“Who is it?” Astrid’s voice carried from within.
Ylva gaped: at my wild appearance, I supposed, and at finding me still alive. I slipped inside, for it wouldn’t do to stand too long where I was. I’d kept to the woods then crept through the long grass of the meadow, before approaching the house from behind.
Though dusk had fallen, there seemed to be a gathering near the longhouse and I’d no wish to be seen.
“In the name of Freya!” Astrid leapt from her stool. “Elswyth!” In two bounds, she’d embraced me, pulling me tight.
My tears sprung, for I’d been too much alone in the cold and dark. I’d near forgotten how it felt to be welcomed into a friend’s arms.
“Don’t speak,” she urged, looking me up and down. “Ylva, bring hot water and my green robe… and some broth and bread.”
“I’ve never seen such a sight!” she gave a half-smile. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, then clean and warm.”
I let her nimble fingers unfasten the straps of my apron, then stayed her hand.
“You’ve been collecting again: from the shore by the smell of it.” She poked at the long strands of seaweed wrapped in the tuck of my skirt.
I had to show her before she went any further, though I was loath to admit that I’d been unable to avoid the affliction. In that moment, I understood some fraction of the shame that Ylva had endured, and all the others who’d suffered with the blight.
Unfurling my palm, I picked off the strands of algae that clung, holding it out for Astrid to see. Even since that morning, it had improved, returning almost to its natural colour, the blister barely raised at all.
She nodded quietly. “It was a wonder that you went so long without succumbing to the illness. It’s just begun, has it?”
I nodded, choking back tears that threatened to bubble over. “It was much worse, and I had the fever, too.” It was relief I felt most of all — relief that I was healing. But it was more than that. The algae would change so many lives. My own recovery was proof of it.
I did my best not to wince as she eased the damp tunic over my head. My shoulders were wrenched from the arduous climb, my arms still sore. Astrid tutted as she passed the warm flannel over my skin, so tenderly. There were other patches of skin, upon my back, which looked a little red, she told me, but none had blistered like my palm. I assumed it was my eating of the algae that had helped, preventing them from fully erupting.
“We’ll soon have you feeling like yourself and, when you’ve some food inside you, it won’t seem so bad. You can tell me everything when you’re ready.” Astrid soothed me as she worked, bathing gently where I was most bruised until the grime of days past was washed away.
She wished even to spoon the broth to my lips but I insisted on doing that for myself. It was thick with vegetables and meat; with each mouthful, I felt my strength returning.
“I knew you couldn’t be dead.” Astrid stood behind to comb my hair. “Though you don’t look far off it, I have to say!” She wetted the slatted wood, doing her best not to pull.
“I rowed the boat,” I began.
“I know about that.” Astrid dropped her hand to my shoulder. “I went down to the harbour before dawn — before the fishermen, even. I couldn’t see you by the pier. Then, I realized it was gone. The boat. You told me, Helka took you out, and I remembered. No one else would have dared to take it.”
A clutch of fear seized me, for if Astrid knew then everyone did, surely. Why hadn’t they gone searching? Wouldn’t Gunnolf have commanded it?
She must have felt me stiffen. “There’s no need to worry. Some would see no harm come to you.” Taking up the comb again, she continued freeing the tangles.
“Anders suggested that we say his son found you disappeared and took Helka’s boat, to see if your body were drifting. Everyone knows Halbert’s headstrong. He’s always been one for mischief. Halbert agreed immediately, telling his friends he lost the boat on the rocks, sailing too close to the cliffs, then swum back. Some have raised an eyebrow but a piece of the hull washed ashore not long after.”
My throat tightened again. The blacksmith, Anders, and Halbert. They were loyal to Eirik.
“What about the others? They still say I’m a witch?”
Astrid sighed. “Some do. Some don’t… some say the gods took you in punishment; others say they saved you. They spoke of little else, for a while…”
“And now?”
Pulling her fingers through my hair, she separated the lengths, making ready to plait them. “None can know the Jarl’s mind but he’s not himself. They’re saying he’s out of favour with the gods — that he’s not the man he was and not worthy to lead us.” Astrid leaned closer to my ear. “He’s forbidden anyone to speak of…” she hesitated, dropping her voice lower, “the draug.”
It wasn’t a word I’d heard before but a chill passed over me. I turned, searching Astrid’s face.
“The restless spirit in human form. I told you of it, Elswyth.”
She had, and that story had haunted me. After all that had happened, I had my own tales to tell, but those would wait; now was not the time.
Astrid began passing strands of my hair over and under, her fingers working methodically as she spoke, following the rhythm of braiding that required little thought. “Others have seen her; always at the top of the hill. No one wishes to venture there — not after dark.”
“No one?” I frowned. “I thought I saw people around the longhouse.”
“Why, yes; today’s different!” Astrid exclaimed, then her hands froze and there was an abrupt silence. “Forgive me, Elswyth. I thought this was why you’d come out of hiding. Because you’d seen. Because you knew.”
My heart jolted in that moment. I was aware of her fingers resuming their tidying of my hair, briskly forming a central plait and smaller ones either side.
Only when she’d finished, securing all with a strip of linen, did she again look into my eyes, offering me the truth though she knew it would pain me. “Eirik and Helka have returned to Svolvaen, with fine visitors. There’s talk of marriage.”
I’d grieved and prayed, despaired and believed again, that Eirik would return. He had, but not for me. If his bride were with him, my hopes were dashed. However, I endeavoured to pull my thoughts away from Eirik. Whatever secret wish I’d harboured, it was my discovery that had driven me back to Svolvaen. Despair would only hinder me.
I pointed at my bundled apron discarded on the floor, long strands of green spilling out, and indicated my palm again.
“I had to come back, to show you. It’s the remedy we’ve needed all along. “It’s from inside the cave: the algae. It’s going to help. I know it will!”
Astrid’s hands flew to her mouth. “You found a cure!” With a sob, she threw her arms about me.
Over Astrid’s shoulder, I saw that Ylva was looking at us. As usual, she sat some distance away but she’d heard everything. I’d never known her without her affliction. Perhaps, once, she’d been talkative and carefree. If so, she’d soon be again. My own happiness had been crushed but hers might yet be recovered. I’d think of Eirik later. For now, I had a debt of friendship to repay.
I eased Astrid away from me, knowing it was time we got to work. I’d endured much but it hadn’t been in vain. The gods had kept me alive, had given me time to reflect and the will to recover my courage, to escape my dark prison. Just as Eirik was performing his duty, I’d do mine.
“We’ll make the treatment together. I’ll show you.”
Ylva gave her assistance, grinding the pestle in the mortar, releasing the seaweed’s healing juices. The plant had worked well as it was but how much more effective it would be once we’d prepared it.
“Soak your linen strips in the liquid and place them on each sore,” I directed. “Steep the rest of the algae in boiling water. Make a tisane and drink it down. Go afterwards to Torhilde and to the others. Act where I cannot.”
Astrid’s eyes shone wet as I borrow
ed her hooded cloak, drawing it close to my face to creep away.
I heard her as I closed the door behind me. “I knew you’d come back.”
30
I took the path behind the main thoroughfare. Near the summit of the hill, the mist was creeping, emerging from between the dark trees of the forest, wreathing them, shifting and rolling, like a ghostly sea from which the ancient trunks rose.
It was no wonder that Svolvaen’s people kept to their homes, for the landscape had an eerie hue. One might believe anything, see anything, on such a night. I, too, was afraid, yet I continued. With my own eyes, I was determined to inspect Eirik’s bride: the woman he’d chosen over me.
Light glimmered from two low windows, where the longhouse roof met its walls. The skins had been partially hooked aside to let the breeze enter. At the main entrance, several men stood sentry, their voices carrying low. They’d rather have been inside, no doubt, imbibing ale.
There was one other opening to the rear and it was to this that I crept. Pressing close to the thatch, I knelt and raised my head, looking within.
The hall was full, with Gunnolf’s men and those who’d ridden out with Eirik; strangers, too, from Bjorgyn, I guessed.
Faline was wearing one of Asta’s robes, yellow cloth woven through with golden strands. It had suited my Lady well. Faline’s skin appeared sallow against its tone. For all the finery of the gown, she had no place at the table beside the Jarl. Instead, she carried a jug, her mouth pressed tight as she filled each cup.
Gunnolf barely looked at her nor conversed with those on either side. Instead, his eyes, hollowed-dark, darted to the corners of the room. It gave me no pleasure to look at him. I’d been another woman in those days as his lover.
Helka was seated just beyond Gunnolf but her attention was all upon the man to her left. He wasn’t of the common build, being tall and slender. His arms were well-muscled but not in the way of Svolvaen’s men. His ear was keen to the words she shared with him and, when he leaned close, she closed her hand around his. She’d always kept men at a distance; this one, she did not. He was certainly attractive, with features fine-drawn, his jaw strong and his movements lithe. They would make a fine pair if that was what she wished.
I searched for Eirik. Would he appear different now he’d chosen a bride? There were many men with blonde hair loose about their shoulders, with eyes sparkling in good humour, wearing the same sort of leather jerkin Eirik favoured. There were many men worthy of a woman’s attention, but I didn’t see the most brave and handsome of them all.
And then my chest constricted. The girl sitting beside Gunnolf was new bloomed in womanhood and of the same, slight appearance as the man on Helka’s left. Not yet ripe, as a woman should be on coming to her marriage bed, but with the promise of loveliness. This, surely, was Freydís, the daughter of Jarl Ósvífur: the alliance conceived by our Jarl. The seat next to her was empty, though the place was set.
Helka rose, coming to stand behind Jarl Gunnolf, bending to his ear. Whatever she said, his expression remained distracted. He shook his head and waved her away, his thoughts seemingly on something beyond what surrounded him.
She frowned, looking ill at ease about the room before resuming her place. Still standing, she lifted her cup and chimed upon it with her knife, to call attention for the raising of cups.
“Welcome, one and all, to the house of my brother, Jarl Gunnolf, and to Svolvaen: to the home of courageous men and comely women.”
I shifted a little, not wanting to miss anything within, yet wishing also to keep myself hidden.
Helka’s merry aspect faded for a moment. “It seems my brother has some urgent business to attend to, but I know I speak for him also when I say we were too long absent from Svolvaen, from the home of our forefathers, for which we offer our regret.” Here, she looked warmly at the man beside her. “I half wonder if it were not Eirik’s plan to be thrown from his horse, for our prolonged stay in Bjorgyn brought friendships which shall endure.” Helka tipped her head towards the young girl smiling tentatively beside Gunnolf and the man to her left raised his cup to hers.
With eyes alight, Helka raised her voice to fill the room. “We look forward to the greatest of celebrations: the joining of our two clans through marriage.”
At that, there was a resounding cheer and stamping of feet. I sunk to the grass beneath the window. I’d no need to see more. I’d heard enough to pierce my heart.
I could never return. Svolvaen’s people did not want me; Eirik did not need me. Even were I to clear my name of the charges of witchcraft and poisoning, I could never bring myself to serve Eirik’s new bride as I had Asta. If Eirik believed my innocence, he might find some man willing to make me his wife, but how could I live under that yoke? I’d never love another; would never be content unless the arms that held me were Eirik’s.
I’d fought so long to prove myself worthy of others’ regard; fought to survive when all hope seemed lost. What had all my struggle been for? I’d helped others with my skills but I couldn’t heal my heart.
Perhaps contentment awaited me only in the next world. I thought of taking myself into the forest, letting the wild beasts find me, or of seeking the cliff edge: a quick end and no more suffering. But how could I do such a thing? I’d come too far to give up. Wasn’t I stronger than that? Didn’t I deserve my chance at happiness?
I wouldn’t succumb to the easy path. My story would not end here. But, I needed to get away. There was only so much torment I could bear. To stay would be my undoing.
The night fog had unravelled and was moving fast, racing to meet me as I rose to higher ground. Laughter drifted up from the longhouse, sounds of shouts and clapping, deadened by the drifting mist.
I headed to my left, away from the sheer drop to the sea, but tumbling curls of white fast obscured the way.
Even in my plight, I was loath to step blindly, for a fissure might appear beneath my foot. I’d no wish to slip into some narrow crevice, wedging within the rock, or to break my bones upon each jarring ledge of a longer fall. What poor joke it would be, were I to find the chasm through which I’d climbed.
Better to crawl, that my fingers would find any dangerous lip. From habit, I pulled up the hem of Astrid’s gown, to avoid its dirtying. I suffered a pang of remembrance. I’d made no farewell, for which I hoped she’d forgive me. This time, I would not return.
How cold it had become in the thickening fog, chill tendrils passing over my skin and entering my very bones. I carried on, hearing the distant rumble of waves, the heels of my hands brushing bracken and the discarded nest of some hilltop bird, wincing as my knee found a stone’s sharp edge.
And then all receded, and I was wrapped in silence.
My fingers touched something icy cold. I wasn’t alone. My eyes fastened upon the slender foot before me and the hem of a white robe, stained with soil.
I had no power to lift my head, to look upon the creature who stood before me. A cry rose in my throat but froze as surely as the breath and blood within my body. I attempted to speak her name, knowing it was she, but my voice abandoned me. Choking back my tears, I recoiled further, retreating from the one who had always been true to me and whom I had repaid so poorly.
It was another who broke the blanketing of the enfolding mist, another who ran, heedless, his voice strangled.
“My love. My love. Forgive me.”
Gunnolf’s dark head bowed to kiss the foot, and her hand reached to raise him. In death, as in life, she was beautiful, but so pale, and her eyes no longer blue but black as the pit revealed behind her. As if risen from the grave, her hair garlanded with leaves, her cheek and hands earth-covered, she was a thing without the radiance of life, yet moving and seeing.
He stepped to embrace her then gave a single cry. Consumed by the mist, he fell, to whatever emptiness lay below.
At once, another passed swiftly by me, her scream filled with both fear and rage. I shouted in warning but it was too late. Perhaps Faline flung
herself upon the ghostly form, or Asta reached to claim her. The outcome was the same. Locked in tormented embrace, they toppled as one into the gaping chasm.
Shadows seemed to sweep before me, like the cast of clouds on grass, drifting before the sun. Except that, as my eyes closed and the ground surged up to meet me, there were no clouds nor mist. Instead, the moon was high and bright, and the stars uncountable.
31
The flame flickered in the lamp, showing me Helka’s face.
“You’re awake, thank the gods!” She lifted a cup to my lips, tipping it for me to drink. “Eirik found you, but no sign of our brother nor of Faline.” She pushed hair from my eyes. “What happened, Elswyth?”
Where could I begin? Impossible to tell the whole story. Would it even make sense?
“I heard about Asta’s death and their terrible accusation of you; of what my brother did.” She squeezed my hand, resting above the furs on the bed. “How did you escape?”
I had no answer for that. The gods had saved me, I’d thought, or perhaps a hand had reached from beyond the grave.
“I knew it couldn’t have been Halbert who took the boat. I guessed you must have gone to my cave.”
I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to recount what had occurred. I was so weary. What was to be gained from reliving those days? Couldn’t I be left in peace?
“You’re exhausted.” Helka looked at me with anguish. “Forgive me, Elswyth. I would have come to find you in the morning…”
“It’s of no matter.” I sighed and returned the pressure of her fingers.
“Eirik wants to see you.”
The mention of his name made my stomach lurch, made the breath halt within my chest. How could I face him? My dignity remained, if little else.
“He refused to believe you were anything but innocent, Elswyth. Sylvi came forward; she’d been afraid to speak, but she saw Faline putting something from an old pouch into Asta’s nattmal. She knew!”
Viking Wolf: dark and steamy alpha warrior romance (Viking Warriors Book 2) Page 13