upon the wooden oar, slick with rain and salt water.

  He would not look again at this woman … Cailin. Her name came unbidden to him, like a whisper on the wind. If she was swept away by the ocean’s fierce hand he’d not care. Best if she was, he thought. Then again, who would navigate?

  Leo was as useless on the water as a boil on a backside, and Drake knew he might be a competent fighter, but a seafarer he was not. For a few years, Drake was a privateer, with several ships under his command. But he hired experienced captains to sail them. He knew only the rudimentary basics of navigation.

  He squinted against icy shards of rain pelting them, at last forced to close his eyes. The stars were hidden behind the violent ceiling of clouds, denying them their guidance, leaving them cast helplessly about at the whim of the storm. He heard Leo groan, felt his own stomach roiling and for once was glad he hadn’t eaten in a while. How did Cailin know where to go, with all sense of direction lost to the black pool of death? How the hell did she keep from puking her guts out? A Viking’s daughter, indeed.

  He cracked his eyelids and once again studied the drenched form, her head bent against the vicious barrage the gods unleashed on them. The boat rose with each giant wave, its crest crashing over them in a salty veil. The sea twisted and turned, trying to wrest the oar from Drake’s numbed hands. It was increasingly difficult to row and soon they were forced to pull the oars inside, to keep from losing them to the icy grip of the sea.

  Yet, Cailin kept her place, guiding the small craft at an angle into the waves so as not to be flipped over. Drake moved back to help her, as Leo frantically bailed water from the bottom of the boat. The weight of the water threatened to pull them under. The briny monster persistently swallowed them whole, only to spit them out to bob along in a torrent of angry water.

  Drake sat on the other side of the steering oar, and grabbed for the rudder. He wrapped his hand on top of Cailin’s. Her fingers were icy to his touch but her grip remained firm. His strength melded with hers out of necessity. Together they maneuvered the keel into each churning swell, the sturdy wooden vessel somehow staying afloat, despite the valiant efforts of the sea gods.

  IT WAS MORNING WHEN the storm’s raging quieted, the sea softening her mood to a gentle, lapping lull. Yet clouds hung low, covering the sky, masking the dull glow of the sun as it made its way into the heavens to announce the new day. Reflections behind the dark billows only made it more difficult to pinpoint its direction.

  Looking exhausted, Cailin said nothing. She studied the sky, as if searching for a map in the clouds.

  Finally Leo broke the silence, weariness stressing his voice. Drake saw deep lines on his greenish face. “You don’t know which way to go, do you?”

  “No,” she said, but so quietly, Drake wasn’t certain she had spoken at all.

  “No you don’t, or no you do?” Leo persisted.

  “Perhaps we should start rowing again.” Drake moved back to his place alongside his cousin and picked up an oar.

  “Where?” Leo cried. “Which direction do we go?” He flung his hands up, fear mingling with frustration. “We don’t know where we are.”

  Cailin paid him no heed and dipped her hand into the water, sifting through it. She pulled up a long string of seaweed and studied it for a moment, then sniffed it. When she finished, she threw it back into the water.

  “Odhinn,” she closed her eyes and whispered, “show me our path.”

  “Do you think he heard you?”

  “Yes,” Cailin said serenely, seeming immune to Drake’s sarcasm. She looked up and his gaze followed hers. “I believe he did.”

  Leo’s gaze flicked a look of fearful uncertainty in Drake’s direction. Cailin said nothing, merely waited until the raven spiraled down and alighted upon the steering oar next to her.

  “What’s that?” Leo demanded, startled by the bird’s sudden appearance and suspiciously tame manner.

  “It’s a raven.”

  The bird cocked its silky black head as if listening, shiny eyes watching the two men as they stared at him.

  “Yes, I know, but what’s it doing here?”

  “Disir’s come to guide us to shore, Leo.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  The raven cawed and Leo jumped, grabbing and clutching his oar like a sword. Drake swore he saw a smile tweak Cailin’s lips, but when he looked closer she seemed all seriousness.

  “Disir says north is that way,” she said, pointing in the same direction the bird looked now. “We’re not far from land; we can be ashore by noon.”

  Drake looked from Cailin to the bird in disbelief. A cynical snort escaped his lips.

  “Aren’t you tired, cold, and hungry?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Leo admitted. “I could eat a horse. Maybe two.”

  “Well,” Cailin pointed north again, “the horses are that way. You’ll not find any out here.”

  Leo dipped his oar into the water again, all eagerness. “Then we will go that way.”

  Drake watched as a smile spread across the woman’s face. Cailin. Again her name flitted across his mind; this time, the briefest, softest touch of pleasure accompanied it.

  Chapter Seven

  LAND WAS A MOST welcome sight as its ghostly outline appeared through the mist hugging the earth. Cailin murmured a prayer of thanks to the gods, then as an afterthought, patted the raven that still rode the tiller.

  Disir blinked his onyx eyes, then hopped boldly up onto her shoulder. She felt his talons digging into her and wondered if he laid possession to her both literally and figuratively.

  Had Odhinn been visiting her in dreams all these years? Only now appearing as a shape-shifter, Disir the raven, to act as protector and guardian in her travels? Instinct told Cailin she was doing the right thing, and Disir’s presence seemed to confirm her decision.

  When the hull of the faering scraped sand, Drake and Leo jumped out to pull the boat ashore. Cailin felt a mix of emotions overwhelm her; relief they had made it safely across the open sea in a storm, joy at escaping Gunnar. As if reading her thoughts, Disir cawed, seemingly touting his role in such heroic deeds. She laughed and rubbed her cheek against his soft, shiny wing feathers. She felt Drake’s gaze focus on her and self-consciously glanced away.

  Leo fell to his knees on the beach, offering thanks by kissing the sandy earth. What Cailin thought was distant thunder at first was Drake’s low rumble of laughter. She looked at him, surprised by the grin on his face as he watched Leo. It was the first time she saw him smile. It gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, a jittery sensation somewhere between seasickness and nerves.

  “Going to join u
s?” he called back to her, his golden eyes quizzical when she remained at the ship’s helm, her hand still wrapped about the steering oar.

  Embarrassed, Cailin realized she couldn’t move. She sat for so many hours in the same position, tense with focus and fear, she felt frozen in place. She no longer felt her feet and legs, and no movement came from the numbed limbs when she tried to stand.

  “I … can’t,” she admitted at last, her voice low, pure exhaustion stealing further explanation. Disir sensed her upset and bolted up into the sky, circling above her like a beacon of distress.

  Drake’s strides matched cadence with the raven’s caws as he waded back into the water to stand by the boat. “Can you move at all?”

  She managed to shake her head. Before she protested, he pried her fingers from the tiller and lifted her into his arms. She was dizzily aware of the warmth, scent and feel of his flesh against hers. He sloshed back through the water onto shore and sat her down upon the sand above the tidemark. Cailin was shivering now, for more than one reason. She heard Disir’s cries fading in the distance, and knew he had fled to the safety of the trees. It was strange, but she felt better with the raven around. Now, she was truly alone with two men. Despite the short time they worked in her household, they were, in fact, total strangers.

  “Gather some brush and wood for a fire,” Drake ordered Leo. “She’s near frozen to death.”

  Suddenly powerful tremors racked Cailin and sucked her last bit of strength. She could not still them and her teeth chattered violently. Drake knelt beside her, gathered her into his arms, molding his heat and strength around her convulsing form. “By Balor’s eye, woman,” he scolded, exasperated, “why didn’t you say you were chilled to the bone?”

  She wanted to explain, argue, or tell him she could take care of herself. But her teeth only clacked as he roughly massaged her arms, legs and hands to get the blood circulating again. Focusing intently, he worked on bringing the warmth and color back to her clammy skin. When the feeling came back, Cailin’s limbs tingled painfully. It felt like a million needles piercing her flesh.

  She moaned and Drake laughed knowingly. “Aye, feels just like getting a tattoo. Mine took many days.”

  Reminded of the Dragons, she chattered out, “The s-s-swords!” The thought she might have lost them in the storm shot raw horror through her, worse even than the cold cramps.

  “SWORDS?” DRAKE FROWNED AND rose to his feet, looking out to the boat. “I didn’t see any swords.”

  “I was wearing them when we left,” Cailin choked out one word at a time, nearly collapsing from the effort. “Under my cloak. I took them off later, tucked them under my seat.” She couldn’t decipher his look before he returned to the boat to look. When she saw him shake his head in the distance, even the needling pain couldn’t stop her from dragging herself to her feet.

  “They have to be there,” she cried, doubting him. She hobbled desperately back towards the boat, stumbled and fell to her knees. She crawled on.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself,” Drake scolded, and next she knew she was in his arms again, being firmly carried back above the shoreline.

  Still cold, Cailin struggled weakly in vain. “You don’t understand, I have to find the Dragons.”

  He glanced down at her, eyebrow quirked. “Dragons, again?”

  “Ja.” She pushed at his chest, unaware she had switched from Gaelic to Norse and was yelling at him until she heard Leo running back, shouting, “What’s wrong?”

  Firewood and brush scattered as the younger man dropped his burden and stumbled towards them. Leo looked frantically from Drake to Cailin. “I heard screaming. Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Drake said.

  “Ja,” Cailin cried. “I lost my swords.”

  “Swords?” Leo looked sheepish. “You mean these?” He drew the scabbard off his back and Cailin gasped as he slung it on the ground. He looked on the verge of cringing. “I needed something to cut firewood with,” he confessed.

  Cailin kicked and struggled until Drake set her down with an oath, then she hobbled over and snatched up the scabbard. Checking both swords, she found them unharmed but she was still trembling from the fear that had claimed her.

  Drake whistled when he saw the twin gleaming lengths of steel and ornate carvings upon them. Suddenly, he understood. He understood Cailin’s intense focus on Dragons, and why her focus included him. He wanted to look more closely at them but she quickly placed them back in their scabbard. But not before he saw the design upon them was strangely mirrored on his own flesh. A tremor of emotion shook him, then he convinced himself he had imagined it in his fatigue.

  DRAKE WANTED TO QUESTION Cailin, but her energy faded fast after the outburst. It stripped the last of her resistance and she did not protest as he coaxed her to lie down beside the fire Leo was building. He knew he had to give her time to recover if he wanted coherent responses. After the fire blossomed, the warmth soothed her chills. Cailin grew sleepy, exhaustion taking her into its world of dreams.

  Drake watched as she drifted to sleep clutching the scabbard. He wondered about this remarkable woman. A woman whose strength and determination kept her dutifully at the steering oar for hours, guiding the small vessel through the storm as skillfully as any man captained a ship. She stayed vigilant all through the miserable night and half of the next day, never budging from her spot at the helm. No wonder she couldn’t move a muscle when they got to shore.

  “I’m near starved to death,” Leo complained, huddled near the warmth of the meager fire. “Where did that raven go? I hear they taste like chicken.”

  Drake smiled. “Check the boat. Cailin brought a bag aboard. Hopefully there’s some food and not just a change of clothes.”

  Leo got up, chuckling at the thought. His rumbling stomach hastened his steps. Soon he was back with his prize. He held up a small sack, his broad grin proclaiming victory. “Some goat’s cheese and barley bread.”

  He settled back down and pulled the fare out with delightful anticipation. “Bless her. ’Tis all wrapped tight so as not to be spoiled by air or water. There’s dried fish and …”

  Leo paused, as if awestruck by his discovery.

  “And what? You look as if you’ve found a pot o’ danegeld in that bag.”

  “Near enough,” Leo said, drawing a wineskin from the bag.

  Both stared at it as if it were a mirage and if one of them moved, it might go up in a puff of smoke. Leo handed the skin to Drake, who worked the cork from it. He smelled the heady drink, savoring it. Wine, probably made from grapes imported from the Frankish empire. Dark, tangy, and sweet.

  Drake smacked his lips over the ambrosia of it. “How long since we tasted the nectar of the gods?”

  “Over two long, long years.” Leo sighed. “Do you think we should wait for Cailin to wake up? After all, ’tis her food and drink.”

  Drake knew she was going to sleep a long while, and he heard Leo’s stomach complaining. “No, I think she would understand. She’s been eating a mite better than we have of late.”

  “From the look of her dress and jewels she wore when we first saw her, I’d say she’s never lacked for much of anything.”

  Methodically, Drake divided the food into three parts. “I’ll save her portion for when she wakes. Here,” he handed Leo his share. “Eat hearty, cousin.”

  Leo needed no encouragement and took a big bite of bread. A smile curved his lips and he sighed again. After taking a swig of the wine, he settled back against a rock to finish his fare.

  “Are you going to leave the lass, as you said before?” Leo asked between bites.

  Drake had thought of little else since they left Hedeby. Over and over he berated himself for even getting in the boat in the first place. His mind argued he ought not to get involved in Cailin’s problems. It would only bring him grief — as all women did in the end.

  Chewing on his own hunk of bread, he grunted. “I don’t need her kind of trouble.”

 
; “Aye.”

  “Would be foolish to stay.”

  “Aye,” Leo parroted. “Foolish.”

  He passed the wineskin back to Drake, who took a long swig, wiping his mouth on the inside of his arm. “I’ll not let a wee bit of pity for the woman drag me into a noble crusade to find her father. We’ve plenty of reasons to stay clear of Constantinople, Leo.”

  Leo shrugged, picking the last crumbs of bread from his lap. “But it’s been a few years now.”

  “Have you forgotten how we were enslaved in the first place? Surely the scars marking your back remind you.”

  “Aye.”

  “Damn it, man,” Drake finally exploded. “Stop agreein’ when I know you’ll be stayin’ with the witch. Damn her beguilin’ lavender eyes. Who the hell e’er had eyes the color of heather? I swear, I ne’er seen such eyes afore.”

  Leo grinned. When he was angry or frustrated, Drake’s Highland brogue grew thicker, his heritage strong in each word he spoke. With years of practice Drake smoothed his speech, disguised the telltale lilt, but every now and then it slipped out.

  “Then you’ll stay,” Leo said confidently.

  “Aye,” Drake groused, slamming the wineskin down in the sand. “You knew bloody well I’d stay.”

  “MAY THE CURSE OF Odhinn be upon you.” Thorvald spat at the Englishman’s feet, the insulting gesture his only resort with his hands and feet bound like a trussed-up pig ready for the spit.

  Edwin Fetherstone stepped back, daintily shaking the spittle from his vestments. He smiled but it never reached his eyes. “Your pagan hex has no effect on a pure Christian soul such as mine. Though it did appear to strike fear in Gunnar, Norseman. He seemed to take it to heart.”

  “Aye, that traitorous bastard will spend eternity in the fires of Muspellheim. And, despite your puling Christian ways, I’m sure Odhinn will see you keep him company, priest.”