Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  As the newcomers disembarked, I searched for their leader, curious to see who would be fighting alongside us. A slow smile took my face by surprise when I saw who it was.

  A woman.

  There was no doubt she was the leader, with her beautiful mantle of sable fur atop leather armor and longsword strapped to her hip. Her hair was worn in intricate blond braids upon her head, and her face was as fierce and angular as an eagle’s. The men followed in her wake as she approached us.

  “Rúna,” Leif said. They clasped hands in greeting before she pulled Leif in for a firm embrace.

  “I have brought you forty men,” she said. Her green eyes shifted to mine. “You are the Celtic queen?”

  “I am Ciara,” I said, surprised she had already heard of me. Word spread fast through these northern lands.

  “Rúna is my aunt,” Leif said with a fond smile, “my father’s only sister and a jarl in her own right.”

  “And where is my brother?” Rúna asked with a smile. “Or does my arrival not warrant a greeting from the jarl?”

  Leif touched her shoulder. “I was told upon my own arrival that his condition has worsened to the point that he can rarely leave his bed, Aunt, but he may join us in our feast tonight.”

  Her smile faded. “It pains me to hear that. I will go to him, then. But first: What is the plan? How many others will respond to the summons?”

  Leif gestured for us to follow him back toward the longhouse. “I can count on Jarl Thorsten and Inghard to bring more men, but neither will be able to bring as many as you. They should arrive by tomorrow, and then we will sail to Skien.”

  When we entered the longhouse, the three of us sat around the fire pit in the main hall, and a servant brought us mead to drink from horns capped with gold.

  “You plan to attack from the fjord?” Rúna asked Leif.

  “Yes.”

  “Hm,” she said. “Do you have a map?”

  He paused, considering. “You think it would be better to attack from behind the city?”

  “So they won’t see us coming,” I said, understanding dawning. The Viking longships were fast, but the fjords were narrow. They would be seen before they could make landfall, and giving the jötnar the chance to transform was a death sentence. “They will be anticipating an attack—the sea serpent showed us that.”

  Leif nodded. “They’ll be expecting us.”

  “Sea serpent?” Rúna asked, confusion knitting her brows together.

  “There was a jötnar spy in Dubhlinn who sent word to Fenris of our movements,” he clarified for her. “Fenris in turn sent an ormr to deal with us, but”—he glanced at me with a smile—“Ciara dealt with it easily.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know about ‘easily’ . . .”

  “Either way,” Leif said, “it’s dead and we’re alive.” He stood and squeezed my shoulder gently. “I’ll go get a map of Skien.”

  I turned my attention back to Rúna, who was watching me over the flames of the fire.

  “You are beautiful,” Rúna said appraisingly as I took a sip of the mead. “I can see why he keeps you by his side.”

  “And you are as bluntly outspoken as Leif,” I said. “It’s no wonder you’re related.”

  She smiled. “It must be in the blood. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” She took a sip of her own mead thoughtfully. “The last time was when his sister, Finna, was still alive. Two winters have passed since then. And now my brother has taken ill. Have you seen him? Is his condition truly that bad?”

  I shook my head. “He has been too ill to leave his bed, but I hope to make his acquaintance tonight at the feast.”

  “Worse than I thought,” she said quietly. A shadow of sadness crossed over her fierce face. “It’s mostly because of my niece that I’m here. She was a kind and lighthearted girl, one who would have made the best of mothers. What happened to her was a fate that should never befall anyone, let alone someone like her.”

  I thought of my own sister, and my hands tightened into fists. “We’ll stop them,” I swore.

  Her sharp gaze met mine. “Tell me of your army. They say they never sleep nor move around the ships, only stand there as though you had brought statues to life.”

  “How have you heard of them?”

  “News of them traveled with the summons.”

  Silence descended upon us as I contemplated how much to tell her. How to describe the men I had once loved who were now shells of the men they’d once been? “They have only seen one battle, but none fell,” I said. “They strike as fast as vipers and never tire.”

  Rúna leaned forward. “But how did you come to have such an army?”

  I thought of the two hundred men who had died, including my father, and the walls within me rose. “I paid a very high price.”

  Leif returned then, a rolled-up piece of leather tucked under his arm. He dragged a table over by the fire and unrolled the map. As we crowded around it, I examined the whole of his homeland for the first time: a jagged piece of land mostly made up of rivers, fjords, and mountains.

  “Most of your land looks uninhabitable,” I said, my finger tracing all the lines that represented water. “It’s impressive you manage to have any farms at all.”

  “Was that a compliment?” Leif asked, humor shining in his eyes.

  I made a rude sound in the back of my throat. “Don’t make me regret giving it. Let’s plan our strategy.”

  Leif grinned but turned back to the task at hand readily enough. His finger traced the lines of rivers leading from his village to Skien. “We could sail the ships up the rivers that end up to the north of Skien. From there, we can approach on foot.”

  “That is a much better ambush strategy,” Rúna said. “I doubt they’ll have any sentinels—they believe themselves to be invincible.” She peered closely at the map. “If I’m not mistaken, though, there is a glacier nearby that will only slow our progress.”

  “We’ll avoid it. But you’re wrong, they will have watchmen.” He glanced at me. “Now that Fenris knows we’re amassing an army.”

  Rúna nodded grimly. “Then we will have to move swiftly.”

  As they continued to debate the best rivers to take, a subtle fluttering sound drew my attention to the window.

  A great black bird stared back at me from outside the glass. My first thought was that it was the Morrigan, come to offer her own advice, but then I remembered she had told me she could not come to this land. The bird let out a low croak, and I realized it wasn’t a crow, which the Morrigan always appeared as, but a raven instead. Unlike a crow, it had a tuft of feathers just above its beak. I followed the line of its sight and realized it wasn’t looking at me at all.

  It was watching Leif.

  24

  The rest of the day had progressed quickly: deciding strategy, gathering weapons, and welcoming another ally. The raven that had so intensely watched Leif through the window had flown away, though the sensation we were being watched lingered. Fear crept over me as I thought about Leif’s agreement with the Valkyrie. Were they watching to make sure he kept his end of the bargain?

  That prickly wariness still had not left me by the evening feast. As we entered the main hall, the din of a room full of voices greeted me. It seemed that the entire village had come to celebrate the return of Leif and his men. The smells of roasting meats, fresh-baked bread, and freely flowing ale and mead scented the air, and many eyes were upon me as I walked beside Leif.

  He reached for my hand, and I took it. I had to resist the urge to clutch his hand to ease my worry that I would lose him at the end of this. I pushed such thoughts away before they could drag me under. I refused to live in fear.

  Leif led me to one of the two chairs on the dais and clasped my hand again once we were seated. When I glanced at him, I could see that his face was pale.

  “Are you all right?” I whispered.

  His answering smile was a nervous one, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My eyes scanned
the people in the hall, searching for Leif’s father in the crowd, but I could not find him. But all who met my gaze greeted me with a welcoming smile. I thought of the reactions of my own clansmen should I place an outsider in such a place of honor and sank down in my chair. I had seen so little of this land so far, and nothing was as I had expected.

  Leif stood—reluctantly, it seemed to me—and the hall quieted. “Freemen and women, I’ve brought back a powerful ally as promised.” He turned and held out his hand to me, and I got to my feet beside him. “This is Ciara, Princess of Mide, Queen of Dyflin. She single-handedly brought down a jötunn and defeated King Sigtrygg. Her prowess is well-known in Éirinn, and her abilities rival my own.”

  Loud murmurs of approval followed Leif’s impressive introduction of me, and I was surprised by how much I wanted to live up to such words.

  “She brings with her a powerful army—men who do not easily fall. And we have sent call to our allies. Some of you have already lost men and women to the jötnar, and though you still mourn for your dead, there is only one thing that can ease your suffering: revenge.” Many nods and shouts rang out from all those listening. “Tomorrow, we will sail to Skien and defeat Fenris in his own city.”

  Another roar of approval soared up at this, and Leif flashed his teeth. “Who here will join in the battle ahead?”

  Men from the ship were the first to step forward, to offer themselves as warriors. Their wives nodded their approval, their chins held high with pride. As if caught up in the ritual of it all, Sigtrygg’s men volunteered as well. It surprised me that though Leif’s father was jarl, he still invited the men to volunteer, rather than forcing them into service. Others from the village stepped forward, all pledging their aid.

  But when Arinbjorn stepped forward, Leif shook his head. “No, Arin,” he said. “Not this time.”

  Arin’s face darkened in an impressive imitation of his brother’s. “Did I not prove myself battle-ready in Éirinn?”

  “You did, but I had no choice there. You will stay here and watch over the village; you haven’t yet come of age for battle.”

  Arin’s face fell, but he bowed his head tersely. It was clear Leif would not be dissuaded.

  After the last man had offered himself to the cause, the servants brought forth enormous iron cauldrons. It took two strong men to carry each steaming cauldron in, and when they had placed them before the table, one of the men turned to Leif.

  “For the blóta,” he said, and handed him a bowl full of a dark liquid.

  Leif brought forth a long-handled brush from the bowl. “By this blood, we ask the gods for strength and good health in the battle to come.”

  Everyone in the room repeated the prayer, and then Leif flicked the brush until droplets of blood sprayed through the air. One drop landed on my forehead, and I touched it tentatively as it tracked down my face. The Northmen around me bowed their heads and murmured thanks to Odin or Freyja, but I could only stand in an awed sort of silence. There had been a time when I would have sneered at their ritual, been disgusted by the pagan sacrifice, but now that I was one of them . . . I could only see the good intentions behind it.

  After making a full circuit around the room, Leif brought the bowl of blood to the foot of a crudely carved statue. He sprinkled more blood on it before returning to the front of the room.

  “Let us feast,” he said.

  Two of the servants immediately pulled out the steaming meat from the cauldrons, while others piled food high on tables so long they ran the length of the room. Roast lamb and pork, dried fruits and nuts, salted fish, fresh fish, and bread so dark it was nearly black. Our table was set with wooden bowls and plates, sharp knives, and horns of mead. I sat beside Leif at the head and watched with an amused smile as everyone, but especially the Northmen we had sailed with, fell upon the food as though they were starving.

  “I’m relieved that’s over with,” Leif said in a low voice to me.

  I shot him an incredulous look. “So you were nervous.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve addressed the freemen without my father and led the blóta.” He frowned. “I’m not sure what’s keeping my father—I don’t relish speaking in front of so many.”

  I set my knife down to better stare at him. “This is what frightens you? Speaking in front of a crowded room?” He nodded sheepishly. “Well, if I hadn’t noticed you were pale beforehand, I would not have even thought you were uncomfortable. You did a good job.”

  “I imagined I was speaking to them in the midst of a battle.”

  My laughter took us both by surprise, and soon, he was joining in.

  The children finished first as children do, and their high-pitched laughs and screams punctuated the din as they began chasing one another about the hall. The now familiar sound of the Norse language flowed around me, and I leaned back, savoring my dessert of honeyed fruits and nuts.

  I was happy for the feast, happy Leif and all of his allies could take part in it, for it might be the last feast we enjoyed for some time.

  The feasting and dancing lasted long into the night, and after Leif had his fill of the bountiful food, he sat upon his throne wrought from wood and antlers with a horn of mead and watched. Many came to him, talking of the upcoming battle, or of more mundane matters, but always his eyes were upon me.

  I enjoyed his gaze. Forgetting myself, I’d drunk far too much mead and danced until my legs were shaky and my cheeks were flushed. When he was finally alone, he caught my eye and gestured to the chair next to him, thoughtfully padded with furs. I fell down upon it in a heap.

  “You are enjoying yourself here, among all these pagan barbarians,” he said, with that teasing smile so familiar to me now.

  I leaned my head back and smiled. “They may have horrid table manners, but never have I met a more welcoming people.”

  His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I felt a wave of desire lick up my stomach. But before he could say anything else, Agnarr’s deep voice resonated from his place around the fire pit.

  “Arin has just asked me to tell the tale of the jötnar,” Agnarr said, pausing to take a sip from his horn of mead. “Do you know it?” he asked one of the small boys nearest him.

  “No, Agnarr,” the boy said, his eyes wide.

  Agnarr smiled and glanced at me. “Neither, I’m sure, does the Celt.” He gestured for me to join them around the fire. “Come, it would be good for you to hear the story of the enemy we will face tomorrow.”

  When I stood, Leif followed, and the others made room for us on the wooden bench.

  “Long ago,” Agnarr began, and everyone gave him their rapt attention, held captive by his rich voice, “in the void that existed before time began, two opposing forces reigned. In the north, it was ice and wind and rain, such that nothing could survive. And in the south, it was a blistering heat. It was from this meeting of ice and heat that the first being was formed: Ymir. He was a giant bigger than any of the mountains on earth. A jötunn son and a jötunn daughter sprang forth from his armpits as he slept—the first of the jötnar, the Frost Giants.

  “When Father Odin later slayed Ymir, the giant’s blood formed such a deluge that all but two jötnar drowned. From Ymir’s flesh the earth was formed, and the rocks were formed from his bones. His skull became the sky above us, and his blood, the sea. The two remaining jötnar repopulated their race: some who would later help the gods . . . and others who would turn against them.”

  “What do they look like?” asked the boy seated at Agnarr’s feet.

  “Tall as trees, faces craggy and deformed, and claws on their hands,” Agnarr said, and I thought of the few we had already encountered with a shudder. “But some are so beautiful not even the gods can resist them.”

  Good and evil, ugly and beautiful. The jötnar didn’t sound so different from mortals, though I’d yet to encounter a human enemy who feasted upon the slain. The boy asked for more stories of the gods, and Agnarr gladly launched into another bawdy tale.

 
Soon, Rúna joined us, making everyone roar with approval with her tales of successful raids. I found even I was laughing at these Northman stories, but I could tell Leif was distracted. Half the time he watched me with such hunger in his eyes my stomach twisted with desire and I could hardly breathe. The other half of the time, though, he watched the entry to the hall for his father.

  “Perhaps you should go to him,” I said after his eyes had drifted to the doorway yet again.

  “It would only insult his pride. He would see it as an unspoken proclamation that I believe him to be too weak to join us.”

  My brow furrowed. “Isn’t he too weak? He’s been bedridden this whole time, after all.”

  “Yes, but he said he’d be here,” Leif said distractedly. “Going to him would mean that I no longer trust his word.”

  I shook my head. The Northmen’s prickly pride made little sense.

  “Aunt Rúna,” Arin shouted above all the other voices, “tell us of the wolf you kept like a dog.”

  Rúna grinned. “There’s a good lesson in that for you, nephew.”

  As the others roared again with laughter, a small commotion drew our attention to the entrance of the hall. A grizzled man dressed richly in dark velvet and fur leaned heavily upon his cane. Zinna and a woman I assumed was another servant hovered at either side of him, watching as though they feared he’d fall at any moment.

  Leif jumped from the bench and strode forward to offer his arm, and the man took it after a moment’s hesitation. The hall went silent, and some Northmen even bowed their heads. So this was Leif’s father. He walked with a painfully pronounced limp, one of his legs so badly scarred and shriveled it was now deformed.

  “Father,” I could hear Leif say, his voice low, “are you sure you’re well enough?”

  The man brushed away his concern, but his voice sounded weak when he answered. “I wouldn’t miss a feast.”