Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  Silence greeted me when I entered the cave, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, the bowl of stew shattered at my feet. The Northman was gone, the chains torn from their rings on the wall.

  6

  I flew back down the trail as fast as I dared, cursing the Northman as I went. Obviously he’d escaped the moment Fergus had left his post. I nearly stumbled once; the goat trail was treacherous, but not nearly as dangerous in the light of day. I’d seen for myself in battle how agile the Northman was—and clearly much stronger than I’d anticipated. No doubt he’d had enough time to put distance between us. Sleipnir was my only chance of catching him now.

  But as soon as I reached the bottom, I slid to a stop. Chasing after the Northman alone was madness, but what did I have left to lose?

  Exiled, I told myself again, just to test the amount of pain the word would cause me—much like someone might test a wound. It nearly doubled me over. Physical pain, I could take, but the torturous thought of having to leave my home . . . my family . . .

  My mind filled with the previous night’s vision: Éirinn reduced to ashes, my sisters broken and lifeless, and I knew exile meant nothing to me if they could be saved. I would follow him to the depths of hell if it meant preventing that from becoming reality.

  I was on my own.

  “Milady!” Fergus called as I raced past. I didn’t stop, only continued to the stables. I couldn’t risk telling Fergus where I was going—if my father discovered Fergus let an exile get away, no matter if that exile was me, he would most certainly be punished. Better if he never knew at all.

  My feet pounded against the hard-packed dirt of the stables, and Sleipnir flung his head up. His nostrils flared, and he snorted, as though sensing my anxiety. I stopped only to grab my sword and a bridle. The heavy wooden bar to Sleipnir’s stall clattered to the ground as I released him. He emerged and eagerly accepted the bit. Grasping a lock of long mane, I hauled myself astride, and the massive horse sprang forward.

  Before we could make our escape, red hair at the entrance to the stables made my heart seize in my chest. But as the figure stepped into the light, I saw that it was Séamus instead of Fergus. His gaze fell on me, and on Sleipnir dancing in place, my hand on his neck the only thing restraining Sleipnir from galloping over him.

  Séamus’s expression was as cold as ever, but I could still hear the sound of his laugh, unbridled and impossible to resist.

  I opened my mouth—I wanted to say something—but before I could, he turned and left. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d call out to him, but there was nothing I could say. I had seen the depths of his mind, and I knew his true feelings toward me.

  You don’t deserve to live, he had shouted at me over and over as I laid waste to his mental defenses. May the next battle be your last.

  I flinched from the ghost of his words, turning my mind to what I’d do when I found the Northman. At least the Northman was unarmed; I could easily confront him once I found him.

  I looked back at the castle . . . at my sisters’ windows. They weren’t even here to tell me good-bye. What would they say when they discovered I’d been exiled? When they’d learned what I’d done?

  “Forgive me,” I whispered, and touched my heels to Sleipnir’s sides once again.

  Sleipnir galloped over the stockade bridge amid frightened shouts, but still I did not slow. We wound down the hillside, and at the crossroads, I sat back on my tailbone and brought Sleipnir to a sliding halt. Which way would he have gone?

  South, toward Dubhlinn, I thought, and turned Sleipnir in that direction.

  His heavy hooves sent rocks flying in our wake, and the sea crashed against the shore to our left, seemingly urging us on. A caw-caw-caw cried out from above, and I glanced up to see a crow soaring above us. A prickly feeling of unease descended upon me, but with it a feeling of tentative hope that I was choosing the right course. The bird’s black wings beat the air, speeding ahead of us.

  “Fly, Sleipnir,” I said, and the stallion surged ahead.

  My heart hammered in perfect rhythm with the pounding of Sleipnir’s hooves. I stretched low against his body, and his coarse mane billowed back in my face. We covered much ground, the scenery a blur on either side. We would catch the Northman; we had to.

  The crow’s call split the air again, and up ahead, I saw my quarry. He was sprinting at a fast clip on the relatively flat terrain where the rocky ground gave way to green grass. He was faster than any man I’d seen, and my mind whispered with the impossibility of it all—he had been weakened in the cave, injured, and had spent the night in a position guaranteed to stiffen his muscles. Yet he raced ahead as if the wind itself gave him speed.

  Still, he was no match for Sleipnir.

  I urged Sleipnir on until we galloped parallel to the Northman. Another couple of strides and Sleipnir pulled far ahead. I threw my weight entirely on my tailbone, digging my heel into the stallion’s left side. He skidded to a stop and reared, his flinty hooves a hairsbreadth from the Northman’s face.

  With a hoarse shout, the Northman threw himself to the ground and rolled, just missing Sleipnir’s powerful hooves.

  Our eyes met and held. In one fluid motion, the Northman vaulted upright. Before I could urge Sleipnir to move, the Northman had launched himself at me.

  He pulled me from my horse, and I fell to the ground. Sleipnir trumpeted a warning, his ears flat against his skull, but the Northman kept me pinned against the rock with his heavy body.

  “Did others follow?” he demanded, his accent almost too thick to understand.

  My sword dug into my spine as I struggled against him, but it was like grappling against a mountain. He pushed me down until I could scarce draw breath, but still he didn’t try to kill me.

  “Were you followed?” he asked again.

  I didn’t want to tell him—the risk was far too great—and yet, without my ability to control his mind, he had the advantage. “I cannot be sure,” I said in a growl. “I think not.” He needn’t know the truth: no one would come for me, not once they all learned what I had done to my father. Once they learned I was exiled.

  The pressure on my arms lessened. “You came alone?” he asked incredulously.

  “As you see.”

  He rolled off me with a chuckle. “That was foolish. Just what did you plan to do when you caught up with me? Besides having that useless mare knock me on my arse.”

  I pushed myself up until I was standing once again, my jaw clenched in anger. In stiff movements, I removed the satchel of the bread and cheese I had tied to my belt. I threw it at his feet. “I brought you the meal you asked for. Payment for what you promised me.”

  He scooped it up and examined the contents. “What use is this? This stingy bit of bread and cheese?”

  “There was a lovely fish stew to accompany it,” I said in saccharine tones, “only you were not there when I carried it all the way to the top of the cave.”

  The sudden call of a crow distracted us both, drawing our attention to the sky. The Northman frowned. “The kráka again.” His gaze shifted to me, his expression turning pensive. “Well, do you still wish to know what it said?”

  Warily, I nodded.

  “It said it would lead me to a warrior who would help me on my quest. But it lied. It led me to a meyja instead.” My brow furrowed. “A little girl,” he supplied.

  White-hot fury shot through me, and I drew my sword. His eyes widened, but he held his ground. He was unarmed, with nothing but a satchel of bread and cheese to defend himself with.

  “This kráka you speak of is more than just a crow. It is the Morrigan, the Phantom Queen, the goddess of war and death.” Adrenaline fueled by my anger raced through my blood, pouring strength into my muscles, until my grip on my sword turned my knuckles white. “She revealed a vision to me, one where murderous Northman giants destroy Éirinn. Tell me what you know of this, or I swear I will end you.”

  For a moment, it appeared he wou
ldn’t answer me. His eyes flashed a warning, his jaw tightened, but then he said, “You insult me gravely to call such filth by the name of Northman. If you were truly given a vision, then you would know they are not men.”

  Cold fingers touched the back of my neck. No, they were not men. “It’s true, then? There are such . . . monstrosities? Men like giants?”

  “There have always been tales of giants among my people—the jötnar of Jötunheimr. Man-eaters, gluttons who are bigger than mountains. We always believed they were confined to their realm. We were wrong.”

  “Jötnar?” I repeated, the unfamiliar word sticking to my tongue. “This is the name of the creatures that will descend upon Éirinn?”

  He shook his head as though frustrated with my lack of understanding. “You needn’t concern yourself, maiden. Run along home and leave such a quest to men with skill.”

  Fury flushed across my cheeks. Skill? Wasn’t I the warrior the Morrigan had led the Northman to? And yet he insulted me. “Are you forgetting that I am the one holding the sword?”

  He took a step forward, until the point of the sword was inches from his throat. “If you think a little girl with a sword will keep me from my quest, then you have made a grave error.”

  There was something about the look in his eyes, like a cornered lion, that gave me pause. “Your quest . . . do you mean you have been searching for the giants? Is that what brought you to our land?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a step back so my sword was no longer at his throat. “Why you? What can you do to stop them?”

  He met my gaze. “There is no one stronger. I paid the ultimate price to ensure this was true.”

  “You’d go to such lengths to protect this land?”

  “I care nothing for your land.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I came for revenge.”

  Vengeance. This was something I could understand.

  Above us, the crow circled. “Well, the crow was right. I want to stop them, same as you.”

  His look was wary and calculating both—before it turned into a defensive sneer. “And what can you do about it? I’ve fought many Celts and heard much talk of their infighting among clans. Your band of Celts would not stir themselves to join our fight—not until it is much too late.”

  I thought of the way my father had dismissed the Morrigan’s vision. If he didn’t believe me, no one would.

  I couldn’t go home, and even if I could, I knew my clansmen would never join with me on a quest like this. The Northman was right.

  My hand shook on my sword as the weight of that realization sank in. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t see my sisters again.

  The only way I could redeem myself was to save them.

  I swallowed my pride, my disgust, at joining such a hated enemy. “My clansmen may not join you, but I will.”

  His gaze traveled the length of me, as though taking my measure. “A brave offer, to be sure, but you could not even keep a single man captive, much less battle enemies who can level entire villages.”

  Frustration and anger at his insult—no matter how true it was—erupted within me. I brought my sword up in a sweeping arc, nicking his throat in the same place as I had on the battlefield. To his credit, he did not flinch, only brought his fingers to the small trail of blood.

  “I was also the one who brought you to your knees, Northman.”

  His scowl melted away, and he threw back his head in a laugh. On edge still, the bark of laughter nearly caused me to attack him again. “You may have imprisoned me, warrior maiden, but I can’t help but like you.”

  “My name is Ciara of Mide,” I corrected, my tone waspish.

  “Ciara, then,” he said, mirth still visible in his eyes. “I am Leif Olafsson. You would prove an interesting distraction, it is true. But what use can you be against giants?”

  I could see he was wavering. I would have to explain to him—and pray he believed me. “I can take possession of someone’s mind and force them to do whatever I command.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Impressive. Though, if you have such an ability, why haven’t you used it on me?”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  He grinned. “Because you wouldn’t have had to waste time begging me for answers.”

  I shifted briefly from foot to foot. “You are the first person I haven’t been able to take control of,” I admitted grudgingly.

  “I would call you a liar or mad, but I have to admit I saw what you did on the battlefield. I didn’t understand it at the time—I only knew someone had cast some dark spell on one of my men to make him turn on his own. You did that. You made my men turn on each other.”

  “It’s not a spell,” I said, though to me, the truth was much worse.

  “It doesn’t matter how you do it—only that you can—and there’s no doubt it would be useful.” He nodded as though he had finally found me acceptable, and I felt sweat bead on my forehead with the effort to not bash him over the head again.

  “More useful than brute strength,” I said heatedly.

  “You sound jealous,” he said, and then laughed as my grip tightened on my sword. “I can see you want to attempt to use that on me again, so I will relent.” He glanced at the crow still flying above us. “You wanted answers from me—what is it you wish to know?”

  “What is your plan? How do you intend to stop the giants?”

  “My men wait for me in Dyflin, and so I must reunite with them and speak with the king.” I crossed my arms over my chest at the mention of the Northman word for the city of Dubhlinn. They had changed the name when they had conquered the city, and it still rankled me to hear it called thus. Worse still was the fact that he was referring to King Sigtrygg, my kingdom’s enemy.

  “Sigtrygg won’t help you. He doesn’t care about anything but raids and amassing riches. I’d be more inclined to agree with you if you said your plan was to attack him and take over Dubhlinn.”

  Leif grinned. “And you called my people bloodthirsty. Sigtrygg will help us because he is bound to; my father lent him ships and men for his raids, long before he was king. Now he owes us the same—ships and men. I need his help if I am to defeat Fenris, the leader of the jötnar.”

  “I still don’t understand why it has to be Sigtrygg of all people, but I will admit that having ships and men could be useful. Will you tell me about Fenris? How do you plan to defeat him?”

  “Fenris was the leader in the jötnar’s own realm. Fenris entered into our realm and now that he is here, he has gathered more of my people to his cause, naming himself Jarl of Skien—one of our most important ports. The jötnar Fenris brought with him from Jötunheimr have set up camp in Skien, along with many men. But man or jötunn, I will fight them. I must gather as many warriors as I can and return to kill Fenris and whoever tries to get in my way.”

  A direct attack and a show of force of the magnitude Leif was suggesting would certainly intimidate any mortal Northman raiders—it was simply not their preferred method of war. Did that hold true for monsters? “When will you set sail?”

  “As soon as I am able. Though from what I heard, it might not be that easy.” When I stared at him blankly, he said, “I have heard talk of men like giants here in Éirinn.”

  A cold wave of fear hit me. “You mean the . . . jötnar are here already?”

  His eyes met mine, his grim expression answer enough.

  I shook my head. “They cannot be allowed to wreak their destruction here.”

  “You will join me, then? Leave the comfortable trappings of your castle, your family, your clan, and follow your enemy?”

  He didn’t know that I’d already left all that behind—that I couldn’t return if I wanted to. I couldn’t even bear to utter the truth aloud. The crow had perched on a boulder, watching us, eyes bloodred in the light. My mind was quiet, both of the Morrigan’s voice and of visions.

  By now Áthair would have already announced my exile. How much worse would my punishment be when he discovered
the Northman was alive? But knowing what I did about the jötnar, how could I possibly stand aside when I had the power to stop them? I would join forces with a murderous raider, a man who had killed many of my own people. Would stopping the greater evil of the giants negate the sin of aiding my enemy?

  I didn’t know how successful Leif had been in his quest so far, but I did know he was right about one thing: my clan would never lend their aid until it was too late. It was I who had been given this vision, and it was I who must make a stand.

  I returned my sword to its sheath. With my right hand in a fist, I placed it over my heart. “I will join you in destroying the jötnar here in this land.”

  “I cannot say you have made the right decision, but I won’t turn away from your offer.” He strode toward Sleipnir. “Now come. All this talk has wasted too much time.”

  He grabbed hold of my warhorse as though it was his and hauled himself astride. It took Sleipnir only an instant to realize it wasn’t me on his back. His ears flattened, and he bucked and twisted, his powerful muscles taut as a bow.

  Leif’s jaw was tense with concentration, but he managed to stay astride. Grudgingly impressed, I let it go on for another moment or two before finally saying, “Sleipnir.”

  My horse’s ears remained flat, but he stopped trying to unseat the Northman.

  “You should know better than to mount another’s warhorse,” I said with a smirk. “Or perhaps he took offense to being called a mare.”

  “He’s stronger than he looks,” Leif answered with a grin that suddenly made him appear much younger.

  When he continued to smile at me, I shifted uncomfortably and said, “You’ll have to make room for me.”

  Leif slid back along Sleipnir’s spine a few inches—carefully. After giving Sleipnir a pat on the neck, I grabbed a handful of mane and pulled myself astride. It was an awkward affair, since I didn’t have the room to swing my leg over with Leif in the way. But I managed it without the Northman’s assistance, which was all I really cared about.