A Sacred Storm

by Theodore Brun

  ‘Odin’s eye! You need a knock on your head, that’s what you need!’

  ‘You’re going to get a knock in your teeth soon. I told you—’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe you,’ Kai retorted angrily. ‘And you weren’t even going to tell me. You were just going to leave. What the Hel!’

  Erlan didn’t answer. It seemed his denials didn’t make the slightest difference anyway.

  Kai was on his feet, looking more aggrieved now than angry. ‘Have you forgotten this?’ He pulled up his sleeve and bared the dark scar that marked his blood-oath.

  ‘Gods, not this again! No one asked you to swear that oath.’

  ‘But I swore it anyway, didn’t I? And now we’re bound to one another and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. Anyhow, master,’ he added, switching moods faster than the sky in spring, ‘you may be mad, but if you’re going, I’m coming with you. You can’t toss me out like some rotten turnip on a midden-heap. We’re a team, you and me.’

  For a second, Erlan felt almost regretful. He couldn’t help but be touched by Kai’s loyalty. That was too bad. There was no room for Kai in any future with Lilla. At least none that he could see. ‘Put your arm away,’ he said, more gently. ‘You’re right. We are a team. And I wouldn’t go anywhere without you. So I don’t know where you get these notions in your head. You’ve dreamed up some crazy idea but I’m telling you, I’m not going anywhere. And nor is Lilla. She’s ready to do whatever she has to do.’

  Kai peered at him, still suspicious, though a flicker of doubt had crept into his eyes. ‘I’m warning you, as one brother to another. Don’t do it. That road ends badly, wherever you think it leads.’

  Erlan yawned and lay back. ‘No doubt you’re right. But you can keep your warnings till they’re needed, little brother.’ He chuckled. ‘Now piss off up your ladder. I’m going to sleep.’

  ‘Suit yourself. Just remember what I said.’ With that, Kai sank his ale and climbed up to his bed.

  Erlan rolled over to face the wall, watching the shadows from the last of the fire dance over the grain of the wood. A strange night. Strange and thrilling. He felt other shadows dancing in his heart: the shadow of anger, the shadow of desire. And still others: the shadow of guilt, the beast that gnaws. The guilt that, beyond their mad hopes, Kai was right.

  No. Hel take Kai and his blood-oath – he hadn’t asked for it. Hel take Sviggar and his precious kingdom, take Sigurd and his war-mongering and the whole bastard pack of them. He didn’t belong here. There was no point pretending that he did. And nor did she any more. This time there would be no mistakes, no broken promises, no bloody end, no tears.

  This time he would do it right.

  The next night the moon was hazy.

  Erlan stood gazing up at it from under the byre’s low-hanging roof. It seemed bigger tonight, closer, like a vast hand of comfort reaching down from the sky.

  Earlier in the day, he’d sent Kai to train with Einar who, since their return from Dannerborg, seemed to have taken a sort of avuncular interest in him, at least enough to train him up for whatever fight was coming. While he was busy, Erlan had put his horse Idun in with Lilla’s mare. He watched them now, two rumps together, their coats shimmering under the thin light of the moon. He patted Idun, hoping the old nag was up to another long ride. They were fed, watered, laden with provisions, furs, sundry weapons, his mailshirt.

  He was ready at last, and impatient to be away. His fingers clenched and unclenched Wrathling’s hilt, wondering whether he would need his sword before the night was over. Who knows? Maybe the Norns were feeling kind. Though even if they were, there wasn’t much time. Kai was off with Bara right now, but he would return to the house eventually. They had to be away before then.

  When would she come?

  A phrase had been turning in his head all day long. A love that can heal. A love that can heal...

  Was this love?

  When he thought of Lilla, in his mind her eyes, her hair, every curve, every muscle in her body seemed to burn with something bright and vital like the heat of the sun, blasting to ashes the shadows of his past. Was that love?

  His mind drifted to the night before, to the passion that had welled out of her, so natural it seemed like a glimpse into something ancient, something outside of time, something powerful. He’d seen it in her face, felt it in her body. But then, as if floating down on one of those hazy moonbeams, came that other name.

  Inga.

  And there were those hazel eyes, full of mischief and life, the ring of that laughter in his ears. His knuckles tightened round his hilt. No. He wouldn’t be turned. He wouldn’t fail Lilla. This time love would bring life, not death. He swore that—

  Suddenly he stopped.

  Another oath. Always another. At every turn, the oaths he made seemed to bind him tighter. An oath to his father. An oath to himself. An oath to his liege-lord. An oath he was about to break...

  He kicked at the dirt, making the horses shudder. Would his damned conscience never give him any peace? After all, was Sviggar so worthy a lord? His hold over the kingdom was weakening. His vanity outweighed his courage and honour. Did such a man deserve his loyalty?

  He scowled. He could lie to others – he had to – but he couldn’t lie to himself. Sviggar was worthy. The oath still bound him. And he was making his choice. Lilla needed him more.

  But then, of course, there was Kai.

  At the thought of his friend, his heart fell into his boots. He wondered whether he would understand, whether he would ever forgive him. Gods, but he wanted to believe that he could. And when all this was over, he prayed Kai would come out laughing. He usually did. Besides, he was happy here. He didn’t need Erlan for that.

  No. Tonight was where the Norns had marked their road to split. Kai must stay.

  Lilla needed his protection. She needed his—

  His thoughts were cut short by the sound of footsteps. He recognized them at once.

  ‘Erlan? Are you there?’ she whispered softly.

  He stepped into the moonlight, feeling a rush of joy that dispelled any doubts in a heartbeat. Except when she was close enough that he could see her face, he realized something was wrong. She was wearing only a pale dress with a shawl over her shoulders clasped at her chest. She had nothing else.

  ‘Everything’s ready,’ he said.

  No reply. He reached for her, but she didn’t respond. His eyes dropped to her empty hands. ‘You’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Erlan.’

  He was surprised how much it hurt. Like a boulder suddenly rolling over his heart. ‘Just tell me why.’

  ‘I owe my father everything. I can’t betray his trust.’ Her voice was strained, her throat tight. ‘I can’t give up the chance to stop the killing. Even if it fails. I have to try. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re choosing Ringast, you realize that? Not your father, not your people. You’re choosing a man you’ve never met – your enemy – over me.’

  She clasped the shawl tighter. ‘There’s another reason.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know you,’ she exclaimed with sudden passion. ‘You say give up everything to go with you, but you won’t tell me who you are. Not really.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Oh, your ridiculous oath!’ She peered into his face, searching for the answer she needed. ‘I don’t understand what you want from me.’ She shook her head. ‘I gave you too much last night. It was wrong.’

  ‘It wasn’t wrong. You wanted it as much as I did.’

  ‘Maybe I did. Then...’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh gods, I don’t know! Is that all you want from me? I don’t understand! I don’t understand you.’

  ‘It’s not all.’ He tried to turn her towards him, but she snatched away her arm. ‘I—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s like you said. I want you. More than this Ringast ever could.’

  ‘That’s not enough.’ She shook her
head sadly.

  ‘Enough for what?’

  ‘For me! For this! To betray my father. And it’s your betrayal, too. You owe him a debt. You’re sworn to him. If I left, it would be a double betrayal, just when he needs both of us the most.’

  Suddenly the shame hit him like sea-spray in the face. ‘I’m willing to break my oath,’ he admitted. ‘But only to spare you a fate that you don’t want. To make you happy.’

  ‘You could never make me happy, Erlan – because you can’t let go of your own sadness. And this thing you’re hiding, it would kill any happiness we try to build. I can see that now.’

  ‘But you can help me let go. I know you can.’

  ‘No, Erlan. I can’t. Because you can’t let me in. Or you won’t.’

  He stood there, wanting to prove her wrong, wanting to form an answer. But instead of words, he felt a terrible shudder through his heart and suddenly he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He felt blood crashing in his head. He wanted to scream away the rage that hammered inside it but from his lips came nothing but silence.

  ‘You see,’ she whispered tenderly, touching his face. Her fingers felt so cool against the anger burning within. ‘It doesn’t matter what I want. My father needs me more than you do. You just can’t see that yet.’ She took back her hand. ‘Perhaps one day, you will.’

  And wiping away a tear, she turned and ran up the hill, leaving him alone in the darkness.

  PART TWO

  BLOOD AND OATHS

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Huldir Hoskursson, Earl of Nairka, loved the Black River. Since he was a boy, he had made a habit of rising before the sun to go and sit on its bank for hours, with nothing but a fishing line and an ale-skin for company. This morning he had risen particularly early, his sleep having been disturbed by a bad dream. He had shaken it off. Bad dreams were but echoes of the brutal things he had witnessed over the course of his life. Even so, he needed to breathe clean air. So he had left his wife sleeping and slipped outside without a word to her or any of the servants.

  It hadn’t been a bad morning: a bream early on when it was dark with the mist still on the water, and a while later a silver-skinned carp. When he was young, to catch two so quickly would have delighted him. These days, though, it was the river that gave him most pleasure. Its flat, fresh smell; its rushing water; its surface, changeable as the sky; the endlessly wavering weeds in its bed. Somehow, he always found a bit of peace here.

  Aye – a bit of peace was what he needed.

  His temper had simmered for many days after Sviggar had banished him to his hall at Svartadale. To await his instructions... Huldir grimaced. Instructions from a coward were never worth the wait. In fact the king had sent two messengers some days before, demanding his return for a special council. Another damned council. Talking and talking, deciding nothing. They even claimed the king had some important piece of news for him, which could only be delivered in person. But he knew how, for kings, everything was urgent. He sent them back with vague promises of following on after.

  Of course, he had no intention of returning to Uppsala. He saw the way the king was swaying, had listened to him prate on about bringing the bad blood with the Wartooth to an end. But he would have no part in that. The Wartooth didn’t deserve peace. Not from Sviggar, and certainly not from him. King Harald owed him two sons, and one day there would be a reckoning.

  He pulled in his fishing line for another cast.

  Aye – he would see to that.

  His thoughts were interrupted by voices above. The hall-yard would be waking up about now, but this was different. Someone was shouting.

  He looked up towards his hall perched on the rise overlooking the river, its gable in shadow as the first rays of the morning sun spilled around it. He wondered what the commotion was about. Some damned argument between a pair of thralls, no doubt. Gods, they were always at each other’s throats.

  He gathered up his things and climbed the shallow slope to the hall. For some reason a knot of foreboding was lodged in the base of his spine. Folk were rushing about, running out of the eastern gate.

  Was something on fire?

  He determined to discover what was going on. No one noticed him until he emerged into the yard itself. Then, one by one, the servants saw him. They stopped running. Just stared at him like he was some freak in a travelling fair.

  All very curious. He was about to demand that someone explain what the Hel was going on when a voice across the yard checked him.

  ‘Father!’

  He turned. Gellir was leaning with a hand against the eastern gatepost, a lick of white hair loose across his eyes.

  ‘Where were you? We’ve been looking all over for you.’

  ‘Fishing,’ he answered, head shaking. ‘Would someone mind telling me—’

  ‘You need to come.’ Gellir’s soft voice had an unusually hard edge to it. ‘Now.’ His son’s half-grimace, half-smile unsettled him. He had never been able to shake the feeling that there was something of the other worlds about this one – the blanched hair, those flat, pink eyes, the thick lips, half grinning, half sneering. How his wife had birthed such a creature was a question he had asked himself many times.

  ‘What is it?’

  The other folk were all silent, eyeing him like some damned bear on a chain.

  ‘Gettir.’

  ‘Is he here? Is he safe?’

  ‘See for yourself.’ Gellir beckoned to him, then disappeared around the gatepost. Huldir followed, only too aware of the train of thralls and house-karls and servants who fell in behind him as he passed through the gate into the dawn-light flooding from the east.

  He turned south, the way his boy had turned. The sun’s rays had lit Gellir’s white hair so that, for a moment, it glowed like molten gold. Huldir sensed other folk looking up at something but he didn’t see them. He saw only the arm of his boy rise and point at the stockade wall.

  His eye followed. There was something up there, something spread wide, bathed in the glorious blaze of a late spring dawn. It was some moments before he began to make any sense of it. His first thought was, Why is Gettir’s cloak nailed up there? He would recognize it anywhere. The black skin of a wolf he had hunted and slain with his own hands. A present when his boy came of age. And now it was nailed wide against the stockade. And next to it...

  At first, it seemed like another cloak. Another skin. Only this time of an animal far less familiar, red and torn, hairless, four limbs and a torso clearly discernible, glistening...

  His mind suddenly warped, as if the world had been ripped away to reveal the horrors of some other reality beneath. That was when he lost control, fury breaking over him like a tidal wave. He roared and wept and raved, falling to his knees, grinding his face into the dirt with rage and grief. He hardly knew what he was saying, railing at the gods, railing at his sons, cursing every Dane and every Gotar to the blackest caverns of Hel.

  Only when he felt his arms pinned, saw in his swimming vision those strange, pitiless eyes in his last son’s pale face, did he stop.

  ‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’

  Huldir looked around, wild-eyed, and saw his son was right. The whole crowd of hall-folk was motionless, watching him.

  ‘Gettir—’ he groaned.

  ‘Save your breath, Father. He can’t hear you. But he will be avenged.’

  ‘Swear it!’ He seized Gellir’s shirt. ‘Swear you’ll do it.’

  ‘You need no oath from me. I am your son.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘We will do it together. Three sons, the Wartooth and his seed have taken from me. Three sons he has. And I shall kill them all. There can be no peace between us.’

  ‘No peace,’ echoed his son. ‘Only slaughter.’ Then Gellir smiled – a savage look that filled his eyes with fire. And despite himself, Huldir shuddered, because in it he had seen the beckoning leer of death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The collar weighed heavy around her neck.


  Five circles of gold, wound with golden filigree, each thread segmented by tiny gold circlets in the form of serpents. The same collar her mother had worn on her wedding day. Lilla wondered if she had felt as uncomfortable.

  She was at least glad for the breeze teasing her carefully braided hair. But the sun was high, making her and everyone else squint as they watched the column of riders approach on huge stallions under banners of red and white and green.

  A splendid sight. But to her, dreadful.

  She had an urge to fidget, to pull off the stupid collar and throw it away. To run away herself. But she knew she must be still. Whoever wasn’t watching the horsemen would be watching her, eager for some reaction, for some nervousness in her face.

  She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  Instead she waited.

  It had been a month since her father had sent riders to Dannerborg with his proposal of peace. He had dispatched them within the hour of her consent with barely a word of gratitude.

  Of course, he didn’t know the real sacrifice she was making. How could he? He thought only of her duty, of her doting love for him. She was determined nothing on her face would betray her heart, even now, even as she stood like some glittering trinket with which her father meant to purchase the safety of his kingdom.

  It had been nearly three weeks before the riders returned with an answer: the offer had been accepted. The Wartooth and his house would come. The vows would be taken on the midsummer day.

  Today was the ninth day since that message. Nine days in which the message had gone out to the great lords of Sveäland to come. Nine days in which servants and thralls had been scurrying around the halls like an upturned nest of ants in a frenzy of preparation for the ceremonies and feasting, which would last three days and three nights.

  But she had made her choice. Now she must play the part she had accepted.

  Around her, the noblest men and women in Sveäland waited atop the Tiding Mound, from which the great decrees of the king were proclaimed. From there she looked west, over the three King Barrows. In each was buried a king – the greatest three of the Yngling line, who had ruled the north before her grandsire had wrested the throne from the last of them – the mad king, Ingjald.