Storm Maiden

by Mary Gillgannon

  “This craven wretch does not have the courage to hurt me.”

  Fiona glanced behind them and made out vague silhouettes. Dag’s oathmen had risen from their sleep to aid their leader. If only they could reach Brodir before he attacked Dag!

  A glint of light flashed through the darkness. Dag dodged the weapon, and it rang harmlessly against the deck. Another object whistled through the air. Fiona could made out Dag’s quick movement, and then the two men grappled in a blur of shadows on the foredeck.

  “Someone help Dag!” Fiona begged the men around her.

  It seemed too late, for all heard a bloodcurdling shout and then a splash. Fiona rushed forward. “Dag!” she screamed.

  He came to her out of the gathering sea mist. “Fiona,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “You are safe. Brodir is no more.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Nei. When I laid my hands upon him, he pulled away and jumped overboard. As I thought he would, he chose a coward’s death.”

  Fiona breathed a sigh of relief as she allowed Dag to lead her back toward their sleeping area in the stern of the ship. “Oh, Dag,” she murmured, clutching him. “I’m so glad you are safe.”

  Dag cradled her in his arms. “ ‘Tis over now. Brodir will not trouble us again.”

  “Odin’s fury, but that was close,” Rorig called from the tiller, where he tried to steer while holding a trembling Breaca. “Brodir must have hidden in the underdeck before we set sail. I vow he meant to murder you both while you slept.”

  “What woke you, Dag?” Ellisil asked from nearby. “I am ashamed to admit, I heard nothing until the fight was joined.”

  “ ‘Twas not I who roused,” Dag said. “Fiona was the one.”

  Ellisil came closer, his voice full of awe. “Though Dag says you do not have magic powers, I wonder. How did you know there was danger when all the rest of us slept peacefully?”

  Fiona gave a shaky laugh. “ ‘Twas not magic which alerted me, but smell. Brodir has no fondness for bathing, and a distinctive odor follows him wherever he goes. Even with the scent of the sea and all the smells of the crew and supplies, nothing reeks like Brodir.”

  “Ah, Fiona, once again you saved my life,” Dag said softly. “One would think you wished to keep me always in your debt.”

  “What is between us has nothing to do with honor or debt. I love you, Dag. I will do whatever I can to keep you safe.”

  Dag guided Fiona back to their sleeping place. At least it was dark, and the other men could not see the fiery blush on his face that Fiona’s words aroused. She was but a woman. It was not her responsibility to defend him. Even so, her avowal of love pleased him. What other man could boast of having such a fierce warrior-woman to guard his back?

  Settling down into his bedsack, Dag smiled into the darkness.

  * * *

  “ ‘Tis very green,” Ellisil commented to Dag as the two men stood side by side at the tiller, gazing upon the shoreline to their port side.

  “Ja. I have often wondered what the color of the place reminds me of. I think it is emeralds, the bright green jewels a Norseman I know once brought back from a year-long trading expedition to the Eastern city Constantinople. When the sun shines in Ireland, the hue of the hills is fair blinding.”

  “ ‘Tis a wonder more Norsemen have not thought to settle here.”

  “They will,” Dag answered. “As ambitious younger sons leave Norseland and sail out to plunder, more and more will discover this place. We must expect to fight off our greedy Norse brothers as well as Irish chieftains who would increase their lands. We must have a strong fortress and keep a constant guard. Fiona’s father chose a good location for his palisade, but his men were unprepared to defend it. We will do better.”

  “Making plans?” Fiona asked as she joined them.

  “Ja,” Dag answered. “Can you advise us if there is a place to land where we could hope to remain unseen? I would not risk being forced into battle ere we even reach Dunsheauna.”

  “There is a shallow area upriver from my father’s lands where we could beach the ship and make our way through the woods. I don’t think our arrival would be noted there.”

  Dag nodded. “We will take down the sail now and wait until dusk before rowing in.”

  Beside them, Ellisil gave a little shiver. “I can’t forget the stories I have heard.” He turned toward Fiona. “Are there spirits in your homeland we should fear?”

  Fiona cocked her head, thinking of Siobhan’s insistence that ancient spirits dwelled in every rock and stream and tree of Eire. Had Fiona not felt them herself sometimes when she walked alone, heard them whispering to her?

  “There are forces, very old ones, which sometimes still hold sway over men,” she answered thoughtfully. “Legend tells of a race of men who knew magic. They were called Tuatha De Danaan, and they ruled the isle for many years. Other men came and conquered Eire, and the Tuatha De Danaan went to live underground. Many say they survive there still, guarding the land from intruders.”

  Fiona saw that Ellisil’s eyes grown wide. She smiled at him. “To my mind it seems more prudent to fear the men of Eire rather than the spirits. Although I am not certain how Irish spirits perceive Norsemen, I know that Irish men with stout spears and swords hate them.”

  “That is why we must not travel upriver until night comes,” Dag said firmly.

  Fiona excused herself to see to Breaca, who suffered from another bout of seasickness. After she left, Ellisil moved closer to Dag. “Tell me truly, sword brother, do you not fear the spirits of this place a little?”

  “Mayhap I do. But with Fiona at our side, I believe we will be safe.”

  “All along you have denied her powers; now you say you depend upon them. What is the truth? Do you believe Fiona possesses magic or not?”

  “I don’t know,” Dag answered. “If she has powers, she is not aware of them, and I do know that she would never use them for evil. She is not like that cruel woman of Ottar’s steading who poses as the Angel of Death to prey upon bound and helpless victims.”

  “So, you knew the old wise woman was false. I wondered how you were brave enough to order her away even as she sought to curse you. I’ll admit that impressed me. I would not have dared to speak so to a woman reputed to be a volva.”

  “Volva! That one was no more a seer than I. Merely a sour, old woman who hates those younger and more appealing than her and kills them when she has a chance.”

  “It seems you had the right of it, Dag. And of Brodir, too. I heard him admit that he started the blaze which burned the longhouse. What a treacherous wretch he turned out to be.” Ellisil shook his head.

  “Ja,” Dag answered. “It will satisfy me greatly to someday tell my brother that he was wrong about Fiona, and even more wrong about Brodir. But for now—” He flexed his shoulders restlessly. “Now we must concentrate on reaching Dun- sheauna.”

  The Wind Raven glided up the Shannon. Fiona closed her eyes and listened to the men dip their oars gently in the water. A drizzly rain fell, dripping off the hood of her cloak and glazing her bare face with moisture. She stuck out her tongue and tasted the sweetness of Irish rain. As the men spoke in low voices around her, Fiona’s chest tightened with anticipation. The dragonhead prow of the ship had been removed to disguise the ship, and the men were all garbed in full battle attire beneath their cloaks. Whatever met them at Dunsheauna, the Norsemen would be ready.

  Dag; appeared beside her. “Are we near the place, Fiona?”

  Quickly, she scanned the mist-shrouded shore off their starboard side. She hadn’t realized they had travelled so far already. Could they really be near the shallow cove above the curve of the river where her father’s palisade had once stood?

  “I can scarce tell in the dark,” she answered. “But I think... Ja, it is only a little farther.”

  Dag gave a quiet order to the rowing men, and the ship’s progress slowed. Fiona squinted at the ghostly dark shape of the shoreline,
suddenly afraid. Once she had known every rise and curve of the river, but that was months ago. What if she made a mistake and the ship ran aground or put in too soon to arrive at Dunsheauna undetected? Dag trusted her. What if she failed him?

  “There!” She pointed to a place where the river widened and the alder trees grew a little ways back from the shore.

  Slowly, gracefully, the ship glided in. There was a groaning sound as the keel of the Wind Raven met the river bottom. In seconds, the men had thrown down their oars and begun to scramble over the sides. Fiona watched as they pushed the ship through the shallows and up onto the beach.

  “Fiona.”

  She rushed to the side and jumped down into Dag’s arms. Nearby, Rorig helped Breaca onto land.

  Fiona looked down at the squishy ground beneath her feet. Eire—she had thought never to see it again. She wanted to bend down and kiss the mud!

  Dag’s firm hand on her arm interrupted her foolish musings. “Come,” he said.

  They walked silently through the forest. Around her, Fiona could feel the tension of the men, the way they clutched at their sword and ax hilts. Once they left the rush of the river behind, there was little sound except the faint hiss of the rain. Fiona and Dag led the way, Dag’s left hand supporting her elbow. They paused after a bit, listening, and Dag turned toward her. “Guide us, Fiona. Show us the best way through the woods.”

  She led them single file down the pathway she had taken so many times. When they passed the thicket where her aunt’s small hut was hidden, she hesitated then went on. Even if Siobhan still lived there, she didn’t want to frighten her by bringing a group of warriors to her door. After they saw the remains of Dunsheauna and knew what had happened there, she would return to see how her aunt had fared.

  The forest thinned, and they ventured out on the plain below the hill fort. Points of light glinted within the boundaries of the ruined palisade, indicating that people still dwelled there; but from this distance, they could not guess how many or if friend or enemy.

  “Fiona and I will go ahead,” Dag announced. “The rest of you wait here. If we don’t return within a short while, come after us prepared to fight.”

  Ellisil and the others made sounds of assent, then Fiona felt Dag’s hand on her shoulder, guiding her forward.

  The sight of the blackened timbers of the palisade wall made Fiona’s stomach tighten, and horrible memories of torch-carrying Vikings darkened her thoughts. Beside her, she could sense Dag’s tension. He moved with silent caution, like a cat stalking prey.

  They both started as a white shape loomed ahead of them. There was a low growl. Fiona’s heart leaped into her throat then she gave a jubilant laugh. “Tully! It’s Tully!”

  The huge hound sniffed her carefully then went to investigate Dag. “Careful, Dag,” she cautioned. “Tully doesn’t like strangers.”

  Dag reached out his sword hand, palm up, and spoke in a low, soothing voice. Within moments the hound was licking his hand and whining in a submissive way.

  Fiona could only stare. “How did you do that? I swear, I’ve never seen Tully greet a man so easily before, especially one in battle gear.”

  “ ‘Tis a way I have with animals. They know I’m a friend, that I wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “Still, it’s amazing.” Fiona shook her head as the dog came back to her and allowed her to scratch behind his ears. “Never would Tully allow any man but my father to touch him. Only women would he tolerate. Look here,” she added as she ran her hand along the curly fur of the animal’s back. “Someone has groomed and fed him.” She raised her eyes to the firelights winking in the darkness ahead of them. “I wish he could speak and tell us who dwells here now.”

  “But since he cannot speak, we must not tarry,” Dag reminded her. “If we don’t return soon, Ellisil and the others will come prepared for battle.”

  They moved through the fort entrance, noting both destruction and renewal. Beside the blackened shape of the burned-out feasthall, a vegetable plot had been planted, and sounds of domestic animals came to them from the pens at the far edge of the fort. Smoke issued from the roofholes of several huts which appeared to be constructed of timbers salvaged from the remains of other buildings.

  Fiona and Dag paused beside one of the huts. “Make yourself known, Fiona,” Dag said. “That we have come so far without meeting any guards must mean that only survivors of your clan live here now.”

  Fiona nodded and went to the hide door of the hovel. She pushed it aside and called out, “Hullo, is anyone within?”

  “Who goes?” called a frightened woman’s voice.

  “ ‘Tis I, Fiona, daughter of your old chieftain.”

  There was silence, then a rustling sound. Fiona stepped back as a woman appeared in the doorway. “Fiona, is it really you?”

  “Nessa!”

  The two women fell upon each other and embraced exuberantly.

  “You live, thank the saints!” the woman sighed as Fiona released her. “We thought certain the Vikings had killed you or sold you as a slave.”

  Fiona could only nod. Tears streamed down her face. “Duvessa and the rest of the women—did they survive as well?”

  “Aye, we were quite safe in the souterrain, as you said we would be. But by the time we dared leave, the fires had destroyed almost everything. We had a little grain from last season and what livestock we could round up, but it was near impossible to plant much this year without the men.” Neesa’s voice choked slightly, and Fiona remembered that Neesa’s husband had been one of the men cut down with her father. “The boys tried to do the work, but they are still too young and none of them were much good with the plow animals.”

  “The boys?” Fiona asked excitedly. “Who else lives?”

  “Your foster brother Dermot as well as Niall, Achlin, and Murrean. And Dubhag survived his wound, although his mind is not right yet. The boys hid in the woods, and the cursed Vikings didn’t take time to hunt them down. They were too busy stripping the fort of anything of value and burning everything....” Nessa voice trailed off as she noticed Dag. “Who is this man with you, Fiona?” she asked, backing away. “Surely you did you not bring Vikings with you.”

  Fiona struggled for words to explain. It had taken her months to accept that Dag was not her enemy. How to convince Nessa, who must live in terror of all Norsemen?

  “Nessa, this is Dag Thorsson,” she answered firmly. “Although we have not yet said Christian vows, I honor him as my husband.”

  Nessa’s eyes bulged out, and her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish out of water. “Your h-h-husband?” she stuttered.

  “Aye.” Fiona turned to Dag. “Meet Nessa, wife of Brennan, one of my father’s oathmen.”

  Dag bowed slightly. “I am honored, lady. From what I heard of it, your husband met a warrior’s death.”

  “He...he speaks Irish!” Nessa’s hands frantically twisted the skirts of her kirtle.

  “Aye, he speaks Irish,” Fiona answered. “I taught him myself. That way he will be able to communicate after he takes over his new position of chieftain of the Deasunachta.”

  If possible, Nessa’s eyes widened even further. Fiona, growing impatient, said, “Go, Nessa, gather the other women. I want to explain my plan to all of you.”

  After staring at Dag a moment longer, Nessa turned and ran.

  Chapter 34

  “I was prepared for warfare, but not this blind, unreasoning terror,” Fiona said, turning to her companion with chagrin.

  “ ‘Tis not all bad,” Dag assured her. “It appears they will submit easily, and I can save my men’s strength for rebuilding rather than fighting.”

  “But what of Sivney?” Fiona worried. “I forgot to ask Nessa if he has come to claim lordship of Dunsheauna.”

  “That he posts no guards to defend the place speaks clearly of his lack of interest.”

  “He may not concern himself with Donall’s lands now, burned and impoverished as they are, but he will as soon a
s he hears Norsemen have come to settle.”

  “We will deal with him then. For now, we concern ourselves with building more shelters and stockpiling food for the winter. How is the hunting in the forests near here?”

  “It has always been good,” she answered distractedly.

  Dag went back to tell his men that they had met no resistance while Fiona waited for the other survivors to appear. In time, they came, bearing torches, and Fiona embraced each of them in turn. There was much weeping, and even more questions. Fiona refused to answer any but the most basic queries until Dag came back. Finally, he returned with Ellisil, Aeddan, and two other Irish thralls who had travelled from Norseland. With the men flanking her, Fiona began to speak.

  She told of her abduction the night of the raid, of the anger she had felt towards the Vikings for burning the palisade and killing her father, of her vow to return and avenge him. Then, she told them of the months she had spent among the Norse and how she had come to appreciate that they were not so different from the Irish and how, over time, she had realized it was better to go on with her life than to dwell on the past and plot revenge.

  “I can’t bring my father back,” she told them tearfully. “Nor can I bring back your dead kin. But we can rebuild Dunsheauna and make it something like it once was.”

  She glanced around, searching the faces of people she had known all her life, wondering if they thought her a traitor. To her own ears, she sounded unconvincing, yet she believed what she said with all her heart.

  Gesturing to the men behind her, she continued. “I know you may be shocked to learn that I have taken a Norseman as my husband and that I ask you to accept him as your new chieftain, but I promise you, on my honor as a princess of the clan of the Deasunachta, that these are good men, that they come not to kill and destroy, but to settle and make their homes here.”

  There was silence for a time, then young Dermot came forward. His face looked pinched and thin in the firelight, but he had grown tall over the sunseason and his blue eyes blazed with a ferocity that belied his eleven winters. “You are only a woman, Fiona, with a woman’s weakness. Although I don’t blame you for submitting to the Norseman, I can’t accept him as my chieftain. His people and ours are enemies, and thus it will always be. You may have no heart for vengeance, but I can’t not forget those who died at these men’s hands.”