Valdyr blew out a frustrated breath. He had searched everywhere for Mist but could not locate her anywhere around the farm. Her sword was gone, as well, so he reasoned that she must have gone inland to pray for her sister.
Maddening woman! He had hoped to speak with her before they left, assure her that they would return. Now, he could wait no longer. Time was against them. They needed to put to sail before Balder got too much of a head start. As it was, Bjorn was on the verge of leaving him behind.
They made their way to where the men had put the ship in the water. Valdyr kept searching as they walked along, but he still saw no sign of Mist. Not paying attention to where he was going, he slammed into his brother’s back.
“What are you about?” Valdyr growled, stepping around his brother’s still figure. Seeing the look of astonishment on Bjorn’s face, Valdyr followed the direction of his gaze.
Mist stood in the prow of his ship, but a Mist almost unrecognizable. She was dressed in men’s leggings and a short tunic, her long red hair hanging over one shoulder in a braid that reached to her waist. Her sword hung in its baldric crosswise over her chest, the exposed metal glinting in the early morning light.
Valdyr stared at her in amazement. He had tried to imagine her thus, but his mental image had failed utterly compared to the figure he was seeing before him now. She fairly took his breath away.
His astonishment lasted but a moment, quickly replaced by fury as he realized what her presence here, dressed thus, meant. He closed the space between them in a few rapid strides.
“No! You are not going with us.”
He soon realized that his anger was nothing in comparison to hers. Her eyes glimmered with a rage that told him he had a battle on his hands if he hoped to make her see reason.
She slowly drew her sword from its sheath, the metal gliding against the baldric with an ominous hissing sound. “Then you will have to remove me from this ship,” she told him, her voice threateningly low. “If you can.”
His men slowly began to move to positions where they would be able to overtake her, but he motioned them to stillness. This was between the two of them.
“Your father needs you here,” he reasoned, slowly moving closer.
“My sister needs me more,” she rebutted, arcing her sword until it whistled through the air.
There was a part of him that wanted to take on her challenge, that part of him that felt the need to bring his enemies into subjection. The other part of him, the more sane part, knew that although he could disarm her, it would not be without injury, and he had no desire to see her hurt.
Egil’s voice coming from behind him settled the matter.
“She is going.”
The finality of his voice left no room for argument. Valdyr wanted to object, but he could see purpose behind the decision. When they found Astrid, if they found Astrid, she would need a woman’s comforting arms. Even Bjorn, as much as he loved Astrid, would not be able to understand as a woman would.
Valdyr saw the look that passed between father and daughter. “As you wish,” he told them, not feeling the same confidence he saw in them.
For a moment, no one moved, then Bjorn stepped forward and began barking out orders. The men warily eyed Mist as they jumped into the ship to prepare to set sail.
* * *
Mist gave an inward sigh of relief, thankful that her father had spoken up. In reality, she had no desire to go against Valdyr in a sword fight. She had watched him sparring with his men and knew that he had an instinctive skill that would make him a deadly foe. Her own skill was no match for his.
She seated herself in the middle of the ship. Valdyr ignored her, moving among the men and giving commands as they maneuvered out of the fjord and into the open sea.
Mist settled herself in for a long voyage. There would be no stopping this time, and there would be no privacy except what the men afforded her. If not for Valdyr, she might have been a little concerned knowing from past experience that such close confines could make for embarrassing moments.
Valdyr stood with Bjorn in the fore of the ship. They were in deep discussion, searching the horizon for any signs of a ship although they knew that it was doubtful they would spot one. Balder had more than half a day’s start on them.
Leaving Bjorn to watch the ocean, Valdyr came and seated himself beside Mist. She shifted uncomfortably under his intense look.
“What do you plan to do if we catch up with them?” he asked. “I thought slaying was against this faith of yours.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “I am not here to slay anyone. I am here for my sister.”
He glanced askance at her sword and lifted a brow in question. It was clear that he doubted her word. Frankly, she doubted herself. Trepidation made her stomach suddenly queasy.
“I will do what is necessary,” she told him firmly. “Although I am praying to God that I will not be called upon to slay anyone.”
She hoped that she was telling the truth, because that old nature that the apostle Paul spoke about was struggling for supremacy, and it wanted vengeance.
He studied her a moment with his head cocked to the side. Surprisingly, she saw amusement twitching at his lips.
“Perhaps you should add to your prayers that the winds be with us instead of against us.”
She looked up in surprise and saw that the men had lowered the sail and were rowing hard against the prevailing winds. Their muscles that had softened over the winter were straining against the oars.
Was that a challenge she saw in his blue eyes? “I will do so,” Mist told him and bowed her head to do just that. When she opened her eyes again, Valdyr had moved back to Bjorn’s side.
A short time later, the wind shifted directions and a cool sea breeze suddenly sprang up from behind them. Valdyr threw Mist a look that was hard to interpret, barking a quick command for the sail to be lifted, and the men hurried to hoist it up. Those men seated near Mist stared at her in uneasy amazement. They had to have heard the conversation between her and Valdyr and knew that she had prayed to God, but even Mist was amazed at the rapid response to her prayer. The hope that God was on their side grew, dimming the rage running through her.
Time seemed to pass slowly even though they were making quick progress, but the monotonous hours on the sea were wearing on Mist’s already raw nerves. The thought of what could be happening to her sister made her antsy, frustrated that Astrid’s fate was beyond her control.
Their second day out, Mist saw Valdyr pointing off to the northeast. She saw a low cloud bank on the distant horizon and a cold shudder racked through her that had nothing to do with the chill of the air. Well she knew the danger of a storm at sea. It wouldn’t be her first, but she was certain it would be no less frightening. A man with a sword you could predict and possibly overcome; not so the sea.
She threw up a prayer that the storm system was moving away from them, but that prayer was not answered in the way she had hoped. It was a fast-moving storm, the swelling and surging of the sea their first indication of its rapid approach.
Valdyr called for the sail to be dropped and the oars to be pulled in, and everyone prepared to ride out what was going to be a ferocious storm. Mist was thankful that Valdyr’s ship had higher sides, a second deck and extra trusses, which would make it better able to handle the rough seas, but she knew if the waves were too high, they might possibly all lose their lives. She began a prayer that would not end until they were out of danger...or she went to meet her Lord.
Valdyr took some rope and wound it around his waist, then wrapped it around hers, as well. She tried to meet his worried look with one of complete confidence, but too well she knew the horrors of being in such weather on the open sea. He pulled her close with one arm, and she allowed herself to lean against him, placing one hand against his chest where she could feel the comfor
ting rhythm of his beating heart.
The storm came with fiercely crashing waves, drenching everyone in the ship. Darkness surrounded them, shutting out the normal light of day and the stars that would guide them by night. Hour upon hour they tossed on the relentless sea.
Mist huddled in Valdyr’s arms as he tried to protect her from the worst of the rain and wind. He whispered something into her ear, but the howling gale tore the words away. She leaned her head back against his arm and met his eyes, those vivid blue eyes that invaded her dreams, and even her waking thoughts. He lifted a hand to her face, trailing his fingers softly against her wet cheek. Her look invited him to kiss her, and he readily complied. After that, the cold ocean water stood no chance against the warmth that flooded through her.
For two days they weathered the storm before it finally passed and daylight once again returned. By that time, they had been blown off course and were seemingly lost at sea.
Valdyr loosened the rope from around them. He made his way to the front of the ship and studied the sun at its horizon line. He gave a sharp command to put up the sail with the wind to their back.
Mist joined him at the prow of the ship, shivering in her wet garments. The others seemed impervious to the cold wind blowing against their wet clothing.
“Do you know where we are?” she asked, searching for a landmark, but all that met her eyes wherever she turned was the sea.
“Not for certain, but I have an idea.”
Mist didn’t see how he could possibly know where they were when they were surrounded by nothing but water.
“Where do you think we are?”
He cast an eye over the sky and the water around them. “I believe we are close to Hedeby.”
“Hedeby!” she said, appalled. “Then we are too far south!”
He nodded agreement, but continued to search for some sign of land. Mist blew breath through her pinched lips. There was really nothing she could do but trust that her God had everything under control.
* * *
It was hard to describe to someone unused to the sea, but the water had a different feel in different locations. Valdyr sensed that they were close to the waters around Hedeby.
The men let out a cheer when they spotted white clouds in the distance, because clouds formed over land and that meant that they were close to shore. The question was, was it indeed Hedeby, or were they even farther south into more hostile territory?
Bjorn joined him and Mist. They watched tensely as the ship drew closer to the land. Suddenly Bjorn’s shoulders relaxed. “It is the inlet to Hedeby.”
Valdyr nodded and decided to land there and replenish his supplies before heading for Norway. It was possible that Balder’s ship was blown off course, as well. It could very well be that they were even here at Hedeby.
Several men were left to guard the ship while the others, along with Bjorn, made their way through the town to find out if Balder was in the vicinity.
Valdyr and Mist went in the opposite direction. The stench of rotting meat filled the air where the people had offered sacrifices to the gods and had hung them outside their houses and places of business. Hawkers bid them to come investigate their wares. Children ran up and down the streets chasing dogs, pigs and chickens. The sights and sounds of the town would have been intriguing at any other time, but Mist was obviously focused on more important things.
When she saw a figure in monk’s clothing hurrying down the street, she stopped midstride, her eyes going wide with recognition.
“Drustan!”
Valdyr had but a second to grasp her arm before she could take off after the fast-disappearing man. “Wait!” he commanded.
“Let go!” she growled, and jerking free from his grasp, she ran after the quickly vanishing figure, yelling his name as she tried to overtake him.
The monk stopped, looking around in puzzlement. He spotted Mist running toward him and his surprised face creased into a welcoming smile.
Valdyr took in the man even before he reached him. He was small but robust for his apparent age. Wrinkles covered every inch of his face and even part of his bald pate. There was kindness in the faded eyes that finally made Valdyr pause.
Mist threw herself into the old man’s arms and burst into tears. He patted her uncertainly on the back, his face a picture of confusion.
When Valdyr joined them, Drustan tensed and tugged Mist closer, his fist tightening around the staff that he carried. Despite the fact that the old man was clenching the stick, Valdyr gave a snort at the thought of being injured by the puny thing. His glare warned the monk not to even try.
Still sniffling, Mist pulled back from the monk’s arms and turned to Valdyr to introduce them. When Drustan realized that Valdyr was a friend and not a foe, he relaxed, a friendly twinkle once again warming his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Mist? I thought you had returned to Iceland.”
Mist brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I did. I haven’t time to explain everything, but I am seeking information.”
She explained about Astrid, describing her in detail, and asked if he might have seen her. “She would be hard to miss. She is very beautiful.”
A peculiar look crossed the monk’s face. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
They clove their way through the busy market streets until they came to the church that had been built some years before. Valdyr stared at the impressive building curiously. He had heard that since Hedeby was a trading center people from all over the world had settled here. Christians had been allowed, for the most part, to live in peace.
Drustan led them inside. Dozens of candles lit even the darkest corner of the interior. The place was eerily quiet, their footsteps sounding loud against the rushes on the floor as they passed by the empty benches where the worshippers usually sat.
They followed him to a back room shrouded in darkness except for a lone candle next to a wooden bed. There was a figure lying on the bed, a wolfskin pelt covering the small, shivering form.
Mist rushed to the bed, dropping to her knees beside it.
“Astrid!”
Her hands fluttered helplessly over the girl like a butterfly afraid to light. She turned to the monk, her brows drawn down in puzzlement. “How...I don’t understand. What’s wrong with her? How is she here?”
Drustan folded his arms inside the sleeves of his robe and came to stand beside her. “Slavers from Byzantium were selling her in the marketplace. I purchased her from them.”
Confused by the sudden turn of events, it took Vladyr a moment to fully grasp what the man had just said. How had Astrid wound up in the hands of slavers from Byzantium? Quick anger surged through him. He stepped forward and grasped the monk by the front of his tunic. “She is no man’s thrall,” he growled.
Drustan looked upward in astonishment, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “What? No, No!”
Mist rose quickly to her feet and placed a restraining hand on Valdyr’s arm. “Hold, Valdyr. Release him.” Her voice held a distinct warning. “Drustan purchases slaves when he can and then gives them their freedom.”
Valdyr glanced from one to the other in amazement. The price of slaves was not cheap, especially with raiders from Byzantium. “Why would he do such a thing?” he asked skeptically.
The old man gave him an understanding smile. “It was no less than what my Lord has done for me,” Drustan replied softly, and Valdyr stood frozen in indecision, his mind unable to understand such sacrifice. He finally released the man’s cloak. Drustan shook out the wrinkles, giving him a cautious glance.
“Were there others with her?” Mist asked anxiously.
Valdyr had almost forgotten about Knut and Balder.
“No,” Drustan told her, “there were no others.”
* * *
Mist
didn’t know what to think. Had Balder changed his mind and sold Astrid to the Arabic traders? She found that hard to believe. Had their ship then been attacked, and, if so, what had happened to the others? Right now only her sister could answer those questions.
She turned back to the bed. Settling herself on the side of the wooden frame, she pushed the lank blond hair back from her sister’s face, which was hot with fever.
“She is ill,” Mist stated.
“Which is why the raiders were willing to sell her to me. They were afraid she would die otherwise.”
Drustan came and stood beside her, handing her the bowl of water and linen cloth that was sitting on the table. Mist began to gently wipe her sister’s face.
“Did she say what happened to the others she was with?”
Drustan shook his head. “I gather from the raiders that they found her floating in the sea on a piece of flotsam.”
Valdyr and Mist exchanged an understanding look. The storm must have wrecked Balder’s ship. Mist wondered if anyone else had survived, and how long her sister had been in the cold sea.
“Her story is an amazing one,” Drustan said, “but understandable now that I know she is your sister.”
Mist looked up in surprise. “How so?”
Drustan placed a hand on Mist’s shoulder, and she felt the comfort of his touch. “You are God’s child, Mist. Surely you prayed for your sister?”
Mist couldn’t begin to sort out the feelings that his words brought to mind. Even in her doubts, God was watching out for her, listening to her. She remembered a scripture that Drustan had read to her long ago.
We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.
That scripture had so much more meaning for her now.
Valdyr interrupted her thoughts. “I need to find Bjorn and the others.”
Nodding, Mist barely registered when he left the room. She continued to cool her sister’s fevered brow with water and began to pray.
Drustan stood quietly behind her, sensing her need to petition God and adding his own prayers in a soft whisper.
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