Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Bragi! Play your harp!” a voice boomed at him, causing him to jump. Taliesin looked up to see Hraban striding out of the hall, followed by a servant carrying a box overflowing with gold jewelry.

  The villagers moved away from the girls. Taliesin backed away as well, staring helplessly at Arhianna, hoping she had understood him.

  She looked like a summer bride. He wanted to weep as he watched Hraban slide bracelets upon her wrists and arms, and slip rings on each of her fingers. After he had emptied the box of jewelry upon the girls, he held out his drinking horn. A servant ran to fill it with mead. He gave it to each of the maidens, who sipped from it in turn. He then called for the tumbrel to be brought out. It was rolled forward at his command, every inch of it bedecked with garlands of wildflowers.

  The drummers pounded more forcefully as Hraban lifted the girls up into the cart. Arhianna stood proudly in the center, no fear or worry upon her face. How can she be so calm?

  Taliesin spotted Gareth across the crowd. His eyes darted back and forth and his jaw was set. Taliesin had seen that look on his face often enough to know he was planning something. He maneuvered through the crowd, trying to get close enough to speak to him. He had to tell him about the pendant before he tried something foolish that would only get him killed.

  A pair of oxen pulled the tumbrel into the forest, and all followed in procession.

  They reached the clearing beneath the Ash. Enough wood to burn for a day and a night lay beneath a long pole erected at the center of the fire pit. Arhianna stepped forward, bravely offering herself as the first to be sacrificed. She did not struggle as her hands and feet were bound to the pole.

  Taliesin found he could no longer play. His fingers fell from the harp, leaving the ominous rhythm of the drums to fill the air. All eyes were on Arhianna, so he made his way around the edge of the crowd, trying to get to Gareth.

  All kneeled down and raised their hands toward the heavens as Hraban stood in front of the pyre. He cried out and invoked the name of Woden, asking for his blessing on his people in return for the virgins he was about to burn in his name.

  “She shall be your bride, Great Woden!” Hraban bellowed into the sky, causing Taliesin to jump. “We have prepared her for your bed. She comes willingly to your side.”

  Hraban looked over at one of his warriors, who handed him a torch. He lit the kindling and dried grass beneath the logs.

  Taliesin’s mind began to spin out of control, panic rising like a tide, drowning his thoughts. Does she know what to do? He scanned the forest for a raven to command, but it was as if the birds knew was about to happen, for there were none in the grove. The clan began to chant with the drums.

  At last he reached Gareth, just in time to stop him from leaping into the bonfire. “Wait!” Taliesin hissed in his ear. “She can use her pendant to escape. Give her a chance!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The wood cracked and popped as the flames engulfed it, yet Arhianna did not cry out.

  Gareth did not look convinced. Every vein in his face was bulging. He had a dagger clutched in his hand.

  Taliesin reached down and grabbed his wrist. “Trust me.”

  “If anything happens to her…” Gareth warned.

  The fire burned higher and hotter, catching her robe. The smoke billowed, hiding her from view, yet, still, she did not cry out. The giants looked confused, and whispered to one another in urgent bewilderment.

  “Give her a chance. I think she can do it.”

  Taliesin grew anxious. He could still glimpse Arhianna through the smoke. Panic crept up on him again.

  The fire rose higher, roaring and lashing out at the crowd like a caged animal, raging into billowing towers of flame and smoke that threatened to devour everything around them. Instinctively, the clan moved away, unable to withstand the intensity of the light and heat.

  “That’s it!” Gareth cried within the chaos. “I’m going in!” He yanked his wrist away from Taliesin and thrust through the crowd toward the pyre.

  Before he could reach her, to everyone’s fear and amazement, the flames disappeared—as if they had been summoned home by a distant star on the other side of the world.

  No one moved or spoke as the smoke cleared and Arhianna emerged, stepping down off the pyre into a sea of gasps. She was completely naked except for the Brisingamen, her bonds and robe burned to ashes.

  Victoriously, she took off the pendant and held it aloft in her hand. “Woden does not want your sacrifices!” she cried with fury, challenging the crowd with her eyes. “He has returned the Brisingamen to me!”

  There was no one in the crowd—chieftain, warrior or slave—who did not kneel down before her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Freya’s Temple

  After the shocking experience in the Ash grove, things changed for Arhianna. She was still destined for Hraban’s bed, but instead of becoming his concubine, she was to become his wife. Though being married to Hraban was a vile prospect, at least she would be safe from him until their wedding night.

  Being Hraban’s bard, Taliesin sat near him in the hall each night, ready to play and sing as the earl commanded. This enabled him to hear all of the conversations that took place at his table.

  Tonight, Ragna and Hraban were arguing.

  “She is clearly blessed by Freya,” Ragna said. “Let me take her to the temple before the wedding. I am certain the goddess will speak to her. If she chooses to bless her, she could mean salvation for our people against the Danes.”

  Hraban let out a long sigh of frustration. “They are the very reason I have forbidden temple journeys! She is of no use to me dead. Besides, your mother did the same with her grandmother, and she escaped.”

  “She will not escape,” Ragna assured him. “I will take Jørren to ensure it.”

  “What’s going on?” Arhianna whispered to Taliesin. As Hraban’s future wife, she now sat beside Ragna at his table.

  Taliesin translated. “They believe you’ve been blessed by their goddess, Freya. Ragna wishes to take you to her temple to see if she will speak to you, as she once spoke to your grandmother.”

  The argument wore on, until finally, Hraban consented. “Very well, take her—but only if Jørren goes. Take Bragi as well. She cannot speak our language.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ragna agreed.

  Arhianna shot an expectant look at Taliesin, who explained, “We’re to go with her to Freya’s temple. Jørren will go with us for protection.”

  Arhianna glanced over at Jørren and grimaced. “Ugh—he’s such a beast.”

  Jørren was a threatening figure, with a broad chest and a permanent scowl on his square jaw. He was indeed quite sullen. “Beast he may be,” Taliesin conceded, “but would you rather leave your life in the hands of a man like me?” He laughed.

  Arhianna smiled kindly. “I wouldn’t dismiss yourself so quickly. You may not be a warrior, but you have many strengths.”

  Taliesin felt his cheeks grow hot. “Thank you, but there are times when a beast is called for. Besides,” he looked at Jørren, “I’ve heard Hraban address Ragna as ‘sister’. That makes Jørren Hraban’s nephew, and, as far as I can tell, his only living male relation.”

  Arhianna squinted at Jørren. “So, when Hraban dies, he’ll become chieftain?”

  “I think it’s likely. The men in the clan look to him when Hraban is not around.”

  She nodded. “Then we should make a friend of him. Hraban will be dying sooner than anyone thinks, and you’re going to help me.”

  Taliesin raised his eyebrows.

  “You know the herbs needed to make a poison. Make me something to put in his wine on our wedding night.”

  “Shhh,” Taliesin cautioned. He knew there was at least one person in the clan who could speak their language. There could be others. “You can’t do that—everyone would know you poisoned him!”

  Arhianna shrugged her shoulders.

  Their conversation was
cut short as Hraban bellowed for music.

  ***

  Ragna, Jørren, Arhianna and Taliesin left the next day on horseback for Freya’s temple, with generous offerings of amber and gold. Apparently, the goddess loved nothing more.

  As soon as they left the village, Arhianna rode up beside Taliesin. “The gods have heard my prayers,” she whispered. “Did you see the amount of gold Jørren’s taking? Once we reach a port, we can steal it and escape.”

  Taliesin knit his brows. “And then what?”

  She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “We use it to buy passage back home!”

  Jørren rode up alongside them, his eyes darting from one of them to the other. “No more talking. Bragi, ride next to my mother.”

  Arhianna shot Jørren an icy look, but Jørren did not care. Taliesin obediently rode up beside Ragna, and Jørren stayed behind with Arhianna.

  “We cannot take the main road to the temple,” Ragna said to Taliesin. “It’s too dangerous. The Danes raid it regularly, knowing pilgrims with offerings travel upon it. Instead, we’re taking a route that winds through a few villages friendly to us. It’s longer, but we’ll be safer.”

  Ragna’s openness surprised him. She did not owe him any explanation.

  That night, they stopped in a village where they were well-received by the local earl. Around the fire in his hall that night, they heard stories of Danish raids erupting yet again in the North, and rumors that they would soon be moving south.

  “They say the king of the Brythons, Vortigern, has invited Hengist to settle in Kent,” the earl told Jørren. “There is good land to be had there.”

  Jørren scowled. “Nothing comes for free. What is his price?”

  “Helping him keep his lands in the North. Seems the Brythons must be a weak lot, if their king needs to look across the sea to find men to fight his wars for him.”

  He and Jørren laughed and drank to “weak men with rich land.”

  Inevitably, Taliesin was asked to play for their host, which he did graciously, until the hour grew late and the ladies rose to go to bed. Arhianna glared at him as she left, and Taliesin prayed she was not planning to do anything foolish.

  ***

  “Teach me their language,” Arhianna demanded the next morning as they set out. “I hate not knowing what’s being said.”

  Taliesin had no doubt it was torture for her. Curious to a fault, there was nothing she hated more than being kept in the dark. He began teaching her some basic words and phrases, and translated what was being said between Ragna and Jørren, who rode in front of them.

  By late afternoon, they arrived in the next village, which sat along the sea. Taliesin noticed Arhianna twisting the reins in her hands, eyeing their surroundings with a renewed interest, especially the harbor. He feared she would try to escape without him. “Please, Arhianna…don’t do anything foolish. We’re not being mistreated, and neither is Gareth…”

  She snapped her head in his direction and narrowed her eyes on him. The mask she had worn since their captivity cracked. “Not mistreated? Maybe you and Gareth are enjoying yourselves, playing the harp and pounding around in the forge, but what about me, and the rest of the Oaks? Do you think we have it as good as you do? How do you think I’ll feel when that disgusting old beast is rutting me like a sow every night, filling my belly with his Saxon whelps?”

  Taliesin had never felt Arhianna’s sting so caustically. He had not meant to imply they should accept their enslavement, but rather wait for a better opportunity.

  “Whose side are you on?” she ranted, working herself into one of her tempers. “You won’t help me escape or help me poison him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to marry him!” Even her horse was agitated now, shaking her mane and shuffling her hooves in the dirt.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying…”

  “What’s wrong?” Jørren demanded, riding back to where they were. Ragna was staring at her as well, her brow wrinkled with concern.

  “Bragi! What’s wrong with her?” Jørren demanded again.

  “She’s upset.”

  “I can see that! About what?”

  Taliesin took a deep breath. “She doesn’t want to marry Hraban.”

  Ragna nodded. She rode over and handed Arhianna a flask. “Tell her she won’t have to.”

  Taliesin was not certain he had understood her. “What?”

  “Tell her, she will not have to marry him. Hraban does not have much time left among us.” She glanced over at Jørren, and then back to Taliesin. “Speak of this to no one, or your favor within the clan will disappear.”

  Taliesin did not know if Ragna had a power similar to the Sight, and had seen Hraban’s death in a vision, or if perhaps she knew of a plot to kill Hraban. Either way, he delivered her message of hope to Arhianna.

  Arhianna looked over at Ragna, shock upon her face.

  Ragna motioned to her. “Drink. It will make you feel better.”

  Arhianna drank and handed back the flask, and Ragna patted her hand in reassurance.

  ***

  They spent the next few days the same way, traveling by day while Taliesin taught Arhianna as many new phrases as she could retain, and then spending the night as guests of the earl in the next village.

  Arhianna proudly bid everyone a good night in their own tongue that night. She noticed the especially pleased look upon Jørren’s face. More noticeable than that, however, was the way his eyes lingered upon her as she left. It was not the first time she had caught him gazing at her.

  By mid-morning on the third day, they arrived at Freya’s temple. The priestess welcomed Ragna by name as they rode up. They dismounted, and Jørren saw to the offerings.

  They made their way to the temple and stepped inside. It was a simple but beautiful structure built entirely of dark wood, with a large carved figure of the goddess within it. A ring of fire burned around her feet.

  Taliesin came to translate Ragna’s words for her.

  “Freya is the goddess of love and fire, and has the first choice of half the slain after every battle,” Ragna said.

  Arhianna threw her hood back to take a better look at the statue. The priestesses began to murmur, coming closer, staring at her hair, and then began to question Ragna.

  “You have hair of fire, like the goddess,” Ragna explained. “Freya has appeared to many of them, and always with hair like yours.”

  Ragna handed Arhianna the offerings they had brought, and motioned for her to go forward. There were others kneeling beneath the statue in prayer, and it was clear enough to Arhianna that was what was expected of her as well.

  Perhaps she’s like the Great Mother, Arhianna mused, gazing up at the impressive statue towering above them. I’ll speak to her as if she were, and perhaps she’ll answer.

  Arhianna went forward to the statue in the center of the temple and kneeled down to speak to the goddess of their captors. She put the offerings of Hraban’s clan at Freya’s feet, yet, somehow, she knew if she wished the goddess to speak to her, she needed to offer something personal.

  Unfortunately, she wore no jewelry but the Brisingamen, and knew Hraban would beat her senseless if she gave it away. So, she gave the only thing she could give—a lock of her hair and a drop of her blood.

  “Lady Freya,” she whispered, “I have come to honor you as the Great Mother of these lands. I ask that you have mercy upon my people, for we were brought here against our will, and we do not know your ways. Please, deliver us from Hraban.”

  Arhianna could feel eyes upon her as she prayed, and wondered if it were her hair or her strange tongue that intrigued them. She put her hood back up and finished her prayer within her mind.

  To her surprise, she heard an answer.

  Daughter of Agarah, you are welcome here. Though my people brought you here, it was the destiny of your blood to return.

  Arhianna heard the words as clearly within her mind as if they were her own thoughts, but they were not he
r own thoughts, and she became frightened.

  Fear not. I have watched the women of your clan for generations. It was I who helped your grandmother return home through the power of my beloved Brisingamen. I then helped your aunt Seren, who wore it after her. Through me, she discovered she carried within her the gift of Fire, the same power I have helped you discover, for it runs strong in your bloodline.

  Arhianna trembled. She reached up to feel the necklace that was well-hidden beneath her robes. She did not think of herself as noble or fierce. Stubborn, perhaps.

  “Thank you, Lady Freya,” she whispered. “What may I offer you in return for your blessings upon us?”

  All I desire is your love and prayers. Your grandmother has secured my favor for her daughters forevermore.

  Arhianna had nothing more to say, and nothing more was said to her.

  She sat motionless in the temple for some time, her body buzzing and humming as if there were a beehive within her ribcage. She carefully considered what she should and should not reveal to Ragna about what she had experienced before standing up to leave. She emerged to find everyone anxiously awaiting her.

  She went to Taliesin, who looked at her with concern. “What happened?”

  “I need your help,” she whispered. “She spoke to me, but I don’t know what to tell the others.”

  Taliesin raised his eyebrows. “What did she say?”

  “That she helped my grandmother escape, and that it was she who helped Seren and I manifest the Firebrand. She said she has watched over us through the pendant.” Arhianna dared not say Brisingamen, for she knew the others would recognize the word.

  Ragna came over with an expectant look upon her face, glancing back and forth between the two of them.