by Grafford, Jo
"More than a ghost pursues us," he reminded her soberly. "A winter such as we've never experienced is clawing at the bars of its cage to unleash itself upon us. Last night’s storm was only a taste of what is to come.”
"'Tis Ragnarok you fear."
“Aye. Eirik and I promised to return our men home before the winter of all winters sets in, and we will keep our word. Only in New Dorset will our Viking comrades be safe." Willow and Lady Sif would be safe there also. He could not wait to introduce his new wife to his adoptive mum.
"You speak of keeping your word. What about your word to me?"
He wanted to laugh at the delightful way she skirted an argument without bearing her fists. But what they discussed was no laughing matter. “Fear not, my love. I shall keep my word to you as well."
“Will you, Sven?” The sad acceptance in her voice twisted his insides. She thought he was whisking her away. Nothing more.
He anchored her shoulders against his chest as the shores of land faded from view. “As my wife, your enemies are my enemies, your battles my battles, and your vengeance mine. As soon as our men are returned to New Dorset, I will help you discover the plight of your people. If necessary, we will return to Exeter come Spring." If there ever is another. "Properly armed, of course." His grasp on her tightened as an icy wind swept across the deck of the ship. Like a hawk on a dive, it rattled its way through chests and barrels making more than one sailor gasp from its cruel bite.
She shivered beneath the fresh wave of cold swirling around them. A shimmer of snow crystals fluttered against their hoods and faces. As if in protest, the sun shot its last faint arcs of light across the sky for the day and dipped below the horizon. Light that had offered not an ounce of warmth while it lasted.
His wife burrowed closer. ”Now that I have my legs back, guilt overwhelms me. My people have endured so much. They've suffered and died, and here I am. Alive and safe and cherished.”
“May I always keep you so." He rubbed his hands across her shoulder blades through her borrowed cloak, trying to warm her with the friction.
"I deserve to live no more than the rest of my people,” she mourned. "Who does the choosing? About who gets to live and who must die? Pray tell me, so I may file a complaint."
"The Fates, I suppose.” He bent to nuzzle her ear. "File away on behalf of your comrades, but be sure to send my kindest regards to them for depositing you on my ship.”
She reached up to touch his cheek. "Glad I am to be with you, Sven. Sometimes, though, I fear I am naught but a pawn in a much greater game."
"Then let us play the game together and play it well, my love." He spun her around, astounded by her perception. He cupped her face with both his hands, wanting and needing to bask in the beauty of her once more. "When did you become so wise? I thought mermaids did little besides comb their lovely hair and sigh at their own reflections in the glass."
She bared her teeth and snapped playfully at him when he tried to kiss her. "And I thought Vikings did little more than plunder ships and maids. But wait! That is exactly what you did to me, is it not, my lord?"
He pressed a hand to her lower back, arching her against him. "Do not, 'my lord' me, wench. For in truth, you've married a rogue who’d like nothing better than to plunder you till the end of his days."
This time she did not dodge his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, making soft keening sounds in the back of her throat that clenched his body and soul. Bloody hell, but the lass had gotten beneath his skin. He couldn't get enough of her scent and taste. With an effort that bordered on pain, he broke off the kiss, reminding himself he was supposed to be on duty.
He left her standing there, so he could circle the ship. Every few steps, he paused to shout encouragement to the rowers who strained into their oars to keep the ship on course in the buffeting winds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, coming ever closer. He waited another handful of minutes before giving the order to lower the sail. It somewhat but not entirely reduced their side-to-side pitching.
His circling returned him to Willow’s side.
“Is this New Dorset truly as safe as you claim?" she asked. "What with both Mista and an unnatural winter pursuing us..."
"Aye, 'tis the safest place on earth." He ran a hand over his beard. “Mista is gone for now. When she returns, she will likely continue to fight for entrance. She believes we harbor a key to the gates of Valhalla. Though untrue, it proves even the bloody dead are not safe from her machinations. Whatever it is she wants from them.“
"Nothing good," Willow murmured.
He smiled. Though she had no way of knowing, his wife was repeating his own words from earlier. "We know the inhabitants of Valhalla will fight for the gods in the final battle over the earth. They will fight to protect everything Mista seeks to destroy."
"Unless something prevents them."
Again, he was astounded by his young wife's perception. Her suggestion revealed a wisdom beyond her years. The fact that Mista might be trying to interfere with the presence of the Valhalla warriors in the final battle made a dreadful lot of sense. The topic would bear discussing further with Eirik and Branwyn. The foreboding in his chest notched up several degrees, until it eclipsed the damp cold slicing through his garments.
At sunset, Alf traded placed with Sven, which left him to distribute the rations of fish stew. To his delight, Eirik ordered a second make-shift tent erected for Willow. When complete, it was identical to the one Branwyn slept in and would shield his wife from the speculative and suspicious gazes of the crew while she slept. Despite the public announcement of their hand fasting, none besides Alf and the thralls would speak to her.
* * *
They sailed thus to Iceland, a week of desperately long days fraught with frigid winds and choppy waters. They rounded the southern shore, stopping long enough to refill their fresh water stores and hunt down a straggling few deer and wild boar. A matter of hours. Before nightfall, they set sail again.
Nearly two more days of constant sailing brought them to the icy shores of Greenland, which they bypassed entirely, setting their course for the upper islands and peninsulas of the New World. If the weather held out, they would reach New Dorset in less than a week.
The air grew colder and the winds harsher. On the first full day at sea between Greenland and the New World, the winds turned so bitter the crewmen were forced to wrap their faces against the unforgiving gale. Only their eyes showed. They cut additional slits in the fabric for breathing and eating.
It was impossible to light a fire. Branwyn and Willow retreated beneath Branwyn's tent, which took the razor edge off the winds.
She had to shout to be heard above the gale. "I've always wondered about the connection between a witch and her wand." Might as well learn something while they passed the time together.
Her companion smiled and raised the knobby length of her elder wood wand etched with symbols of peace and power. Her lips moved to indicate she spoke, but her words were too soft to make out beneath the cry of the winds. Then all other sounds died, and she could hear again.
"I cast a privacy bubble around us." Branwyn offered a secretive smile. "Now none but the two of us can hear what is said. Not that anyone outside the tent can hear much with the way the wind in carrying on.”
Amazed at how effortlessly the other woman wielded her magic, she grew still and listened. Indeed the winds were still howling but faintly, as if from a great distance. She reached out with both hands and encountered an invisible wall. More experimenting revealed the privacy dome surrounded them. "What part does your wand play in casting your spells?”
Branwyn smoothed a hand over her flyaway red hair and tucked a loose lock beneath her fur-lined hood. "The magician always wields the magic. The wand, however..." She drew a loving hand down its length. "It channels the magic. Gathers and directs it like a shepherd using his staff. Without it, the outcomes of my spells would be less predictable.”
"Fascinat
ing." She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, wanting desperately to reach for the wand, though it wasn’t hers to take. "I've never used one. A woodland Druidess it taught to use her hands.” A faint tremor crept its way into her voice. “You saw me at work. I had to lift the broken tree back into place and smooth my fingers over the damaged site to mend the trunk.”
The power of touch was essential to a Druidess's magic, yet the urge to test Branwyn’s wand persisted. “May I hold it?”
"Certainly." With a smile, her new friend extended her wand. “Pray do not attempt to perform any spells just yet. The results could be unpredictable, to say the least, for one who is untrained.”
"I'll not say a word," she promised, reaching out with wonder to press a finger against the tip of elder wood. Sparks shot from the point of contact, and the women jumped away from each other.
“Sweet mercy!” Branwyn examined her wand closely. "You are truly unique. Both Eirik and Sven have handled my wand a number of times, and nothing like this happened."
As if on cue, Sven ducked his head between the tent flaps and shouted, "Is everything alright in here?” His head bumped against the privacy bubble. He pulled back in surprise.
Branwyn chuckled and raised her wand to cast a new privacy spell that included him. "My apologies. You were saying?"
His brows rose at the sudden silence. He glanced warily around the cozy interior of the tent. "What bloody shenanigans are the two of you about? Jarl Eirik said there were to be no fires today, yet we witnessed smoke seeping out the sides of your tent. You had us worried, ah...m'lady," he added with an apologetic glance at Branwyn for his belated use of her title.
"Here." She thrust her wand at him, green eyes twinkling. "Hold this for me, please."
He snatched it up irritably. “What now?”
Nothing happened.
"Now give it to Willow," she commanded softly.
"Are you certain that is a good idea?" She eyed the wand as if it were a coiled serpent, but her husband gave her little time to contemplate.
“I've no time for tea parties," he muttered and tossed it to her.
On instinct, she caught the slender length of elder wood in mid-air. Just as before, sparks erupted upon contact. This time, her hand momentarily closed around the handle, sending an arc of blue fire shooting from the tip of it. Sven and Branwyn ducked in opposite directions, and none too soon since the flame shot between them.
She dropped the wand with a yelp and stared aghast at the small hole burnt into the side of the tent. "I don't understand." The sound of the winds nearly drowned out her words, for the privacy bubble was burst.
"I do." Branwyn retrieved her wand, eyeing Willow with profound respect as she reinstated the privacy spell. "At last I understand why my brother considers the fae a threat worthy of eliminating. Your magic is powerful. So powerful, in fact, you are always channeling, even when you are not aware of it. That is why the wand reacts to your touch. It is an instrument designed to absorb and direct magic. Without a spell or command from you, it simply serves as a conduit. Hence, the shock Alf received and the hole burnt into the wall of our tent."
Mercy me. “Methinks I will steer clear of wands altogether.”
"Or we could train together?" Branwyn shot a look of appeal to Sven. "There are no more nets to mend and precious little else for us to do aboard ship but await our arrival.”
He shrugged. "I will discuss your proposition with Eirik, but the crew is already wary of my wife. They've not yet forgiven her part in the mer attack. Best not to alarm them further by shooting flames and burning holes in things."
"They are correct to be wary, for she is dangerous.” Branwyn tapped her wand against her palm.
Thank you for pointing that out.
"She channels magic as effortlessly as she breaths. And as a Druidesses she draws energies from her environment. From the earth and sea. From the people surrounding her. Any time her senses are stirred, be it surprise or anger or..." Her eyelashes fluttered downward. "...or passion, she is at risk of channeling even greater amounts of magic by accident. Aye, training is exactly what she needs in order to learn how to control such power."
“I cannot state your reasons better, my lady.”
Taking the hint, Branwyn sought Eirik herself and requested his permission for the two women to train together. He agreed.
They transformed a fishing rod made of bloodwood into her first wand. Once her training was begun, Branwyn took every opportunity to present her to the crew in the best of light. She showed her how to dry their driftwood on damp days so they could more easily ignite their fires. She taught her how to mend their clothing and nets as well as how to keep the men clean, well nourished, and free of disease. Some of the suspicion evaporated from their gazes while she tended their comforts, but they still did not smile and speak as freely around her as they did Branwyn.
* * *
One morning, Willow awoke in Sven's arms with a strange prickling along her skin. His eyes flew open when she sprang into a crouching position.
"He's here," she warned, edging slowly from the thick mist gathering and taking shape in the corner of their tent.
"Who, my love?" His voice was still heavy with sleep.
"The ghost. The one who seeks to possess you."
Understanding filled his grey gaze and he started to sit up, but the mist was already upon him. It swirled around his nostrils and wrists, choking him and holding him prisoner against the bedroll. He writhed in mighty protest, bucking against the restraints to no avail.
Her cries of alarm brought Eirik and Branwyn running.
Assessing his condition, her magical friend could only shake her head. "He is possessed," she announced in ominous tones.
7
The Confrontation
"Lash him to the mast!" Eirik dove for a coil of rope while Alf and four other crewmen circled and converged on the convulsing Sven.
"Do you think it will be enough to hold him?" Branwyn anxiously clutched her wand. "I could try a binding spell."
"Let us first determine what the blasted ghost wants. Then we'll do whatever it takes to rid him of the tormented creature.” He grunted with the effort of grappling with his brother.
Sven fought so fiercely it took all six men to restrain him. Afterwards, he stood within the kerling beneath the mast, which made it appear as if he was planted within a half barrel of wine. His large body was bound from chest to hips to the solid base of the mast. Due to his kicking, they struggled to tie his feet and drew back in fear when he shuddered heavily and shouted in a language none of them could understand.
The deep voice was not his own and echoed ominously as if amplified by some unseen force. It resonated throughout the ship, vibrating the planks beneath their feet. His eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites were showing. He fought the hemp and leather cords, trying to break free.
"We should bind Willow as well," Alf advised in undertones. "I am aware of Sven's dealings with ghosts, but the crewmen are not. They will blame her for his possession."
He nodded grimly as his senior crewman sought to elaborate. "Look at it from their perspective. All they know is she fought against us during the mer attack. Next, she pursued your brother and coerced him into a hasty marriage. Now, he stands before us, raving like a mad man."
A quick survey of the ship revealed the men casting angry glances her way and fingering their weapons. Knives, cudgels, and small hatchets.
Eirik nodded. "Very well. Lash her to the prow in the stern. Pray it will keep her safe from the crewmen until we figure out how to rescue Sven."
“Don’t!” Branwyn cried, when Alf approached the druidess with a length of rope. “Please don’t.”
* * *
Willow maintained a stoic silence while the men tied her. She was unsurprised by their suspicions, but every inch of her bristled with anger. More than one set of hands were snatched back as sparks rolled in waves from her skin.
"Control it," Bra
nwyn urged, stepping to her side, but the men pulled her away, setting her on the opposite side of the ship.
"'Tis not safe, my lady," one of them muttered.
"Remember everything I taught you." Branwyn called against the wind. Her face whipped in Sven's direction as he stomped against the oak panels of the kerling.
"Let her go," he roared in a strange, deep voice that was not his own. He stomped a second time, and a jagged crack appeared in the stairs leading down from the kerling. The mast shuddered from the impact.
"Sven! By Thor, if you can hear me, you must stop.” Eirik lunged for the kerling. "You will damage the ship."
He stomped again, this time against the wall of the kerling. One side of it collapsed onto the deck. Another horrifying snap of wood, and a crack appeared in the plank flooring at their feet. It slowly traversed the center of the deck. With much creaking and popping, the longship's center descended toward the water at the seam of the break.
Branwyn raised her wand, muttering one spell after another, trying desperately to hold their longship together.
"Let me loose," Willow pleaded to Eirik and Alf. She writhed against her bonds. "Branwyn cannot do this alone. I can help her repair the damage before our ship sinks."
"Cease your struggling." One of the men raised his crossbow and trained it on her.
"Do not shoot." Alf stepped between Willow and the bowman. His glanced wildly around the ship, taking in the crew's mix of anger and fear. "Can you not see how agitated Sven is becoming at the sight of his wife bound thus? The gods only know what he will do if you harm her."
"Let me help," she shrieked when Sven stomped another crack into the flooring. The longship shuddered heavily, and water shot up like a fountain from the break. "Fetch me my wand. Please, Branwyn. Make them understand I am Druidess." Blue fire flickered along her limbs, singing the cords and raising smoke, but her friend was too occupied with plugging leaks to respond.