by M. K. Hume
“The skeletons of many men lie beneath our keel, and their bones bleach in the ribs of the many ships that litter the ocean’s floor. How many warriors have died here is impossible for a man like me to ascertain, but the dead are a vast throng trapped in the lightless undersea. We Dene have learned to understand the waters that surround us. She is our mother now, even if some of the Dene tribes believe that the Ice Dragons were our first fathers, mothers, and gods! We know we can never take the sea for granted, young man, even if she provides us with fish that fill our bellies and allows us to travel along her invisible roads to new vistas and wealth.”
Arthur tried not to be overawed by Stormbringer’s passion for the sea and the heritage of his people. Belatedly, Arthur was grasping what Taliesin, Lorcan, and Germanus had tried to teach him: that barbarians have souls too, and only a fool could believe them to be blights on the earth.
“Look to the north,” the Dene said, and Arthur followed the direction of Stormbringer’s pointing hand. “Can you see the current in that area that’s closest to the shoreline? In the Skagerrak the sea moves at great speed, and many whirlpools are formed within the fjords. They’ve been known to drag a ship down if the captain isn’t careful. The current runs close to the northern shore and the teeth of stone that lie in wait there. But we’ll be safe, if we can stay in the southern waters where the seas are relatively calm.”
Arthur couldn’t understand how one body of water could be divided into two very different stretches of sea, but he was prepared to believe the evidence of his own eyes. The wild current in the Skagerrak seemed to be moving at a greater pace than the waters under Loki’s Eye, and this stretch of sea was darker in appearance than the grey-green flood beneath the hull of the ship. The leaden waves were more ominous than the white, swirling swells that indicated turbulent whirlpools; against his will, Arthur shivered with a sudden, visceral cold.
“Where do we go from here, Master Stormbringer?” Eamonn asked. He was standing so he could gain a better view of the natural phenomena of the channels. Arthur noticed that his friend’s lips were blue.
“You’re a man of few words, Dumnonii! We’ll sail through the straits and then turn to a southerly heading, which will take us into the Kattegat. This stretches from the northeastern tip of the Dene Mark to the land we call Skania. The sea here is much like the water in a large pot. If you stir the liquid forcefully with a wooden spoon, it will spill over in the same way as the Kattegat does.”
“So it’s dangerous,” Blaise added cautiously, and Stormbringer looked uncomfortable. Arthur noted a flash of irritation in the captain’s expression that a mere woman should address him directly. And Stormbringer knew that Arthur had seen this momentary lapse. Like most Celt aristocrats, Arthur respected those women who were his kin.
“The Kattegat is a cauldron of strange currents and deceptive winds, and it’s always difficult to traverse,” Stormbringer continued. “Some of the more superstitious of our seamen believe that a sea monster lies under the surface of the waves and that this beast waits for unwary ships’ crews to sail within its reach.”
Arthur recalled the she-dragon who still dominated his sleep patterns. In his dreams, her elegant, turquoise tail would stir the ocean, just like the turgid and deceptive waters that Loki’s Eye was trying so hard to avoid.
The captain explained that he would turn Loki’s Eye away from the Kattegat and its cruel history. “While I don’t subscribe to the sailors’ beliefs about these waters, I’m not a fool, so I’ll always follow the safest course when I’m traveling through dangerous seas.”
Stormbringer dismissed superstition with an airy wave of one hand.
Given the superstition inherent in his own dreams, Arthur immediately felt like a complete fool, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Until better options present themselves, we’ll avoid the Kattegat and sail due east before entering the deep channel of water called the Limfjord,” Stormbringer continued. “A fjord is a narrow passage of water that separates two areas of land with high cliffs on both sides.”
Blaise was far from satisfied with this description, but she accepted it. She’d see a fjord soon enough if their voyage was fated to proceed to their final destination.
“Where does the Limfjord end, and what does it mean for us?” Eamonn asked slowly.
“The waters of the Limfjord flow across the width of Jutland from an inland lake to both coasts, but we’ll be entering the fjord on the east coast—over there!” Stormbringer indicated a point on the eastern side of the peninsula that was sliding towards them. “The Limfjord effectively cuts Jutland in two.”
Stormbringer’s color was high, and Arthur noticed that the Dene was avoiding Maeve’s eyes. Possessiveness flashed across the Briton’s mind like a streak of Greek fire.
“Are you saying that we’ll sail through two dangerous bodies of water and enter a narrow fjord, when we could have saved days of travel and avoided considerable danger by simply sailing across the peninsula from the western coast?” Arthur snapped out each word like a mantrap closing on flesh. “It seems a strange strategy to a landsman who is ignorant of your world.”
Arthur felt a weird triumph, as if he had caught Stormbringer out in a basic navigational error.
Blaise kicked him hard on the back of his calf, so Arthur knew he was being childish. The man had been decent to them, far more than was necessary. But, like two fighting tomcats, both men were circling each other as they searched for weaknesses.
“No, the western entry to the Limfjord is barred by shoals of shifting sand,” Stormbringer snapped back. “Loki’s Eye is an oceangoing vessel with a deep draft. Can you understand that, Briton? This ship isn’t suited to any part of the waters that lead into the Limfjord from the west, so we’d run aground in hundreds of places if we followed the path that you suggest. Common sense tells us to travel by the longer route around the tip of Jutland so that we enter the fjord from the east where the water is deep for the entire journey.”
“Loki’s Eye!” Maeve interrupted. She had been silent for most of the exchange, but now she climbed gracefully to her feet and leaned on the beautifully smoothed wood of the ship’s rail where adze marks from its construction gave it a simple grace and beauty. The hands of many seamen and the oil from their skins had polished the wood to the smooth beauty of old honey.
“Yes, the ship is named after the trickster god.” Stormbringer’s voice was cool and polite, although everyone but Arthur could tell that the Dene was furiously angry. “I once believed that challenging the sea in a frail ship was a joke worthy of Loki. I was foolish to challenge the god, but as I matured, I regretted my challenge to the gods and paid red gold and rings of silver to Loki as a penance for my stupidity.”
“Thank you, Captain. You’ve been very candid with us,” Maeve said, smiling at the Dene, whose face immediately softened. “As captives, we could have expected to be chained, starved, and beaten. Instead, you’ve treated us with courtesy and kindness, so you must forgive our endless, irritating questions.” Maeve’s smile was ingenuous and frank, but Arthur knew that his sister was as manipulative as a cave spider—and just as patient. She toyed with Stormbringer in a flash of white teeth and innocence that completely disarmed him.
She’ll soon have him eating out of her palm, Arthur thought. He was unable to fathom why he resented Maeve’s success with Stormbringer, but when she smiled at the Dene and flattered him, something hot and angry coiled in Arthur’s breast. Maeve was barely twelve, but she was speaking and acting like a woman twice her age. Her green eyes impaled Stormbringer and the captain blushed hotly, then moved back to his position beside the helmsman.
She’s rattled him, Arthur thought with suppressed amusement, but he followed his sister’s movements with eyes that were suddenly careful. What is she up to? And when did she learn so much about men?
• • •
ARTHUR AND
EAMONN were expected to relieve tired warriors on the oars, so the last part of the journey was divided between short periods of fierce physical exertion followed by longer stretches of intense boredom. Maeve had discovered a needle and some coarse thread in the small satchel that she had slung over her upper body when they were first captured. Since childhood, Maeve had always tried to carry her entire world with her whenever she traveled.
Some people are only content when, like turtles, their personal possessions are around them, no matter where they happen to be. A visit to her kinfolk in Viroconium had been the cause for a flood of quiet tears when five-year-old Maeve refused to travel unless she carried everything she owned on her person. The most casual of afternoon rides while she accompanied her mother on visits to sick crofters resulted in terrible inner conflicts because Maeve was torn over which of her favorite toys should also undertake the journey.
And so her mother had spent an entire winter weaving, curing, and sewing a satchel of soft rabbit fur for her strange little daughter to take on their travels. There Maeve could keep all her small necessities of life. Now, on the verge of adulthood, the young woman still refused to stir from home without it. The only things that had changed over the years were the contents.
Despite their fingers being blue with cold, Maeve and Blaise forced themselves to mend their clothing so that the quartet of captives could present themselves as respectably as possible to the court of the Dene king. As members of the aristocracy, they represented Britain, and the girls were determined that they would make a brave showing.
With grudging protests, Eamonn and Arthur handed over their damaged items of clothing, although this concession left them to shiver in the cold, grey winds. Both men stripped to the waist and bundled themselves in their cloaks for warmth. Meanwhile, they were instructed to clean and polish the bronze plates on their studded jackets and put a shine on every piece of leather or metal that made up their dress. Above them, Stormbringer watched the youngsters with cynical amusement as they squabbled over their appearance.
On one of the planks normally used by the rowers, the four young people were able to watch the shoreline that passed on both sides of the vessel. The waters closest to the high cliffs of Noroway had a deep grey-green tinge in the occasional sunlight that indicated unfathomable depths. The Britons had already adjusted to the short northern days, so any snatches of sunlight and the resultant pretense of warmth were treasured. The Skagerrak was rumored by some Dene to be a deep trench dug by sea monsters that gave the beasts an entrance into Udgaad, but the more pragmatic tribesmen believed that these superstitions were nonsense. No Sae Dene had ever actually seen a sea monster, Stormbringer explained, and these intrepid masters of the sea were so important to the larger population that they were permitted to have their own king, a nobleman held to be secondary only to the High King who ruled the entire nation.
Stormbringer pointed out details of his land and culture with a strong sense of pride. The young Britons were accustomed to a society where tribal kings were subservient to a Dux Bellorum, or battle king, so the concept of a sea king seemed logical in a landscape where water was so important. For the first time, Arthur watched his captor with more careful eyes. What type of man would be entrusted with such an important mission by the High King of the Dene. Could Stormbringer be a Sae Dene lord?
No, Arthur decided. If Stormbringer was such an important personage, I’d be dead by now—killed for my impertinence!
Out of concern for the sea monsters or the treacherous currents, the superstitious helmsman steered Loki’s Eye as close as possible to the coast of the land that had been known as Jutland. These pale waters were shaded to turquoise in some places, so the helmsman explained in execrable Saxon that the lighter color warned of hidden sandbanks. “The sea is a wild creature and she presents herself as a woman who can be soft, beautiful, and seductive when she’s in a mood to be loved. Then the sun and moon dance on her wavelets, when her warm arms and flanks look so soft that a man can believe that she’d hold him above the waves and preserve his life for love of him.”
Arthur nodded his appreciation and complimented the helmsman on his descriptive skills. The man blushed and continued his tale.
“Then, in an instant, the sea can turn nasty when she bares her claws. Ravenously, she tears the beaches into strips, carries away the sand, and spews it into new places where the strongest ships can run aground, founder, and sink. Aye, she can be a bitch, bless her, but we sailors love her, as do all Sae Dene who are forced to endure her moods. Where’s the fun in a woman who’s always smiling?”
Stormbringer laughed at the expression on Arthur’s face that spoke more clearly than words that the Briton preferred his women to be compliant.
“You wonder why we travel around Vendsyssel-Thy rather than sail up the Limfjord Sound to Heorot? In a fit of temper, our mistress has closed the mouth of the fjord in the west and strangled the sea with sand.”
“Aye! I understand,” Arthur replied. “You can tell your helmsman that he has a golden tongue, Captain.”
“Rolf Sea-Shaper will thank you for your kind words,” Stormbringer answered with a flash of white teeth. “He sings the old tales well enough to stand in the drinking halls of Heorot if he was prepared to practice a little harder. But I’d regret his loss! Rolf keeps his head when the sea becomes angry and she tries to swat us like an insect.”
Arthur merely nodded. Loki’s Eye was moving swiftly, powered by the full swelling of the great sail, but the warriors on board had no time to rest under Stormbringer’s captaincy. The vessel must be checked from end to end, for every piece of hide or plaited rope must be examined in the daylight and replaced if worn or faulty. Every length of timber must be scrubbed and the inside of the hull must be checked for storm damage. Similarly, cargo must be kept secure to ensure that the ship stayed level and steady on the waves. Salt air and brine played havoc with weapons and armor, so even the youngest and most callow of the crew members took care when cleaning his fighting accoutrements when the weak light lasted and sea conditions were mild.
The warrior-sailors readily stripped to the waist to clean their leather shirts and plate armor. Arthur had noticed too that the Dene scrubbed their bodies in salt water when his own flesh shrank from any ablutions in the freezing conditions that turned their fresh water into ice. He wondered idly why fresh water froze much faster than brine and decided that salt must be the reason, then rejected any further distractions. They must be close to Heorot.
“I wish I knew who came into possession of my knife!” Arthur muttered to himself. He knew it had been taken when he was struck down, along with his sword, his shield, and his helm. Gareth had carried his heavier armor on one of the spare horses, so Arthur knew that those items were safe. But what of the Dragon Knife? Even now, his palm itched to hold its shagreen hilt and watch the wings and tail of the dragon as they curved around his fist.
Since his capture, Arthur had concluded that the Dene sailors were intelligent and civilized warriors, especially after working so well with them during the storm and its aftermath.
And so it was that he found it difficult to remain angry with Stormbringer.
He disarms me with his honesty when I question him but, ultimately, he remains my enemy. I wish I didn’t admire him or feel such jealousy when he demonstrates his considerable talents, because I end up looking and feeling like a fool. He’s taking us into slavery, so his kindness to us merely ensures that we don’t cause him any trouble, as we could, quite easily, in a ship where all his warriors are fully occupied. Two determined warriors with nothing to lose could cause chaos on a fighting ship until such time as they were caught and killed. But Valdar Bjornsen is a clever man, and he’s far too knowledgeable to allow us to become a disruptive influence.
Arthur had listened to the Dene rowers talking late at night when all was quiet and the men were on the verge of sleep. During these discussions, Art
hur had learned that Stormbringer’s name was actually Valdar Bjornsen. The Sae Dene’s father, Bjorn, was considered by these men to be one of the great heroes of the Dene people, although they were wary of disclosing certain oddities about the seafarer. The warriors spoke in awed whispers whenever they used Bjorn’s name or spoke of his exploits.
“Your knife and your sword will be presented to the king, who is my master. Should he so wish, he can always give the knife back to you.” Stormbringer had heard Arthur’s bitter complaint. Arthur responded by staring defiantly at the captain. Stormbringer could hardly miss the challenge in those feral eyes.
Has Stormbringer guessed that I’m considering my chances of escape? Arthur wondered. Does he think to calm me with empty promises? If so, he’s mistaking my nature.
• • •
UNDER THE PALE moon, a small and very hard heel dug into Arthur’s instep with surprising and painful force. He gasped and looked down into his sister’s dimly flushed and furious face. Obviously, his youngest sibling had learned something from Blaise that had roused her slow temper.
“Are you moon-mad, you great lump? Or are your wits still wandering from that blow on the head? Master Stormbringer is our captor . . . and he has treated us with consideration and generosity. What if he had chosen to be less kind? Do you fancy undertaking this journey tied up in the cargo hold at the bottom of the ship? Do you think you would enjoy the slap of foul, salty water from the bilges in your mouth and on your face? Do you long for the sight of your sister being ravished by a whole crew of hairy Dene? I can assure you that I don’t. Every time you try to feel like a man rather than a prisoner, you’re risking our safety. Blaise tried to tell you on a number of occasions, but you . . . just . . . won’t . . . listen!” Every word was punctuated by a sharp blow across the back of the head.
Maeve’s face was twisted into a ferocious mask of anger while her green eyes crackled with energy. Arthur wondered how he had ever thought of her as an encumbrance. “Just . . . don’t . . . do . . . it . . . again!” she ordered.