A Sacred Storm

by Theodore Brun

Saldas observed her closely. Lilla wanted to look away. Wanted to flee, in fact, but instead she forced herself to hold the queen’s gaze. The lines either side of Saldas’s mouth tightened a fraction, but then her features softened, blooming into a radiant smile. ‘There, you see.’ She nodded, satisfied her point was proven. ‘You mustn’t worry, my dear. These girlish fancies soon fade. And you can help them on their way by keeping your eyes set on your destiny. Your father reminds you of it often.’

  Saldas was certainly right about that. You are the daughter of a king. One day you will be the wife of a king and in time the mother of kings. How many times had she heard that? It had become a kind of refrain, a dirge chanted in the background of her life. She couldn’t deny it was a noble destiny, just that somehow it didn’t fit. ‘I know what my father wants for me.’

  ‘Of course you do. But for every fate, there is a cost. You are not free, as other women are, to give your heart full sail and follow after any man who takes your fancy. Your virtue is a precious thing. You must guard it wisely. Because it will be required of you one day. And you must still have it to give when your father chooses you a husband.’

  ‘I know what’s required of me.’ She certainly didn’t need Saldas reminding her of that.

  ‘Good. Then remember, the daughter of a king may lose her honour only once. Too soon and I’m afraid she is quite lost.’

  When Lilla didn’t answer, Saldas laid a hand against her cheek. ‘Gods, don’t look so troubled, girl! You know I warn you only to protect you.’

  ‘I know. It’s just that—’ That throbbing in her head again.

  ‘I understand.’ Saldas’s voice softened. ‘Your heart suffers.’

  Lilla palmed her brow, feeling a little dizzy.

  ‘It will pass. I promise you.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Lilla forced herself to smile.

  ‘That’s better.’ Saldas suddenly sighed. ‘Of course, it would be a terrible thing for your father to learn of this. I fear he would not be so understanding. Likely he would take it as a most vile betrayal on the part of Erlan. And then, alas, the stranger’s days as your father’s favourite would be few indeed.’

  ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

  ‘Sweet Lilla. Do you really think I would?’ She laughed gently. ‘After all, if I could not keep the confidence of my daughter, what kind of a mother would I be?’

  The queen was still smiling. But somehow Lilla found cold comfort in her words. They had crossed the meadows and almost reached the first of the halls. Just ahead, on the edge of the flood-meadow, a man was waiting, gazing high into the morning sky.

  ‘Ah! There’s Svenning now. That means Freki must be near. What perfect timing the man has!’ Saldas bade him good morning. He returned her greeting. He was wearing a huge leather gauntlet on his hand.

  ‘Where is he?’ Saldas called, already scanning the sky.

  ‘Out yonder,’ nodded Svenning, pointing east.

  Lilla looked too, though without her stepmother’s enthusiasm. She didn’t particularly like Svenning. She liked his charge even less.

  ‘I see him!’ exclaimed Saldas. Lilla shielded her eyes. High above, she could make out a shadow in the sky, banking and turning on the breeze. Himinns Freki: the wolf of the skies. That was the name Saldas had given him.

  ‘Call him back.’

  Svenning reached into a pouch at his belt and fished out a strip of meat, bloody and raw. Then he whistled, loud and long. A sharp screech sounded in reply and the shadow swooped down.

  Within seconds the eagle had landed on his arm in a squall of flapping wings, darting its head at the piece of meat in his glove. Up close, it was enormous, much larger than any bird of prey native to her father’s kingdom. While Freki ate, Saldas stroked a fingertip down the length of its spine, over and over. There was something disturbing about the way she touched the creature, so tenderly, with a kind of intimacy that Lilla had never seen pass between her father and his queen.

  The eagle had been his wedding gift to her four years earlier. A plaything, although to Lilla’s mind, there was nothing playful about those flaming orange eyes with their jet-black pupils. She saw in them something pitiless, something untameable. The merchant who had sold Freki as an egret to her father said he came from thousands of leagues away, from a burning hot wilderness far beyond the Great Rivers and the Black Sea. Lilla found it difficult to imagine, but looking at Freki’s stone-hard gaze, she thought it must be a cruel place.

  When the eagle was done eating, his head came up. Svenning lifted his arm and in an instant Freki was gone again, climbing higher and higher on his dark wings, their tips curling in the rush of air.

  ‘Magnificent, don’t you think?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ said Lilla, then added, ‘I should go... Mother.’ She’d say anything to get away now. Even that.

  ‘As you wish.’ But instead of bidding her farewell, Saldas suddenly took her elbow and steered her clear of Svenning’s hearing. ‘Stay away from him. It’s for the best. And if you suspect he has any designs on you, you must tell me at once. Do you understand?’

  Lilla nodded.

  ‘At once.’ She touched her thumb under Lilla’s chin and tilted her face. ‘So beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘You must trust me. I will protect your heart as if it were my own. Now come, kiss me before you go.’

  But despite the warmth of her stepmother’s smile, her lips were cold as stone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The second day Kai awoke frustrated. That there was a boatload of bad feeling towards the Sveärs here was beyond doubt, but that would hardly be news to Sviggar, and aside from the Black’s grisly dispatch, so far they had precious little detail to offer the Old Goat.

  In hushed whispers, Einar had cursed their decision to pass him off as mute. ‘How in the name of Baldur’s bollocks can I find anything out if I can’t speak?’ After a day of listening, he’d heard not much more than the squelch of shit between his toes.

  Kai reminded him that if his Sveär accent gave him away, the Dannerborg folk would make short shrift of his own bollocks. Einar didn’t look any happier. But he had a point. They needed something solid and it was down to Kai to find it out.

  After several hours at Snorri’s forge, Kai was no more hopeful. A handful of warriors had come and gone – some to collect weapons, some to drop them off – but none took the bait when he tried to engage them in talk. Only one had lingered at all. At first he’d thought him an odd-looking lad – smooth-faced, splayed hips, an enormously fat chest – until he realized the lad was a lass, albeit a terrifyingly large one.

  She called herself Visma and hailed from Wendland, she said in an accent blunt as a cudgel, handing over a double-handed sword Kai could barely lift.

  ‘You’re a long way from home.’

  ‘Word has spread far from Leithra that Harald is gathering warriors. Both there and here. I came with my husband, Duk. We are here to fight. Together.’

  ‘Sounds charming,’ Kai said, as he put the massive sword to the grindstone.

  ‘Something amuses you?’

  ‘Me? Not a thing! I’m sure there’s nothing finer than knocking off a few heads with your lord and love. I expect he likes a good supper when you get home.’

  ‘You are mocking me.’

  ‘Gods forbid it! I’m sure you make a terrifying pair.’

  For some reason the woman laughed like a tickled troll. ‘You are a funny fellow!’

  ‘If you say so,’ he said, somewhat disconcerted by the way she was eyeing him. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Three weeks only. Others have been here months.’

  Kai grunted and went on grinding.

  ‘If it were my decision, we wouldn’t wait at all. But Danes are cautious. Ringast Haraldarsson, most cautious of all.’

  ‘Didn’t seem too cautious yesterday.’

  ‘Well... that man was a Sveär murderer. He deserved it.’ Seemed that was explanation enough for her.

 
‘So what’s he waiting for?’

  ‘More spears. Always more. And always more come.’

  Her sword was ready. Kai handed it over, resolving to stay well clear of its wickedly sharp edges.

  ‘How many does he want, by the way?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, little man,’ she said, slipping the blade back into its sheath.

  ‘You seem to have a lot of answers.’

  She looked at him, curious. ‘Well, if you want more, come find me later. We’ll drink. We’ll talk.’ She patted his cheek. Her palm was rough as splintered wood.

  ‘Askar!’ someone yelled.

  ‘I think you’re wanted,’ Visma nodded as she left with her sword. Kai suddenly remembered the name he had given as his own – his father’s, in fact – and turned to see Gerutha hailing him from across the yard.

  ‘Sletti says you’re needed at the hall. Another party arrived today and we’re short of hands.’

  ‘You want me to serve supper?’ They must be damned stretched if they needed him to play hall-maid.

  ‘Just do what you’re told like the rest of us.’

  After a moment’s reflection, a bit of woman’s work wasn’t a bad prospect if it meant being spared Snorri’s incessant drivel and more aching arms. But more importantly it would get him inside that hall.

  ‘Well, old man, a woman’s wish must be obeyed.’ And with that, he pulled off his apron and flung it at the bony old bird.

  Kai had known some unruly feasting but for sheer, unfettered gluttony, he’d seen nothing like the benches of Dannerborg. He became quite worn out carrying cauldrons and kettles and platters piled high with bread and boiled beef and hard cheeses and the gods knew what else. It all sailed down the gullets of this ravenous mob.

  The loudest and greediest of them all was Prince Thrand, the middle-born of the Wartooth’s sons. When he wasn’t filling his face, his booming laugh reverberated off the walls. Everything, apparently, amused him, although the compliment wasn’t returned. All evening Kai overheard ale-wenches complaining of his groping hands and lewd suggestions. But no one seemed more irritated by him than his older brother.

  As for him, Lord Ringast was a thinker. That was obvious. Not brooding exactly, but serious. He wasn’t old – thirty winters maybe – with the crook-nose that had minded Kai of an eagle the day before. He knuckled the crook repeatedly as he listened to the man next to him, a grizzled warrior with a scar running from the corner of his mouth, who looked as though if you tapped him, he’d ring like iron.

  Kai was loitering in the shadows with an empty platter, hoping to hear some juicy morsel when Thrand lurched to his feet. ‘To the death of that black twin!’ He raised his cup. ‘On your feet, brothers! Drink, damn you!’

  Rorik, the third and youngest brother, obliged but Ringast left his cup untouched. ‘Do you never tire of making a fool of yourself?’

  ‘Hel piss on you then!’ Thrand was swaying. ‘What about you, Ubbi? Show us how a Frieslander can drink!’

  ‘If it’ll shut you up, I’ll match you,’ the old warrior growled. Like Visma, he had a thick southern accent.

  ‘Good man! And you, Rorik!’

  The fair-faced brother got to his feet.

  ‘There’s a lad!’

  All three emptied their cups.

  ‘Snaring the Black was a sign, brother,’ slurred Thrand, wiping his beard. ‘We’ve waited long enough. The road through the Kolmark lies open. It’s time to make Sveäland burn.’

  ‘Patience was never your strength, was it?’

  ‘What fucking use is patience after such provocation?’

  ‘The White and the Black are not our main concern. They’re dogs that want destroying, but Father’s plan is bigger.’

  ‘How much bigger does he want? We have hundreds already. Thousands, with the spears at Leithra.’

  ‘The time isn’t yet ripe.’

  ‘When the Hel will it be?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said a thin voice at Kai’s elbow. He looked to see who it belonged to. Sletti the steward was glaring at him, waiting for an answer. ‘Get your lazy carcass back to the kitchens.’

  ‘Charming way to speak to a guest.’

  ‘Now!’

  Kai went, cursing his luck, wondering what talk he was missing. Halfway down the corridor, he passed an ale-maid clutching a frothy pitcher on her way in. ‘Slow up there, sister. Fancy a trade?’

  ‘You, serve ale? Are you mad?’

  ‘Some reckon so,’ he grinned. ‘Now take this, my lovely, and I’ll make sure everyone has a full cup.’ Before she could protest, he’d swapped his platter for her pitcher and gone back into the hall.

  When he re-entered, Thrand was gnawing moodily on a mutton joint. Kai guessed the argument between the brothers was old ground. Meanwhile, Ringast was deep in conversation with the Frieslander, Ubbi. From the look of him, the old battle-axe knew the sharp end of a spear all right, but from the respect Ringast gave him, he was also someone of consequence. Kai went to the end of the table and began refilling cups, slowly as he dared without drawing attention.

  ‘I saw more riders arrive today,’ he heard Ubbi say.

  ‘Ruslanders.’

  ‘Seems your word carries far.’

  Ringast swigged his ale. ‘Ruslanders love a fight.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Another ten.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘I’d take five, maybe six of them. The rest are green. But we need the numbers.’

  ‘Any word from your father?’

  ‘Aye. We had a rider two days ago.’ He knuckled the crook of his nose.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Only that he’d received my message about the raids along the Kolmark. That we are to wait as before. He wants more men. He thinks Starkad the Sea-King will follow him.’

  ‘Starkad?’ The name evidently impressed Ubbi. ‘With him and his spears, victory must be certain.’

  Ringast growled doubtfully. ‘We’ll see. Anyhow, my father has sent word even to the Irish tribes now. Oh – and he had another dream.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Ringast gave a rueful snort. ‘When my father dreams, Hel rubs her hands.’

  ‘What was it this time?’

  ‘A great battle. The greatest battle, he says.’

  ‘Ragnarök?’

  ‘If not, something like it. A battle where the gods themselves fight among us, so he says.’

  ‘The Sveär are strong. Perhaps it’ll be like that.’

  ‘Maybe. But this is about more than a final reckoning with Sviggar and his kin. My father has a kind of vision... If you ask me, it’s more like a madness.’

  ‘Yet you do his bidding,’ Ubbi chuckled.

  ‘I am his son. But if he wants more numbers, we must delay.’

  ‘You fear that?’

  ‘I fear nothing.’ Ringast shot him an emphatic look. ‘But if we don’t move soon, how long before these warriors turn on each other? Frieslanders and Danes, Gotars and Wendish, Irish, Rus... My father will have a battle, all right – just not the one he intends.’

  ‘Has there been trouble?’

  ‘Some. Just drunken brawls so far. But brawls can grow to feuds, feuds to bloodbaths. And if we delay much longer, we risk some leaving.’

  ‘Only those who wish to bear the name coward.’ Ubbi tipped his horn against Ringast’s. ‘Be sure, I’ll not flee the coming fight.’

  Ringast suddenly looked round. Kai was hovering a couple of places along the table. A perplexed look flashed across the prince’s face but then he beckoned Kai forward. Kai hurriedly obliged, charging their cups, before melting out of sight. But not out of earshot.

  ‘Your patience deserves its reward, my friend. You’ve come to know my table far too well.’

  ‘Aye. It’s been a long winter and a longer spring. But if Odin still hears an old friend’s prayers, my sword will not go thirsty beyond the cutting of the corn.’


  ‘Vision or none, I’ll not let my father delay beyond then.’ Ringast drained his cup in one long, decisive gulp. ‘Meanwhile, we keep gathering spears.’

  ‘How many till he’s satisfied?’

  ‘The number he saw in his dream... Fifteen thousand.’

  Kai nearly dropped his pitcher, a thrill of terror and triumph shooting through him. Fifteen thousand spears! These were tidings the Sveär king would pay handsomely to hear. Not that it would bring a smile to the Old Goat’s face. But that wasn’t Kai’s problem. At least, not yet.

  It was time to make himself scarce, only Thrand was banging the table, bawling for ale. Kai scurried forward to his shoulder and began filling his cup.

  ‘You took your sweet time. Go ahead – fill it up. And maybe I’ll fill you up later, you little vixen!’

  ‘You’ll have to catch me first,’ chuckled Kai.

  Thrand’s big head shot round. ‘Who the Hel are you? Where’s that little piece was here earlier?’

  ‘Taken the evening off, my lord. Something about a headache.’

  ‘Are you mocking me, boy?’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Ringast called down the table. ‘Let him do his job.’

  ‘His job! It’s woman’s work to wait on a man. Well, boy – you got a pair of balls in them breeches or not?’

  ‘Finest pair you ever saw. Now if you’ll excuse me, my lord.’ He moved along the bench, but suddenly a hand caught his collar.

  ‘I was talking to you.’ The big Dane levered himself out of his seat. At full height, he was a good six and a half feet tall. He shoved Kai against the wall, towering over him like an angry bull-bear.

  ‘Now you go back there and tell that plump little bitch to get her pretty tits out here before I drain that cup or I’ll geld you myself, you hear?’ Rancid breath billowed in Kai’s face. ‘We’ll see who’s got the finest pair of balls then, eh?’

  Half a dozen witticisms leaped to Kai’s mind, but he figured now wasn’t the time. ‘Whatever you wish, my lord,’ he mumbled and escaped under Thrand’s arm. He was about to flee for the obscurity of the kitchens when a boot slammed into his back, sending him flying. He landed with a crash in a heap of beer and broken potsherds.