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

by J. M. Hofer

  “Tell her as much as you think wise.” Arhianna felt a bit badly leaving the responsibility solely upon Taliesin, but she was in no state to think clearly.

  Whatever he told Ragna made her smile. She came and embraced her.

  “She’s pleased,” Taliesin said, sharing the obvious. “She says you’ve blessed their clan.”

  “I can tell she’s pleased,” Arhianna said, somewhat impatiently. “How much did you tell her?”

  “That Freya has blessed your bloodline starting with your grandmother. That’s what she had been hoping for.”

  Ragna then asked Taliesin something further.

  “She wants to know if Freya was pleased by their offerings.”

  Truthfully, Arhianna had not asked whether Freya had been pleased by their offerings.

  Yes. I am pleased.

  “Yes,” Arhianna answered, her heart pounding. Is this going to happen to me all the time now? The idea made her very anxious. “Where’s Jørren?” she asked, for he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He went into town to find us rooms at the inn,” Taliesin said. “He should be back shortly.”

  Ragna motioned to them to join her on a nearby log and unfolded a piece of cloth with some bread and cheese in it. “Come, eat.”

  Arhianna understood. “Thank you.”

  Ragna smiled at her and then made a remark to Taliesin.

  “She says I’m a good teacher,” Taliesin relayed, “but she’s mistaken. You’re a good student.”

  Ragna held out some bread and told her the word for it, and then some cheese, and did the same. Arhianna repeated the words back to her and Ragna nodded her approval.

  Arhianna liked Ragna. She reminded her of Aveta. She even looked like her, with her large breasts and full lips. She was a source of mystery, for she alone among the women in the clan seemed to command the power to persuade Hraban. Curiosity got the better of her, as usual. “Ask her why I won’t have to marry Hraban. What’s going to happen to him.”

  Taliesin looked unsure of whether or not he should ask that question.

  “Just ask her. I think she’ll tell us.”

  Taliesin did as she asked, and Ragna turned and looked at her for a long time before giving her response. Taliesin’s face changed so much during her speech that Arhianna felt herself nearly bursting with anticipation.

  “These earls we’ve visited aren’t loyal to Hraban—they’re loyal to Jørren—as are many others in the area. This journey was not to visit the temple. Not only, anyway. It was to plan the overthrow of Hraban. She says he is old, arrogant, and cruel. He abused her sister, as well as many other women in the clan—including herself. He has also disrespected many of the other earls in the region. They feel he is out of touch and set in his ways, and that his arrogance will cause them all to perish at the hands of the Danes. The earls plan to rise up against him, and Jørren will seize his place as chieftain.”

  Arhianna stared at Ragna in shock. “So, that’s why I won’t have to marry him?”

  Just at that moment, Jørren returned. He had found them rooms and had the horses ready.

  Jørren lifted Arhianna onto her horse as if she weighed no more than a saddle blanket. A thrill of both fear and something else shot through her, especially when he let his hand linger a moment upon the small of her back.

  Taliesin rode up next to her. “Beastly, eh?” he said with a wink.

  She punched him in the arm, ignoring the heat rising up the back of her neck.

  ***

  They arrived at the inn where they enjoyed a hearty stew and some good ale. After the meal, Arhianna found herself overcome with fatigue. “How do you say, I wish to rest?” Arhianna asked Taliesin.

  Taliesin whispered it to her so she could say it, to the delight of all.

  Arhianna smiled, but was then overcome with a wave of guilt. She was beginning to like the people she was supposed to hate. They killed your clanspeople, you horrible girl! You should be ashamed of yourself! Gods—they burned Gwythno to the ground! She felt sick, and clutched her stomach with a frown. Ragna noticed. She was quick to put her cloak around her and take her to her room, compounding Arhianna’s shame.

  She closed the door to her room and did her best to forget everything that had happened that day, but she could not. In desperation, she prayed to the one person whom she could trust—the one woman she knew would understand her plight.

  Grandmother, I need you… am I betraying my people? Tell me of what happened to you…please tell me.

  Hours later, Arhianna fell asleep. She dreamed of a woman she knew to be her grandmother, although she had never met her. She found herself standing in the temple she had been in that day, except that in place of the statue of Freya was the goddess herself, luminous and beautiful, with red hair like hers and her mother’s.

  It’s true. Arhianna felt a wave of happiness come over her. She was about to ask Freya a question when the face of the goddess became terribly frightening.

  Wake, child!

  As if someone had tossed a bucket of cold water on her, Arhianna sat up in bed to see someone climbing in her window. She let out a scream.

  Seconds later, her bedroom door flung open and Jørren ran in. He grabbed the intruder and swiftly knocked him unconscious.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. He dragged the intruder out and Arhianna heard his head thumping down the stairs.

  Within moments, the hall outside her room was filled with bewildered faces, wondering what had happened.

  Taliesin pushed his way through the crowd into her room. “Thief.”

  “Thief? Why me? I have nothing.”

  Taliesin shook his head. “Your robe slipped in the tavern when you stood up. Your pendant flashed in the firelight.”

  Arhianna reached up and fingered the stone around her neck, feeling like a fool.

  “After you went to bed, a few of the men in the inn got up and left as well. Jørren took a chair from his room and set it outside your door. He’s been out there all night.”

  Arhianna took a deep breath and sighed, feeling more conflicted than ever. She could no longer count Ragna or Jørren among her enemies.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Ravens for Oaks

  Bran and his fellow ship captains set a course for Jutland nearly three weeks to the day after the attack on Gwythno. Irwyn sailed in the lead in one of the Saxon ships. The others sailed in formation around him, with Elffin and Tegid bringing up the rear at the helms of the Lone Sister and the Ceffyl Dŵr. Bran insisted Lucia sail with Tegid on the Ceffyl Dŵr. He refused to risk having her on any of the Saxon ships.

  They sailed south for a day, and then rounded the outstretched talon of Dumnonii, heading east. After a day and a half, they reached the legendary white cliffs near the once-Roman port of Dubris. Bran was astounded by the sight of them—they looked like majestic folds of snow and ice cleaved into the landscape by the hands of the gods, rising up out of the sea toward the sky. Though the Saxons now occupied the port and had renamed it Dover, the Romans had ensured their legacy in the form of two enormous lighthouses. They stood as phallic, eternal reminders of the might the Empire once held over the entire isle of Brython. At one point, it seemed to Bran that he could reach out and touch both the coast of Gaul and the white cliffs, so close were the coastlines to one another.

  Once through the strait, they sailed eastward, out into open water. That was when the voyage became rougher. For the next three days, the wind pitched their ships to and fro, but Irwyn remained steadfast, keeping them on course.

  Coastline and seabirds began to appear after their third day in open water, exciting them all. Irwyn motioned to Bran to bring his ship up alongside his.

  Once their ships were parallel, Irwyn gestured toward the coast. “This is the coast of Jutland, but Hraban’s settlement lies within the Lim Fjord. We must sail in through there.” He pointed to a break in the coastline. “Once inside the fjord, news of our arrival will spread quickly.”

  “Th
en we can’t risk sailing through the fjord looking for Hraban. We must know where we’re going. All the more important if we are to appear that we are his own people, returned from raiding.”

  “Exactly.”

  Bran turned to Ula, who was sitting beside him. “It’s time.”

  Ula nodded. “I find ships like these, with black bird.” She pointed to the terrible sail above them. “Then I show you the way.”

  Bran nodded. “Yes. Then we rescue Seachild.”

  Ula smiled back with a determined look upon her face and dove into the sea, her skin in hand. Bran watched the surface of the water, waiting for her to reappear. After a few moments, he spied the head of a seal emerge some thirty feet away from the ship and smiled. They’ll suspect nothing.

  He took a deep breath, glancing back at the ships around them. Now, we wait.

  ***

  Bran nearly jumped out of his skin when two hands appeared next to him, gripping the edge of the ship. Seconds later, Ula’s head and body appeared. She swung her legs over the side of the ship with one swift movement, and dropped down gracefully in front of him. She was beaming.

  Bran wrapped his cloak around her.

  “I found the ships,” she said, pointing to the sail above their heads. “Follow me.”

  “Do the others know?” Bran asked. He stood up to look across the water toward the other captains. Irwyn waved to him. His ship was already unfurling its sail, oars poised to go.

  “Hoist the sail!” he cried to his men. He craned his neck toward the Ceffyl Dŵr, looking for Lucia. He spied her near the bow, waving at him, and he waved back.

  The day had finally come, and his heart set to pounding. What if the children aren’t there? What if they’ve been killed? Or sold? Or died on the voyage over? He cringed and forbid himself to think such thoughts. “Oars!” he commanded, putting his ship in line behind Irwyn’s. The three other Saxon ships then fell into formation.

  “We go now,” Ula said, slipping Bran’s cloak from her shoulders. She dove into the water and swam up alongside Irwyn’s ship to lead the way.

  The Lone Sister and the Ceffyl Dŵr would follow at a safe distance, so as not to ruin the illusion of Saxon ships returning home laden with spoils. If their plan worked, they would deliver the same terror to the shores of their enemies that had been inflicted upon them.

  “Great Arawn, please grant us victory,” Bran prayed, taking his dagger from its sheath and kissing it. He sliced open his hand and let his blood drip into the water.

  ***

  Irwyn gave the signal, motioning toward shore. This is it, Bran thought. His blood began to rush as they glided closer to the smoke rising up from the village of small houses.

  He signaled his oarsmen and they rowed inland. It took only a moment before people spied them approaching and began to gather and wave.

  Bran called back to his men. “Wave back, as if you were returning to your own wives!”

  By the time they slid up to the shore, there was a substantial crowd waiting to greet them. It did not take long, however, for their smiles and excitement to begin turning into worry and suspicion.

  We must strike now. Bran looked to be certain all the ships had landed, and then gave the command to attack.

  Taken by surprise, the women and children were easily captured, thrown into the ships, and then rowed out to sea where they would be kept as hostages while the Oaks engaged the men in battle. There were very few of them, only lightly armed, so it was over quickly.

  Once the shore had been cleared, Bran cried to Irwyn, “News has surely reached the village by now.”

  Irwyn nodded, and they executed the next phase of their plan. They led all the young Jutes they had captured to the shore, lined them up, and forced them to kneel. Bran and Irwyn stood side-by-side, their fellow warriors behind them with daggers at the necks of their captives, and waited.

  As predicted, warriors soon came running, ready for battle. Upon seeing the scene on the beach, their leader cried out and stopped the attack. He moved in alone, his eyes shifting along the shore, sizing up the situation.

  Irwyn called to the man in his own tongue. The man said nothing, but came over and stood in front of him, shoulders thrown back defiantly.

  Irwyn remained unintimidated. He explained they had many of their young men, women and children, as well as five of their ships, and that his chieftain—he gestured toward Bran—desired an audience with their earl to discuss a trade.

  The man looked at the long line of warriors and sneered, his face red and his eyes bulging. He spat at their feet in disgust. He turned and addressed his men, and then sent a messenger to the village.

  Every man’s eyes were locked with the eyes of another, weapons gripped and ready to strike, as they waited for the messenger to return.

  The man whom Irwyn had spoken to had not taken his eyes off Bran since the messenger departed. His expression shifted between malice and curiosity, like the face of the moon behind swiftly-moving clouds.

  The tension continued to build. Bran prayed that no one on the shore, be they enemy or clan, was foolish or bloodthirsty enough to trigger a massacre.

  The trees themselves seemed to sigh with relief when the messenger returned with someone who could only be Earl Hraban. He walked with the confident, deliberate footsteps of a man who hurried for no one. He scanned the shore, sizing up every man upon it. When his eyes fell upon Bran, they stuck. He regarded him with the gaze of an eagle as he approached. He remained at a safe distance and asked a question.

  “He wants to know your name and why we’ve come,” Irwyn translated.

  “I am Bran of the Oaks. I’ve come to trade captives for captives, and ships for ships. We want only what is ours, in return for what is yours.”

  Irwyn translated, and Hraban shook his head, waving dismissively at the men on the beach, glaring at Bran as he gave his response.

  Irwyn turned to Bran. “He says the men we’ve captured are worthless to him. They should have fought to the death. They have lost their honor. He has no interest in welcoming the weak back into his clan. He also says he will not part with the Twin Sister.”

  “And the women and children? Are they of no value to him either?”

  Hraban smiled wickedly and responded, never taking his eyes off Bran.

  “He says he is feeling generous. He will give us the night to rest after our long and pointless voyage. Tomorrow at dawn, Woden will decide who is worthy of all the spoils in question.”

  Irwyn then added in a low tone, “I fear he is merely buying time with his refusal of your offer—perhaps to send messengers to other earls, asking them to come and help defeat us in the morning. This village looks to have no more than a hundred warriors—most were in the ships we brought back. If we strike now, we can defeat them. Tomorrow, there could be twice that number.”

  The idea of losing any more men turned Bran’s stomach. He was tired of blood. He tried again. “Tell him we have come to trade—not to fight. We offer ships for ships, men for men, women for women, and children for children.”

  Hraban laughed, and his men laughed with him. He raised his arms and gave his answer.

  “He asks, why should he trade, when everything will belong to him tomorrow?”

  Bran was running out of ideas. What can I offer him that he cannot refuse? He observed Hraban’s manner, his voice, how he regarded those around him, his choice of dress, his rhythm of speech—until the answer revealed itself: a challenge. Hraban’s arrogance would be the key to their victory.

  “Go and get the children,” Bran commanded.

  Irwyn shot him a nervous glance.

  “Do it. Tell Idris to wait for my signal, and then set them free.”

  Irwyn was wise enough not to argue with Bran in front of the crowd. He ran down the shore and motioned for Idris to row his ship in.

  Bran saw a change in everyone’s manner, each man watching anxiously, ready to strike, wondering what he had said.

  Irwyn r
aced back and gave him a nod.

  Bran then looked away from Hraban, held up his hands, and addressed the crowd directly. “Your earl is being unreasonable!” he challenged. “I am offering you back your children as a gesture of good faith, and am prepared to trade your women, warriors and ships for our own. He says he has no need of them, but I know you love your wives and children as much as we do. No more blood need be spilled between our clans!”

  He turned and signaled to Idris. The children were brought ashore and allowed to rejoin their families. His proposal caused everyone on the beach to erupt into emotion. Arguments caught fire, and children began to cry, clinging to their fathers.

  Bran took advantage of the chaos and moved toward Hraban. Several moved to stop him, but Hraban held up his hand to dismiss them.

  They were exactly the same height, allowing them to look one another deep in the eyes. Bran felt a shudder run down his spine. It was as if he were looking at his own reflection. Many others seemed to notice it as well, for whispers rippled all around them. He did his best to shake it off. “Earl Hraban, I will ask one last time. Will you accept my offer?”

  Hraban’s face and one-word answer needed no translation. Again, whispers darted back and forth within the crowd.

  Bran had only one card left to play. “So be it. Then I challenge you, and you alone, to a fight to the death—chieftain against chieftain. Victor takes all. He who survives, takes back all that was once his, and he who dies, forfeits all that the other has taken. Our people will serve as witnesses, and our blood will seal it before the gods.”

  Irwyn delivered Bran’s challenge, and everyone on the beach held their breath awaiting Hraban’s answer.

  “You die tomorrow,” Hraban said in Bran’s tongue, slicing his hand open.

  Bran resisted the urge to smile as he took out his dagger, cut his own palm, and gripped Hraban’s bleeding hand.

  He had read his enemy well.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Farewell

  Bran sat on a rotting log, watching the sun rise above the fjord through bleary eyes. Silence hung like snow on the surrounding forest. They had sailed to a sheltered inlet down the coast a bit to ensure they could defend themselves should Hraban decide to attack them in the night.