Loveweaver

by Tracy Ann Miller

  “To the oars!” He commanded and heard Byrnstan pronounce a prayer for smooth sailing. God must have answered as the OnyxFox slipped easily into the swift current. The ship surged with great speed, powered by the skill of StoneHeart’s crew. “Say a prayer also, Priest,” called out Slayde above the rush of the river and rain. “Pray that we be delivered to Llyrica ere bad fortune reaches her first!”

  Black clouds accompanied StoneHeart’s swift course to London. Word of his journey arrived before he did in that late afternoon, drew great crowds along the banks. The sight of his OnyxFox brought cheers and salutations, and boisterous voices sang the praises of his fort built on the River Lea, that Haesten was no longer a threat, and the remaining Vikings had been dislodged. What Danes remained might now live quietly at peace in a Saxon land.

  Many inquiries as to the health of StoneHeart’s wife, the Songweaver, were shouted from the docks. Unwelcome news, this meant she had not been seen. Slayde waved silently to the well-wishers, hoping that he was in the wake of her passing, which by his reckoning, must have happened before daylight.

  He looked to Byrnstan and his small crew who worked steadily at the oars, readied to join their efforts. “Ere evening falls, we must hear or see some sign of her.” Or I know as certainly as I live, that I will never set eyes on her again. “We will make contact with Deorlof at Benfleet. Perhaps something has been seen from the lookout.”

  Byrnstan’s nodded with what looked like a forced smile. “You left StoneHeart’s Gate in good hands. Not much gets past Leofric’s view from the tower.”

  In two hours, the timber fortress was in sight high above the shore. Apparently having spotted StoneHeart from the high tower, a ship rowed swiftly out to meet the OnyxFox. Deorlof himself captained the vessel, closed in fast, then pulled up along side StoneHeart’s vessel. He stood, sweat beading on his closely shorn fair head, evidence that he had done his share of rowing.

  Deorlof raised his hand in a hail. “Well met, StoneHeart! Your campaign was a success!” But now a crease of anxiety marked his brow. “I have a report of note, though, and sent a dispatch to you this morning. We were … ”

  Slayde took a deep breath. “As you see, I am not there to receive it. What do you report?”

  Deorlof jerked his head to indicate the shore. “Rumors up and down the merchants’ ports speak of seeing the Songweaver … I mean your wife, passing in a dark vessel early yesterday morning. She traveled with her brother and several others.”

  StoneHeart waited for more, turned his palms up in a request for Deorlof to continue.

  “She, with the vessel, then rowed on out of site.” Deorlof blinked, seemed to make an effort to maintain eye contact with StoneHeart. “Then, this morning we gave chase to an old adversary of yours, Xanthus and his rebuilt ship, the BoarsJaw.”

  StoneHeart stood straighter, felt his ship rock beneath his feet. “He was to never cross these waters again! You chased him to where?”

  “As he passed, his ship was already in full sail, but we followed until he was well out to sea. And we watched his ship sail out of sight.”

  Slayde turned to Byrnstan who stood listening. “If the ports are abuzz with sightings of Llyrica, and that news reached Benfleet, then chances are Xanthus has heard of her, too.” He squinted toward the ocean horizon of aqua, violet and gold. “Pray, now, old man, to our God and to Odin, as well.”

  “Llyrica, awaken. ‘Tis first light.” Broder squeezed her arm until she blinked her eyes open. She could scarcely make out his face in the dark.

  “Or it will be in an hour,” she said in a ragged voice, rubbing the back of her neck. It was stiff from sitting all the day and night before, then sleeping propped against the strake of the ship in the damp air.

  Others still slept. She straightened and looked up the narrow channel of the cove that led back to the estuary. Black, gray, and silver shadows rose up the sides of the cliffs and rippled in the water.

  A shift in the dark, a glimmer low in the sky whispered the arrival of dawn. “Aye, best do this now,” she said. “Awaken the others.” Llyrica shook the shoulder of the boy curled up at her feet as Broder crawled between bodies, giving each a nudge. He kissed his Norna awake.

  After a silent breakfast of dried fruit, each took a place at the oars and began winding their way back to the sea. To be moving again gave Llyrica a sense of relief. This mission would soon be complete, and perhaps help mend the breech between her and Broder. Pray this had not caused a new and irreparable breech between her and Slayde.

  The ocean beckoned, its violet horizon dotted with the black silhouettes of ships. But no vessel was nearby, and Llyrica, her crew and corpse would go unnoticed at this hour. They rowed out from the estuary toward open water. A moderate tide would prove ideal to carry the funeral out to sea.

  She turned to her brother, who looked out past her to a distance vision that only he saw. With her hand on his, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Father will be at peace within the hour. Help me with the final preparations.”

  Lorna lit the torch, holding it aloft. With the others watching, Llyrica and Broder laid an oil soaked cloth over Haesten’s body. Inwardly, Llyrica said a prayer to her Christian God, but then readied to summon the words befitting the pagan funeral at sea for a Viking warlord.

  “Help us now,” Llyrica bade the others. “We must lift Haesten over the strake and lower him into the water.” Three of the crew counter-balanced the ship while Llyrica, Broder, Egil and Lunt accomplished putting Haesten in the water. One prayer was answered when it seemed the planks would keep the body afloat. She pushed it off from the ship as Lorna handed the torch to Broder. With a look grave, yet calm, Broder tossed the torch upon Haesten’ body as it floated away from the ship. The current rocked the ship as they sat watching a fire soon flare up, yellow and orange against the black blue of the pre-dawn sea.

  Tears of confusion burned in Llyrica’s throat. Strange grief this, to mourn the man from whom she had hidden her whole life.

  She coughed, took a breath and sent a command to Haesten. “From the flames arise and meet the valkyries as they welcome you to Valhalla. There you will dwell as an honored warrior among your father and father’s father.” Lowly then, she sang a simple song of mother’s, remembered from early childhood. It spoke of warm garments woven at the loom, of hearty meals and the loving embrace of homecoming.

  Broder wept, holding his sword, the Ravenwing, above his head. “I will join you my lord Haesten, my father, come the day you call me.”

  Llyrica thought once more of her mother, and saw her years of hiding and of carrying a deathbed promise burn away and drift farther out to sea. Only time would show what this funeral had accomplished for Broder. His brow was now even, where in the last days it had been furrowed in confusion and grief. This bids well. Llyrica felt renewed hope that her brother would now find his way to manhood, especially when he caught her eye, then gave her a nod. Together they watched the last of the distant fire die, and what remained dispersed until no further evidence could be seen.

  With dawn arrived the time to start the journey back, with haste. They were all spent, though and would need words of firm command to see it done. Llyrica turned to urge Broder and the others to the task. There, behind them, approaching fast from the estuary, was a large dark ship. At once she recognized the pig snout figurehead at the prow. The BoarsJaw! Xanthus’ slave trader ship!

  “Broder, look!” She pointed. “But, you burned his ship!” All the fear and horror of once being in his possession rushed back. “He is after us, for sure!”

  “He has built another! And they are hard upon us! Quickly!” Broder took up his oars as did they all, and began rowing.

  “How shall we out run him?” Llyrica shouted as she rowed. “And surely not out to sea in this small vessel!”

  Thunderous yelling sounded from the BoarsJaw, the ship now close enough to see members of the crew. Indeed, Llyrica could make out TwistedBeard and Xanthus hims
elf, in his green boots.

  “Songweaver and her brother! London is full of your news!” Xanthus bellowed. “I was a fool thrice! But will not be again!”

  They would tire soon, but for now Llyrica and her crew maintained the distance.

  “The first time was for letting you escape!” Xanthus called out. “The second was allowing StoneHeart to buy you from me!” He turned briefly to shout a command to his crew to row faster. His ship surged closer. Llyrica’s heart pounded wildly, imagined the others would not be able to keep this pace much longer.

  Xanthus again leaned over the strake of his ship to press forth his triage. “But to know I searched all those years for Haesten’s children, yet had his daughter in my hands! His reward should have been mine!”

  The BoarsJaw closed in, and Llyrica heard Xanthus shout again to his crewmen. They began throwing out rope loops which would snag Llyrica’s vessel. One missed its mark and was pulled back to try again. The second caught the craft, but Broder leapt to the prow to severe it with his sword. His oars, now idle, though, cost them speed and the BoarsJaw bumped up against them. Llyrica and the others rocked as their ship took in water and nearly overturned.

  Xanthus looked down from the strake of his ship, and threw out a rope ladder. “Haesten’s reward will be mine!”

  Broder balanced on his feet with sword raised. His comrades kneeled on the wet deck, knives drawn, ready to join him in combat. Lorna shrunk in fear, her eyes wide. The crew of the BoarsJaw would soon drop down into Llyrica’s ship and snatch them all.

  Panicked, Llyrica eyed the ocean, considered drowning a preference to capture. Mother! Father! What a disastrous end! She thought of Slayde and of their life together that would not grow to fruition. I love you, Slayde. May my lovespell not haunt you all your years, like mother’s did my father.

  The BoarsJaw rammed them again, this time successfully throwing Llyrica and her small crew in the waters. As she hit the cold waves, she heard a strange whistling sound shriek through the chaos. Perhaps the valkyries had come for her, as well.

  Slayde saw Llyrica disappear beneath the overturned ship, resisted the choking urge to blindly dive in after her. Instead, he gave himself over to the stoic precision of the StoneHeart. His whistling signal arrow shot strong and true, shreiked eerily to distract Xanthus and his ship for the extra moment he needed. His OnyxFox slid effortlessly through the water, closer, close enough for Slayde to fire a more menacing arrow. He nocked it deliberately in his bow, heard Byrnstan pray for a swift meeting with its target. Slayde drew back and let go, watched Xanthus topple with an arrow through his thigh. Quickly then, Slayde fired another, letting it arc near, but over the ship. Xanthus’ men now ran ducking, scrambling for their weapons. But spears, swords and knives would be worth little. With a nod of his head, Slayde signaled his men to begin hailing the BoarsJaw with arrows.

  Not built for battle, but for running, the slaver ship turned, its oars moving in fast rhythm, their sail raised. There would be a chase, but StoneHeart’s OnyxFox would not be the pursuer. Deorlof's three well-armed ships now followed in the wake of the BoarsJaw, would see to it that this time, the slaver crew would be disbanded.

  Slayde turned his full attention toward Llyrica, could not see her among the bobbing heads in the water. I pray she clings to the far side of the overturned ship! Agonizing patience dictated he wait a few more strokes of the OnyxFox oars before he made the dive in after her. He instructed several of his crew to join him in the jump.

  Pain struck the injury in his rib as he swam toward Llyrica's ship, felt the weight of his clothing pulling against his progress. As he neared where he hoped she would be, the ship dipped, then sank. In a flash of panic, Slayde was engulfed in darkness and swallowed a mouthful of salt water. He reemerged from under a wave to see Broder with one arm around Llyrica, struggling to keep them both afloat. An unknown indication, her eyes were half lidded, her body slack.

  Slayde knew his voice might fail when he gave a command. "Hang on tight to her, Broder! We will both carry her to safety!" With that, he grabbed the scruff of Broder's tunica with one hand and began paddling with the other. Their combined effort brought Llyrica quickly to the OnyxFox where Byrnstan pulled her aboard.

  Close behind, Slayde and Broder toppled over the strake onto the ship, both floundering, out of breath. They were among the rest of Broder's crew, drenched and frightened all, but blessedly not drowned.

  Scarcely recovered enough to move again, Slayde arose to crawl to Llyrica where she lay with Byrnstan holding her hand. Welcome, stunning, her eyes opened, were bright and asking him a thousand questions. Slayde answered by pulling her onto his lap and holding her against his heart. To have Llyrica again safely in his arms, his vixen in wet silk, meant he could now surely trust the urgings of her songs. She was his, and nothing else mattered.

  She drew a breath, and then another, raised her face to his. With trembling lips, she stammered the beginnings of words, seemed uncertain where to begin. Slayde stilled her with a smile and then a kiss, as tenderly as the sleepwalker could.

  "Your brother is well, helped get you out of the water." Slayde looked up to see Broder slumped against the strake with Norna beside him. No more than a man-child, he seemed drained of his former fury and met Slayde's gaze without blinking, his brow furrowed and mournful. Would that this posture of defeat indicate a truce between Llyrica's husband and brother.

  Llyrica's fingers brushed against Slayde's twitching eye, brought relief and promise. He bowed his head to drink in the sight of her, watched her lips as she spoke.

  "If StoneHeart's work is done, there is a house I want you to build."

  Chapter XIX

  The sea has stopped boiling and the clouds no longer race.

  Come out from umdercover, let the sun shine on your face.

  With troubles too few to count, be free to live in grace.

  With hands joined in a circle, may God bless this place.

  Near London, the Great Isle. Late Fall.

  Llyrica glanced at the road again, then settled on the horizon, judged the sun would set in an hour. Behind her, Slayde's and her new house was just finished, its unseasoned timbers golden in the warm afternoon. She and Byrnstan sat on a bench beside the front door, sharing news and refreshments, while enjoying the view of London below. StoneHeart was there now, commanding troops at the garrison.

  "Judith visited yesterday." Llyrica turned to the priest and refilled his cup with mead. "She brought baskets full of linens and crockery to furnish the house. Elfric came, too, and could not stop talking about how he helped his brother build the house."

  Byrnstan's grin stretched between white curtains of hair. "He seems to never tire of pointing out each peg he hammered, stone he carried or beam he climbed." Byrnstan leaned back, his eyes twinkling with self-satisfaction.

  Llyrica laughed. "Slayde kept a list of all the tasks a little boy could do. He was patience with Elfric, as a good captain is with a green soldier." Spurred by other thoughts, she worked to govern her racing heart. By day's end, the moment she and StoneHeart had envisioned would unfold. She looked again to the road.

  Still avoiding a subject on which so much depended, she ventured toward another. Here, too, there was much at stake. "You say you have had word from Athelswith?"

  A good sign, Byrnstan remained in repose, nodded as if all his greatest plans had come to fruition. "Aye. Canute sent a message to her that your recent bundles of braids are bound for the farthest ports of his route. The name Songweaver will further be restored to your family and be known around the world."

  She cared less for this report than for the next. Holding her breath without blinking surely told Byrnstan to continue.

  He chuckled, squeezed her hand. "Canute assures us he will deliver your message to Solvieg in Hedeby, and on his return journey will see if she will come." Byrnstan smiled elfishly, turned his attention to the sloping hills into the shallow valley. Pastoral, bucolic: farmland spread its harvest colors
on each side of the road that led to London. The aroma of ripening grain filled the skies as much as did the busy birds of the approaching twilight.

  Llyrica's gaze lingered on the road once more, the road that would bring Slayde home at last. She pressed her palms to her heart. "I have missed her, and hope she agrees to travel here with Canute. She has lived hidden from sight her entire life and may be too afraid."

  "Canute will convince her. She will feel safe with him." Byrnstan took a long draw from his cup of mead, seemed as if he had nothing else to say.

  She could wait no longer. "You toy with my patience, father! You know what I need to hear from you!"

  With gnarled hands, the old priest pulled her into an embrace, laughing. He set her back at arm's length, now gave her his full attention. "All is well with your Broder. Apparently, life at sea agrees with him, keeps him too busy to get into trouble."

  A exhale of relief: "I am vastly pleased he has gone with Canute and not run up north with rest of Haesten's people. As a merchant, perhaps he will find adventure and purpose. And when he returns, he and I can begin again." Llyrica sipped from her cup. "Norna is quite content to wait for him living at Judith's. She is quiet and sweet."

  "Now you may be at ease knowing all is well."

  Llyrica scarcely heard him as she rose to her feet. Over Byrnstan's shoulder she saw at last, a lone figure on the road far below.

  Byrnstan stood and turned to see, threw his arms in the air. "I am daft not to have known why you have looked past me since I have arrived."

  Nearly as faint as the first time StoneHeart kissed her, Llyrica could barely respond or contain her anticipation. "He and I have been quite happy and comfortable at his round house, but now that we have our own ..."