Scarcely daring to hope, the girl released her hold and rolled him over upon his back. Against her seeking hand upon his heart, she felt a feeble throb—another and a stronger one—and once more, falteringly, gathering strength, until the heart took up its task again.
His body was warm, the gray pallor faded from the dark skin—he took a long breath as though it were a sigh—and she fell upon him and covered his face with kisses.
He did not wake.
Thyra had felt herself again repressed and thrust aside, no longer an equal, for the other was dominant. This time, being aware of what was happening, she was not afraid. It did not seem wrong that she should no longer have control of herself.
Somehow, she was glad to be able to help the other girl, who needed help so badly. She felt a great trust in the other’s integrity and was certain her body would not be misused.
Before she passed into a peaceful limbo of forgetful-ness, she felt also that new lines were forming in her face. iShe must be taking on the appearance of the other girl. Would he see a resemblance in her? Then, while still wondering, it was as though she slept.
Skeggi felt himself being shaken, but he scarcely recognized his daughter. He seemed to see her through a mist, then, as he became fully awake and his head cleared, he made out in the dim light that it was indeed Thyra, but subtly changed.
By this time she had refastened the front of her shirt and had put on her leather jacket. She was vigorously massaging the stranger’s naked chest His head rolled limply to and fro.
Skeggi called the others from where they had been sleeping under the boat and they were glad of the warmth inside the lodge. They squatted down beside the stranger.
He appeared to be sleeping. His chest rose rhythmically and his breathing was strong. His long incarceration in the ice had not wasted his muscles. They lay in great bands across his torso and his biceps and thighs were hard.
When the massage was stopped, he lay peacefully, but beneath his eyelids his eyes moved as though he was watching something.
“I have often thought,” whispered Flann, “that a person sees things in the land of dream that he cannot remember when he wakes. I have watched sleepers and seen many whose eyes move.”
Whether in dream country or visions of the mind, the stranger undoubtedly saw something he feared. His face suddenly contorted, he threw his arms wide as though to catch himself from falling, and tossed massive Skeggi to one side like a child.
His eyes opened and the first thing he saw before them was the face of Skeggi’s daughter. He sat up, with a glad cry: “Corenice!” And instantly she was in his arms.
The sudden action astonished the three fishermen. They reacted in different ways. Flann turned and bolted out of the lodge, his grief and shock writ clear in his face. The other two had no eyes for him. Biarki, slow of wit, did not grasp the situation and how its implications were bound to concern himself, for an instant—then his anger rose. By that time, Skeggi had seized the couple with his great hands and flung them apart.
Each of the three had seen only Thyra. When the girl turned upon them in blazing fury, it was plain to them that Thyra she was not, either in character or facial resemblance. This was a person they had never seen.
During the hours in the lodge a change had taken place. It had begun in the boat, continued as time went on, and was now complete. This face was far more beautiful than Thyra’s and it held an imperiousness in it that quelled Biarki’s temper.
This could only be another personality that faced them, and of it they were in awe.
This was Corenice, and Corenice they did not know!
Corenice-Thyra stared down Biarki and without a word he left the lodge. She reached out a hand to Skeggi and after a little hesitation he took it. Corenice rose to her feet.
“This is Gwalchmai, whom I love. His name means Eagle and he is the son of a king. I know you cannot understand the meaning of what has happened, Thyra’s father. Only trust me and all will be made clear. No one will be harmed and naught but good will come of this to both you and your daughter. I swear it upon your gods and mine. But you must and shall obey me!”
There was no doubt hi Skeggi’s mind that this was an affair for the gods to cope with. It was far too perplexing for him to understand. He did not try.
“I will do what you wish, Lady Corenice, who was my daughter. However, I want my daughter returned to me, in no way changed at that time from what she was. Failing, I curse the gods who have taken her and defy them to slay me! Thor, you joker, have you done this thing? Loki, trickster, mischief maker, is it you?”
Corenice smiled upon him. There was something of his own sweet girl still remaining hi that smile—there was another sweetness, too, and an ancient motherly wisdom in her gaze.
His heart went out to her. He fell on his knees, as it were
L
to a goddess newly come to earth, and bowed his head. If someone had told him she was Freya, or Thor’s wife, Sif— she of tke golden hair—he would have believed and likewise trusted.“
She ran her hand lightly through his graying curls.
“Then help me with my love, for he is most ill.”
Gwalchmai’s eyes had closed again. He was not quite unconscious, but he could not feel the ground he lay upon. He seemed to be floating. His breathing had become shallow and uncertain.
Corenice sat beside him and pillowed his head gently upon her bosom. He could feel rather than hear the even, comforting throb that stirred against his temple and brought him peace.
As during the night, he again drew strength from. the girl’s young vitality. Her calming nearness brought about a change. His pulse became stronger, his breathing regular. He was aware of his surroundings, but he thought he was back among the People of the Dawn, recovering from an illness in a village of the Abenaki He opened his eyes and knew that he was not
He remembered how Corenice had said, “You shall know me by gold!” He recalled the promise she had given him: “We shall meet and live and love again—though it be two hundred year!”
His arms closed about the waist of this beautiful girl with the golden hair. She was no longer metal—she was soft and dear. She was Corenice, returned against all hope.
She loved his face with gentle hands. She reveled in his growing strength. She looked up quietly at the still kneeling Skeggi.
“Now you may bring us food. My lord will live!”
Coals of fire still lingered under the ashes, where Biarki and Flann had cooked and eaten the trout, before they slept.
When Skeggi came out, amazed with what had happened, Flann was moodily nursing the flame back to life. Never before had the thrall been so conscious of his status as a slave.
Biarki had cleaned the ptarmigan and cut them up into pieces. Their one small copper kettle was ready to begin a stew. There were no vegetables, but Biarki remembered seeing lupines in the meadow. He thought the little flat beans they bore might be ripe enough to eat. The season was early, but he found a great quantity of dandelion leaves and filled his pockets with the eider duck’s pale green eggs.
The eggs went into the hot ashes to roast and the dandelion greens were stewed, together with the little birds. It was an unsavory-looking mess, but it was good to smell. A fox looked down from the top of the cliff and barked querulously.
When all was ready, Flann set out the wooden bowls and filled them with the hot mixture. He shared out to each person a half of one of the hard rye biscuits that had been their stay on the involuntary voyage. These tasted better now to the wayfarers, but to Gwalchmai the flinty bits were impossible to choke down.
He drank some of the broth and sank back weakly to-rest. Corenice fed him with tender care, selecting the best pieces of the soft meat and placing them between his lips with the horn spoon. He ate a little of the greens and made a face at their bitterness—then suddenly craved them and managed to empty the bowl.
By the time he had finished, he was feeling much more like himself. He a
sked questions of Corenice and, watching her face as she explained how he had been rescued, saw that she was and was not the one he had loved and had fought beside. He knew what she had done to protect and save him and knew also what he now must do.
He staggered when he stood up, and when he came out of the lodge into the open air, the sound of the waterfall, the smoke from the fire, the brilliance of the sunlight made the world he could see blend into a rushing blur. The cold wind revived him. Then he saw clearly the faces of the staring men.
Biarki glowering. Hate and menace there! Flann, whose face held a look hard to describe; it was distant, reserved, almost impassive—but in it was more than a hint of renunciation.
Of course! Flann also loved this girl, but not the one Gwalchmai knew so well. Here was sorrow, buried deep.
Skeggi, the girl’s natural father—this was easier. Here was a waiting for a promise to be fulfilled. How well Gwalchmai knew that look! With a pang, he realized that the promise he had once made had been delayed far beyond the lifetime of the one to whom he had made it. To explain that promise to these strangers was the opening of a wound.
“My name is Gwalchmai. It is a British name, given to me by my father who was likewise British, although he thought of himself as Roman. He had a mighty friend, whose name was Merlin. Men called him an enchanter, in Britain.
“These two, and others, came exploring from Britain in years far past and discovered a land, westward from here. There, my father made himself a king, and Merlin became hailed as a god.
“The Feathered Serpent they named him—Quetzalcoatl, the Lord of the Winds. I am his godson. This ring you see, and which, I am told, made you fire, I hold as his inheritor. Let no man of you touch it. I, only, can wear it with safety.
“There have been those who said that Merlin is not dead, although my father saw him buried. I only know that when his tomb was opened to satisfy the argument, no body was in it. This, I saw. Perchance he slept awhile and now but visits the Land of the Dead he sought, and will return. His desire, and my father’s, was that the land of Alata be placed under the rule of the Emperor of Rome.
“For that reason, I was commissioned to be my father’s messenger. I have lost the message, yet I mean to go to Rome’s Emperor, as I gave my sacred vow on the cross hilt of my father’s sword.
“It may be that Rome is in dire peril. Alata shall be the refuge of its people. It is my duty to provide that refuge for those who need such a haven. In their ships I shall return to my home.
“All I ask of you is that you help me on my way. I have a little magic, gleaned from my godfather’s books. We can be of use to one another.”
He looked at them all. No one spoke at first, but he could clearly read their thoughts. Corenice-Thyra glowed with love and pride.
No doubt of her, although he could now see that this golden-haired girl was different in many ways than as he had first known her. This was only to be expected. Still, Corenice dominated the body. Until she left it for another housing, she was Corenice.
There was hate hi the hearts of the others. Flann’s face was now open to Gwalchmai’s scanning. He would have made a good friend under other circumstances, but he did not try to hide his feelings because of the apparent loss of the girl. Hatred was not as strong as the relief that a dangerous rival might soon be gone.
Biarki’s reasons were not as plain. Gwalchmai read envy and he suspected greed—perhaps jealousy there, also. Biarki-would bear watching.
He was more concerned with Skeggi. Although the fisherman dimly understood what had been done to his daughter, did he realize the necessity of it? It might be that Skeggi resented the liberty that had been taken and feared others still more dreadful might follow. Obviously, he was a doting father.
Gwalchmai tried to reassure all of them with a smile, but none would directly meet his eyes. Yet each promised to speed him on—each for a different reason.
The knorr had sprung a strake upon the floating ice. They did not leave the inlet that morning. While Biarki and Flann caulked the boat with moss and tar out of stores, Gwalchmai and the girl went in search of eggs in the upper meadow.
Skeggi went with them. He was loath to leave his daughter out of sight for long. The three found a great supply of eider duck’s eggs, more than they needed, but it was easy to preserve them by boiling batch after batch, for a few seconds each. This would effectively seal off the interior from the ‘ air and leave the central contents still raw, but fresh for a long time.
When the work was finished, the day was far advanced. No game had been sighted, but they roasted a brace of ducks and feasted nobly, despite the lack of red meat Biarki was not satisfied.
Now that he was safe and dry and warm, for all ate in the lodge, out of the ever-present wind, he craved ale, which was lacking. The more he thought about ale, the more he desired it. He could shut his eyes and see jugs and casks, leather bottles and drinking horns—all filled with delicious, heady, foaming ale.
Food was good, warmth was good. Ale was both. In addition, it brought dreams, luxurious visions that sharpened his slow wits.
He licked his lips and frowned. Tomorrow, or the next day> if they went on to the west, they would «ome to the smoke he had seen from the heights. Wherever there were people, there would be ale.
Wherever there was ale, there were those who drank it and drinking, companions made friends easily. They thought alike. They did favors for one another. It was quite possible that a good friend might help in the elimination of an enemy.
Biarki slept better that night than he had the night before.
3 The Cell T>ei
When the pale darkness brightened, once more into morning, they rose early. Already they were accustomed to the sound of the waterfall, but they heard the squawking fowl going out to fish and knew that it was time to break camp.
They ate sparely, without building up the fire to do so. The boat was quickly run out on rollers of driftwood and discovered to be sound. The sea was most quiet, a rare thing for that coast if they had known, and although it was a gray day with threatening masses of dark clouds, there was no heavy wind to move them.
Such breezes as filled the sail blew westward, which pleased Biarki, and the others were well suited, for they had no desire to go back toward the glacier and the still falling ash that misted it.
They rowed out of the inlet and some distance out to sea before they caught a fair wind. Once they raised the sail, oars came inboard and they went on westerly, following the forbidding coast a mile or so out, for there were white streaks of foam that told of jagged concealed volcanic upthrusts of rock nearer the shore.
There was a good view, at this distance, of the black snow-capped mountains, some of which were steaming in spurts and plumes of white vapor, and others were spouting smoke—all due to the inner fires bubbling under this tumbled land. Yet it was beautiful in its tortured grandeur.
Skeggi said, “This must be the place that Gardar, the Swede, found some ten years ago when he went a-Viking in the Hebrides. He was blown off course, as we were, and he landed somewhere on the coast of an uninhabited country he called Snowland. Perhaps it was near here.”
“There was talk in the Orkneys, when I was last there,” said Biarki, “of a man from Norway who heard of it and went out to settle. He was called Floki, the Raven, because he loosed three ravens from his ship to find him land. One went home to Norway, one returned to the ship, but the third went straight on westward. He followed it and found land.
“I would call him Floki, the Fool! They say he liked the country so well that he forgot to cut hay for his beasts and when the winter came the cattle starved and he was like to do so himself—he and all his folk.
“At last he came home a poor man and called the place Iceland, lest others go there and fare as he did. But from what we have seen, I would think it well to stay here and take land, for we could make ourselves wealthy.”
“It might have been Floki’s raven that visited us. He seeme
d used to men,” said Flann. Gwalchmai and Corenice-Thyra only looked at each other and smiled and said nothing at all.
A little later the coast swung toward the north and became rougher. Inlets and firths widened into bays. Here they shared a biscuit all around and here Biarki gave up his hopes of ale.
What he had thought to be smoke, from the viewpoint of the mountain meadow, could now be seen as steaming fumaroles. Ever and again a fountain of boiling water rose and fell among these, coughed, bubbled, and hissed and rose again.
All around there were good green fields that would make fine pastures. The land was not forested, but it was wooded.
Once a walrus broached the surface, a ton of excellent meat, as all were aware. Some miles farther on, a pod of whales hastened by toward the Arctic Ocean to enjoy the short summer season.
They set out hand lines and caught cod to cook later. On a black strand they saw where a careless whale had found its end, for broad ribcages upthrust out of the crumbled lava beach, like the bones of a wrecked dragon-ship.
The sight of so much food made Gwalchmai ravenously hungry. He could not eat much at a time, but he was munching steadily—a mouthful of biscuit, seasoned with a scrap of kelp or seaweed; a slice of raw fish; a little crab picked off a floating log.
Never satisfied, always nibbling; gaining strength while Corenice gazed upon him fondly, watching him eat.
Before them loomed a headland, bold, fantastically contorted and torn. It looked stern and menacing, but it shielded a bay that was broad and calm. This steamed with hot spring overflows and there were more smokes back from the broad beach.
These smokes came from low houses of stone, shaped like beehives and rounded over with turf. Near them were people, and not far in from the point of the headland, just in front of the explorer’s oncoming boat, was a man fishing from a walrus-skin kayak.
Merlin's Ring Page 4