Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  With surprising speed for one so large, his hand darted out. I dodged, but my cursed skirts tangled about my legs. He pressed me against the table, the wood digging into my back. A shout came from across the room, but neither the man nor I paid it any heed. I unsheathed my dagger and slashed it across his cheek.

  His nostrils flared like a bull’s, and his eyes narrowed to slits, but he backed away. I tightened my grip on my dagger.

  “You’ll pay for that, spawn of Loki,” he said in a snarl. “I’ll tear your gown from your body and have you here on the floor.”

  As though I’d been stabbed with a burning blade, intense rage shot through me. He charged, and I held my dagger loosely, as Leif’s brief training had taught me. I would geld him like a horse; he would never threaten a woman again.

  Before the Northman could reach me, Leif stepped in front of the rampaging Northman, his legs spread bracingly. “Ulric,” Leif said, his voice deadly, “stop now, or by Thor, I will kill you where you stand.”

  Ulric halted, but his small eyes flashed with a burning hate. “Curse you, Leif. If you will deny me my rights, then I will cut you down.”

  Leif’s countenance darkened murderously. “You have no rights to claim. She is an ally, which you well know.” He took a step forward. “And I do not take threats lightly.”

  The scene was like that of a wolf challenging its alpha. A dark cloud of impending violence seemed to descend upon the hall. Those still conscious watched the interplay between the two men with growing anticipation, and I tensed, prepared for battle.

  Ulric answered Leif by pulling an axe free from its fastenings on his back.

  “So be it,” Leif said, and shot forward before Ulric could even lift the heavy axe.

  He struck Ulric beneath his chin so hard his neck snapped back. Ulric swung his axe, but Leif struck him again and again in the face until blood sprayed from his nose. Leif’s blows were as fast as viper strikes and utterly merciless. Again, Ulric swung his axe. Leif dodged, and the axe split one of the long wooden tables in two.

  Many of the men roared their approval, but I could only watch in grim silence.

  Ulric charged again, axe raised, but Leif had grabbed a knife. He met Ulric’s charge with a powerful upward thrust of the blade. It lodged in Ulric’s heart, and the Northman fell to his knees. The axe clattered to the floor. After drawing one last struggling breath, the rest of Ulric’s body followed.

  My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I stared in disbelief at the dead Northman at our feet. I had expected this to end with Ulric felled into unconsciousness, not death.

  “Get this failed usurper from my sight,” Leif said, a look of disgust twisting his features. “Burn the body.”

  Two men immediately moved forward to do as he asked. Grunting with effort, they lifted the broken body of Ulric into the air and carried him from the room.

  The drumming sound of tankards hitting the table began soon after. “Olafsson! Olafsson!” the men chanted.

  I stood in a sort of shock over the callous disregard for the dead—even if the man had been a disgusting cretin. I turned to Leif. “I hope you haven’t killed one of your own on my account.”

  He glanced pointedly at the dagger I still clutched in my right hand. “And I am to believe you had no plans to use that?”

  “Not to kill. Only geld, which would’ve been a just punishment for one so foul.”

  Leif laughed humorlessly. “Deprive him of his manhood? Princess, he would have begged you for death. No, my punishment was much more humane.”

  “Humane?” I said with an incredulous stare. “He is dead!”

  “You don’t understand our ways, and yet you pass judgment. These men follow me of their own free will. They can leave at any time, but while they are under my leadership, they are not to challenge me.” His eyes darkened. “I warned you to stay in your room, and you paid me no heed. He would have taken great pleasure in raping you before all. What were you even doing down here?”

  My cheeks flushed, and I bristled. “He never would’ve had the chance. I don’t need a man to defend me; I can protect myself.”

  “You can—you’ve proven that before—but that doesn’t mean you need to go looking for dangerous situations to put yourself in.”

  My anger ignited. “And I suppose it’s my fault he attacked me, then? I shouldn’t have been there—being all female and tempting?”

  “Of course it’s not your fault—”

  “I came here to find your seer, not look for danger,” I interrupted, more than a little disgusted at the implied blame. And, if I was being honest, still a little shaken up from the sudden outbreak of violence. “Obviously she isn’t among you lot of barbarians, so I’ll look elsewhere.” I turned on my heel to go.

  “I haven’t been afraid many times in my life,” Leif said suddenly, “but I was afraid when Ulric threatened you.” He reached out and touched my cheek, and I was so shocked by the sudden touch that I froze. “I’ve never felt such rage.”

  Horribly, I thought of my dream earlier that night, of Leif nearly kissing me. My eyes dropped to his mouth, and horror washed over me as I realized I was actually contemplating what it would be like to feel his lips on mine. He took a step closer to me, and my gaze jumped to his. My heart pounded when I saw the flare of heat trapped within the icy blue of his eyes.

  You want him, a part of me whispered, and I stamped down on that part of me with a hiss. He was a Northman.

  I pulled back, remembering why I’d come down to the hall in the first place—to find the seer. Before I could say anything else, the doors to the great hall opened. Leif’s attention shifted—reluctantly, it seemed—to the hall entrance. I turned to see two men enter. They weren’t the same men who had left with Ulric’s body, but they appeared much the same as the others. Tall, blond, bearish.

  Leif caught the eye of Gunnarr and made a sharp gesture with his chin. Gunnarr moved toward us, pulling his axe free.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Leif said.

  The men strode toward one of the tables nearest to us, and I took an unintentional step back when I saw them. Their faces looked like melted wax, as though they’d been badly burned early in life. Their brows drooped heavily, almost into their eyes. One’s nose was as prominent as a horse’s, the other’s was barely there, like a snake’s. Ordinarily, such a sight would move me to pity. Gazing upon these men, however, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I shivered as though a cold wind suddenly howled through the hall.

  If they noticed the rising tension in the room, the drawn weapons, they gave no sign of it. They tore into dark loaves of bread voraciously, seemingly unaware of their environment. And yet they had an aura about them of malevolence, as if a sudden movement might provoke them to violence.

  The one with the snake nose leaned toward the other and spoke rapidly in a language I didn’t recognize. It was harsh and guttural, and all at once, I froze. I had heard such a language before. In the crow’s vision.

  “We should see who they are,” Leif said, and took a step toward them, a determined set to his jaw. My hand shot out and grasped his arm. He glanced down at me in surprise.

  “This hall has seen enough blood for the night,” I said in a low tone.

  Leif’s brow furrowed, but he did not attempt to remove my hand.

  Were these the jötnar we hunted? Though they were easily the tallest men in the room, they weren’t giants. And yet . . . I remembered the sound of their language. Your enemies are closer than you think, the Morrigan had said, and the stag in the wood had said giants were stirring up the creatures of Éirinn. Still, engaging them here, without knowing for sure who they were and what they were capable of, was folly. I glanced at Leif and Gunnarr. Leif had just slayed one of his own. What might he do with an enemy? I wouldn’t risk it.

  A female servant entered the room then, her bearing much less timid than that of the handmaiden who had waited upon me. Her wide hips
swished as she made her way to the jötnar’s table fearlessly. I tensed, suddenly afraid for her. “My lords,” she said, “your rooms have been prepared, and I am sorry for your wait.” Her eyes surveyed the room, a look of disgust on her face. “The hall is in poor condition at the moment. Would you mind taking your meals in your rooms?”

  They shook their disfigured heads and stood, towering over the woman. “You may show us the way,” the one with the prominent nose said, his Gaelic as guttural as his own language.

  The servant nodded slowly, as though she had trouble understanding. “Follow me,” she said after a moment.

  From what Leif had told me, I thought the jötnar would be so hungry for human flesh that they’d attack the woman right there in the hall. Though nothing happened, I couldn’t deny the skitter of warning across my skin.

  Leif watched them with an alert wariness until they finally left the hall. As though a great storm had passed, the tension disappeared from the room. Gunnarr lowered his axe, and I let out a slow breath.

  “Should we follow?” Gunnarr asked. “I didn’t like the look of them. We can cleave their ugly troll heads from their bodies before they have the chance to attack.”

  “You can’t attack someone just because you don’t like the way they look,” I said, though I had to admit I understood the feeling. “You don’t even know who they are.”

  “I know they raised the hair on the back of my neck,” Gunnarr said with a look of disgust. “That’s enough for me.”

  “Perhaps the seer has the answer?” I said with a glance at Leif. I was happy to have an excuse to talk to the seer. Leif still hadn’t said anything, and his face was a mask of stone. “Perhaps she can divine whether they are friend or foe.”

  Leif shook his head. “She can only see what the gods allow; her answers and power are limited.”

  “Then we shouldn’t waste time asking her,” Gunnarr said, almost eagerly. “We should interrogate them ourselves.”

  Were all Northmen so eager to die, then? “Still,” I said, “it’s better to find out all we can.”

  “Gunnarr, Ciara is right. It’s foolish rushing into a situation we have no knowledge of.”

  Gunnarr’s face fell. “Ask the seer, then, but come get me before you do what needs to be done. It’s been ages since I made use of my axe.”

  I hid a smile at Gunnarr’s words. He sounded so much like Conall, but my amusement disappeared when I realized who I was comparing my clansman to.

  “Where can I find her?” Leif asked.

  “Sleeping in one of the rooms above us,” Gunnarr said with a jerk of his chin toward the ceiling. “Where else would she be? She’s as old as Odin.”

  “Which room?” I asked.

  “First door on your right—just follow the smell of the herbs she always brings along,” he said with a Conall-like lip curl.

  Leif walked past us and wrenched open one of the heavy doors. “Let’s see if she will answer.”

  “Do you bring old women with you on all your raids?” I asked as I hurried through the doorway—I’d never been so eager to leave a place. With Ulric’s attack and the strange men appearing, the king’s great hall seemed as forbidding as a crypt.

  “On quests as important as this one I do.”

  We both scanned the dark entryway as the doors slammed shut behind us. The flames of the wall torches flickered and danced, casting ominous shadows, but if there was anyone hiding in the dark, they were utterly silent.

  I moved toward the stairs first, and Leif followed, our footsteps muffled by the rugs upon the stone floor.

  Trepidation filled me; my every step felt heavy. If those men were truly jötnar—or in league with them—the whole city could be in danger. The fact that they were here, in King Sigtrygg’s castle, seemed to suggest he wasn’t the ally Leif thought him to be.

  If our enemy had already made it to Dubhlinn, where else in Éirinn might they be? Were my sisters even still safe at home?

  I feared the answers.

  The smell of sage was so strong outside the seer’s door that I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it earlier.

  Leif knocked once, but the door was ajar just enough that Leif’s fist opened it farther. The smoke from the sage streamed out of the room and wrapped around us, almost choking in its intensity.

  “Sigrid?” he called with a cough and a wave of his hand at the smoke.

  “Come,” a gravelly voice answered.

  Leif crossed the threshold, and I followed him into the darkness. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, for the room was lit by only a single candle, and the seer sat far away from its light. I could make out a woman bent forward with age, clutching a gnarled wooden stick. Gray robes hung from her body, and they rustled as though made from stiff muslin when she gestured for us to sit.

  There was only one other armchair and a small bed, so I took the chair while Leif stood beside me. The seer lit another candle at the rickety table beside her. In the flickering light, she appeared even more ancient, her face as weathered as a rock worn by a thousand years of wind and water. Her hair was as gray as her robes, wild and half braided.

  “What is it you wish to know?” she asked.

  “There are strange men here,” Leif said, his voice low. “Are they in league with the jötnar?”

  The seer watched the flame of the candle for several long moments. “The jötnar have nearly as much magic as the gods. They can assume many forms.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Leif said, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders.

  “Then you didn’t listen.”

  “What do you see of the kingdom of Mide?” I asked, my hands gripping the skirt of my gown. “Is my family safe?”

  She turned to me, her eyes almost milky with age. “This kingdom you speak of is shrouded by a dark mist that even my eyes cannot penetrate.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, a sick anxiety growing with me. “Tell me, are my sisters safe?”

  “I tell you again, child. There is something that prevents me from seeing the fate of your kingdom.”

  The Morrigan? I thought. My anxiety for my family grew until I feared I’d be sick. The strong smell of the sage and the lingering pounding of my head injury didn’t help. Suddenly, Leif’s warm hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced up to find him watching me with sympathy.

  “You have other concerns,” the seer continued. “A new power that frightens you.”

  Leaving my own body. I still failed to see how it was a power, but it certainly frightened me. “I need to learn to control it. I need to know what it is.”

  “You are too weak now, and you lack the discipline and true desire to master it.”

  I leaned closer. “I was told you could help me.” Though that wasn’t strictly true. The Morrigan had never promised the seer could help . . . only told me I should find her.

  The seer drew farther into her robes. “You are surrounded by darkness. Your life hangs by a single thread, and I cannot see what the outcome will be.”

  I glanced up at Leif again, and he must have seen the desperation in my eyes, for he said to the seer, “What does that mean? She may die, so you refuse to help her?”

  Unperturbed by his angry tone, the seer shook her head. “She must undergo the test before the power can be mastered.” She drew a raspy breath as though talking had become taxing on her withered body. “You must remember that your power connects you to the spirit realm. It could save your life”—she looked at Leif—“and his.”

  “Why is it the nature of seers to speak in riddles?” Leif demanded.

  “I can only see what the gods choose to show me. We are all helpless to their whims.”

  “You can do no more, then?” Leif asked. “Isn’t there anything you can do to divine the fate of Ciara’s family?”

  “This land is not ours. There are ancient beings here, creatures like our gods in the north, and they also have control over what I can see.” She watched me for a moment
until unease joined the sick feeling in my stomach. “They don’t want me to see the fate of your family.”

  With those forbidding words, she blew out the candle, plunging her corner into darkness again.

  Leif made a noise of disgust and made to leave. I came to my feet. “Thank you for speaking with us,” I murmured.

  “Your power,” the seer said quietly, and I paused, “is a door as real as the one in this room. Do not be afraid to go through it.”

  More riddles. But I could see she was trying to help me, so I nodded once. “I will remember.”

  I followed Leif into the dim hallway and closed the seer’s door behind me.

  I wanted to run to the stables, leap astride Sleipnir, and gallop back to Mide. But I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t—I was exiled for attacking my own father, and the jötnar might already be here in this castle. But my sisters . . .

  Fear gripped me like a hawk’s talons tear into a mouse.

  “Ciara,” Leif said, concern etched into his face, and it nearly broke me. “Your family . . . just because Sigrid couldn’t see them doesn’t mean anything happened to them.”

  I stepped closer to him—I couldn’t help it. I wanted someone to tell me they were okay, that nothing had happened to them, that this feeling I had meant nothing. “We lost eleven days in the Faerie Tunnel, Leif. There are men here who could be in league with the jötnar, and they could have easily been to Mide and back.”

  “They could have,” Leif agreed, “and I understand your fear, but you can’t let it cripple you. Much as I hate to sit idle, I think it may be best to watch and wait—at least until morning.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you know more than you’re telling me.”

  I thought about lying, but Leif seemed more restrained now than he had in the great hall. “I have seen men like them before in a vision. Their strange language is what gave them away as jötnar, yet they are clearly not giants. For this reason, I held my tongue.” His body tensed like a bow, and I reached out to touch his arm. “You said we should watch and wait,” I reminded him gently. I could feel the need for violence thrumming just beneath his skin, and I understood it. Had they been responsible for one of my beloved sisters’ deaths . . . there was very little that would stop me from slaughtering them like sheep.