Lord of the Mountains

by Sabrina Jarema

  Silvi’s skin tingled as Lifa smiled. “It sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I left Haardvik behind to continue my studies. I never forgot him, though. The following year was the time of the great sacrificial festival that happens every nine years at Uppsala. Everyone has to come to it, or give something of value to those who do. I wondered if he would make the journey. His father was a powerful jarl, so it was likely.”

  “And he did?”

  “He did. I saw him as he entered the temple with his family. When he looked at me, I knew. Right there, before Thor and Odin and Freyr, he walked to me and told me I was his. I had come to a fork in the road, just as you have. I chose the one where he walked, and I have never regretted it.”

  “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “Because you never needed to hear it until now.”

  “But the gods gave me the gift of visions. I had always thought to use that gift to serve them.”

  “The gods gave you the visions, not because they need them, but because people do.” She reached over and took Silvi’s hands in hers. “Marry Magnus. Go trading with him. You loved being on the ship so much, it was as though you were born to it. Live here at Thorsfjell. The people here build, weave, carve, create, bring beauty into a world that sorely needs it. In no place else will you find such peace. Even the temple at Uppsala bustles with people coming and going, and every nine years there is the blood and deaths of the sacrifices, both human and animal. It is a dark time. Here, you can walk with the things of the earth and sky, the winds and the land spirits. Give it, and Magnus, a chance. If you are not happy, then you know there’s an alternative.”

  She gave her mother a sharp look, her blood running cold. Did Lifa know she had already thought of that? Of course she did. In other lands, women were the property, the chattel, of their husbands. They had no rights. But here, the gods had made women strong, giving them an escape from an unbearable marriage. Divorce. Any woman could divorce her husband and take her dowry with her. He didn’t own it. She did.

  With that, she would be free to do whatever she wanted, and no man would hold sway over her any longer. She’d already thought of it. With Lifa, in essence, sanctioning the possibility of escape, her nerves and fears calmed.

  “I ask you not to consider divorce until a year has passed, Silvi. Give him a year. I want you to promise me that.”

  “What if there’s a child?”

  “You know the herbs to use to prevent that.”

  “But an entire year? It won’t look good for either Magnus or me to go without having a child.”

  “It won’t take that long.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, my love. It’s all in the gods’ hands.”

  Silvi nodded. Her stomach tightened. “I saw what Hakon’s men did to so many of the women of our village throughout the winter. It was horrible.”

  “Oh gods, Silvi. Come here to me, my love.” She took Silvi to the bed and sat down beside her, her arm around her. “I spoke to you of such things long ago. About the love of a good man. Of what passes between a husband and wife, the consideration and respect and, if they are lucky, the desire and even love. Do you think what Hakon and his men did is what Eirik does to Asa?”

  “No. She’d run him through with her sword if he tried it.” A tiny smile rose in her.

  “And do you think your father would have done so to me?”

  “No. You’d have threatened to put a rune under his pillow that would make him incapable. Of anything.”

  Lifa gave a soft laugh. “That’s right. But we would never have to, because there was love. And they were and are good men—Ivar, Eirik, and Magnus. He loves you, Silvi. I see it whenever he looks at you. He will be gentle for your sake. Let him do as he will. It is his right as a husband, but he will make certain it is something you enjoy as well.”

  “And he needs the ships. He said so. For his people.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then everything rides on me. I met them, the people here. They were so warm and welcoming. The things they make are so beautiful. But they can’t sell them unless their ships are safe on the fjord and the seas. Without that, Thorsfjell will fall and its people will become destitute.” She turned to Lifa. “Eirik could lend him the ships, couldn’t he? But he won’t, because he knows including the ships in the bride-price will pressure me to marry Magnus and keep me from Uppsala. He never wanted me to go, and this is his way of stopping me. My conscience.”

  “Magnus is too proud to accept a loan. He wants his own ships and men. If any of the vessels were sunk, he would owe Eirik their value. He can’t risk that. We raised you to care about others. It shines from you. It’s what you are. Give it a year with Magnus. Promise me.”

  “All right. I promise.”

  “Then you’ll marry him?”

  “I’ll marry him.”

  Lifa embraced her. “I’m so happy. I’ll go tell—”

  “No, Mother.” She stood and brushed off her skirt. “I’ll tell Magnus myself. Every other choice has been taken from me. This is one decision I can still make.”

  * * *

  “Perhaps I should act like our ancestors did and just carry her off and wed her.” Magnus wiped a hand over his face, then took another large drink of ale. “It would be easier.”

  “And start a war, as when people still did things like that.” Leif leaned back in his usual chair in Magnus’s meeting chamber. He propped his booted feet on the high table Magnus used as his desk. “You’d have Eirik and Rorik descend on you so fast, it would make Ragnar Lothbrok’s siege of Paris look like a child’s game played with wooden swords and toy boats.”

  “It might be worth it. What do I know of speaking about marriage to a young woman?”

  “Not much, obviously.”

  He glared at his brother. “You’re not helping the situation.”

  “Apparently, neither did you. I’m certain you handled it with all the delicacy and aplomb of a shield upside the head.” He cracked a hazelnut in his hand and popped the nut into his mouth. “What will you do if you can’t get the ships?” He reached for another one.

  What would I do? He hadn’t even thought of that, only of what he would lose if Silvi refused to marry him—Silvi. He had to get his mind on the right course again. Figure out a way through it all. For Thorsfjell, if not for himself.

  “I could try to . . . what do they call it in the south? Court her.”

  Leif coughed, ejecting part of a nut. “It may happen down there where the sun has addled their brains, but not here. The entire family can come after you if they think you’re a bit too interested in her. The longer a man can keep from seeing his prospective bride, the longer he can stay alive. Her family won’t suspect any dalliance.”

  “Leif, where do you come up with this nonsense?”

  “In the old stories. Of course, in them, if a woman doesn’t consent, the marriage is always a disaster. Certainly teaches us mere men a lesson.”

  “I didn’t kill Eirik for wanting Asa.”

  “No, but you thought about it.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to kill me over Silvi. He knows I’m talking to her about marriage.”

  “That’s enough to assure him that nothing will happen between you.”

  “Leif—” A light knock at the door stopped him from throttling his twin.

  Leif grinned. “And there’s the army.”

  Magnus shot him a look as he stood. “Enter.”

  Silvi peeked in. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back.”

  “That’s all right.” Leif rose. “I was just leaving. Don’t want to get caught in the melee.”

  She frowned at him as he winked at her on his way out. “What did he mean by that?” She stood before the table.

  “I rarely know with him. Please, sit. May I get you anything? Wine?” At least he hadn’t been killing Leif when she’d opened the door. That would not have looked good.

  She tilted her hea
d to one side, her white-blond hair sliding over her shoulder. “I’ve never had wine before. I’d like to try it.”

  He knelt beside his chest and opened it. “Did Eirik never bring any back from his raids with Rorik?”

  “He didn’t come home much. Most of the winters, he stayed at Vargfjell, Rorik’s holding. I suppose the memories of his dead wife and son kept him from returning.”

  Magnus set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. His father had brought the goblets home from Miklagard when he was very young. They were delicate and chased with silver, just like Silvi’s eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “The wine is made of a fruit that grows where it’s warm. Not like here. We have to import all of it from the Rhineland.” He poured and handed her a glass. Her hand trembled as she took it.

  “I didn’t know. It must be very expensive. I could have ale instead.”

  “It’s well worth it.” He met her gaze. “We only use it for special occasions.”

  “Except for Ingeborg.”

  He laughed. “Yes, except for Ingeborg. She swears it cleans a wound, though I would think water does just as well. But it works for some reason. Our warriors survive wounds that others die of.”

  He was babbling. Why was she here? He’d seen Lifa go into their room after Silvi had. What had they spoken about? He raised his glass to her and she did the same.

  “Skoal.”

  She nodded and took a sip. Her eyes widened as she stared at the liquor, then she smiled. “It’s very good. Thank you.” She held the glass in her lap as she stared at it. With her pale skin, her slender body, her delicate hands, she looked as fragile as the glass.

  “Silvi? I’m sorry if I upset you in the grove.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Magnus. You were nothing but kind. I just . . .” She took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that I’ll marry you.”

  He wanted to grab her, swing her around, kiss her. Ride through the village, yelling, with his sword in the air . . . More like scare the wits out of her. His heart almost burst from him, but he calmed himself with an effort. He nodded.

  “I’m glad of that, Silvi. I think we’ll get on very well together.”

  He’d always had good relationships with willing women. Some, he’d even stayed with for a time. But he’d been so focused on his business and his responsibilities that he hadn’t bothered to consider a wife yet. He’d always known it would happen one day. After all, he had a legacy to leave and needed descendants to remember his name. However, none of the women he’d been with had made enough of an impression to steer his thinking toward marriage. Until he saw Silvi at the battle for Haardvik. Through the smoke and the blood and the screams, she’d come, like a calm sunrise after a stormy night. And he’d known she was for him.

  Now he needed to convince her of that. In spite of her agreement, she was even more pale than usual and she wouldn’t raise her eyes to him. When she took another drink of her wine, her hand still shook.

  He stood and came around the table. She stilled as he took the glass from her and set it aside. Kneeling before her, he caressed her cheek with one hand while taking her palm in the other. She drew in a trembling breath and her eyes gleamed too brightly for the dim light coming from the small window.

  “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you in my life. Please believe me when I say that.”

  She swallowed. “Not even the ships?”

  Smiling right now would not be a good idea. “Not even the ships. I would take you without them. But don’t tell your brother. He’d probably kill me.”

  “Probably.” She ducked her head, her glorious hair veiling her so he couldn’t see her expression. “But that wouldn’t solve the problem with Toke, so we’ll just have to keep it between us. When will you have the handsal?”

  “Most likely tomorrow, with three of Eirik’s men and three of mine to witness it. The agreement for the dowry and the bride-price will stand as long as any of them are alive. It’s between him and me. But this, Silvi, this is just between you and me.”

  Because he was kneeling, they were at the same level. He brushed back her hair and rested his hands on her shoulders. The strands were like the fine silk he brought back from Staraya Ladoga in the east. He would take the bolts of it out of storage, ells and ells of it, and dress her in it. Her skin under his hands was as the ivory he’d traded for, smooth and cool. He’d have his carvers make beads out of it and drape her in necklaces and bracelets. She was like something in a dream, a dream of Asgard and the light realms. How would he ever have the nerve to lie atop her and make love to her? He almost groaned as his body tightened. With a clenched jaw, he brought himself under control. Again. He would go slowly with her. Very slowly.

  He brought his mouth close to hers, breathing her breath, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted to. She remained still, in his hold, and bit her lip. It was so innocent, yet so enticing, he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He kissed her. No mere touch, like before on the cliff. Yet, he was careful and tender as he moved his mouth across hers, as though he was sipping the finest wine. He combed his fingers through her hair to hold her, as gently as he’d held the delicate glasses they’d drunk from. She was every bit as rare and beautiful. And as breakable.

  Drawing back, he gauged her emotions. She put a finger to her lips. Color rose in her face, tinting her cheeks when she looked at him. He sat back on his heels as wonder filled her wide eyes.

  “Maybe Mother was right.”

  “Your mother isn’t who I’d hoped you’d think of while I kissed you.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, Magnus. I didn’t mean—”

  He touched her lips where her finger had been, stopping her. “I would imagine your good mother is right about many things. And if she spoke well of me, then I’m grateful I lived up to her opinion. I came into the longhouse after you did and saw her go to your room. She stayed in there with you a long time, I’m told. Did she force you to agree to this marriage?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s not her way. She knows we all follow our own paths. For anyone she advises, she points out other ways they might take, and suggests what they may find there. It’s their decision what they do. With her help, I saw this could be another way for me to help people, as I wanted to do at the temple.”

  Something inside of him sank. “So that is all this is? A way to help others?”

  “It is the way I am, Magnus. It’s how she raised me, to be like her. I agreed to this of my own free will.”

  At least she would be here, with him. And if she did not return his feelings just now, there was time for that as they built their lives together. He would make certain of it.

  “Go now and see to your day. We’ll meet again at the evening meal.” He gave her a gentle kiss and she left, her eyes down. Something wasn’t right. But she said she did this freely, and he had to take her at her word. He couldn’t see Lifa browbeating her into it, either. Neither would Eirik. He’d been most adamant that the marriage be Silvi’s choice.

  He sat on his table and picked up the glass she’d drunk from. A little of the wine was left and he swirled it, watching the reflection of the silver tinted glass in the liquid. Perhaps it would be best to have the handsal this afternoon. To not wait and give her time to change her mind. It wasn’t likely, but why take any chances? Then it would be done and he could hold a feast to celebrate tonight. The entire village would come.

  He lifted the glass in a solitary toast. Soon he would be wed and would see her beautiful face every morning when he woke, instead of only in his dreams. With a smile, he drank the rest of her wine.

  * * *

  “Before these witnesses, you, Eirik, bond me in lawful betrothal. And with our hands joined, you promise me the dowry and to fulfill the whole of the agreement between us, which has been notified in the hearing of witnesses, without deception, as a binding contract.” Magnus spoke the words in a strong voice so that none of the men
who heard it could doubt his sincerity.

  All of the men in his meeting room called out their agreement and the betrothal was sealed. Everyone slapped Magnus on his back and grasped his wrist in congratulations.

  “Tonight, we feast. Don’t drink too much until then.” He laughed as the men filed out, heading straight for the beer. He held his hand up to stop Eirik and Leif. “We’ll have the good drink in here. I keep it hidden for a reason.”

  They settled in their chairs with their cups, Leif propping his feet on Magnus’s table as always.

  “And so it is done.” Magnus raised his cup. “Skoal.”

  “Skoal.”

  After they drank, Eirik said, “I spoke to Silvi to be certain this is what she wants. She assured me it is. She seems . . .” He paused, as if searching for the right word.

  “Resigned.” Magnus sighed. “I feel I’m interfering between her and the gods. Am I risking their displeasure?”

  “Risking hers, perhaps. It has long been a dream of hers. An impractical one. It was never a possibility as long as my father or I were alive. If she has to marry anyone, and she does, I want it to be you. I know the manner of man you are and I have no concerns about that. If anyone is interfering in her dreams of the gods, it’s me, and it’ll be on my head. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “Even your father didn’t want her to be a priestess?”

  Eirik snorted. “No. And neither does my mother, and she, of all of us, knows what it’s like. It can be brutal and solitary. Even the initiation is dangerous. There are the sacrifices, the death and blood. Silvi thinks she can drift along in a dream there. But that’s where the realm of the gods and the world of men collide, and the tempest can sweep away the weak.”

  “She’s so fragile. How does she think she’d survive it?”

  “Silvi? Fragile? I assure you, that’s not the case. It takes enormous strength to withstand the power of the gods when they fill you. She has that strength. To hold the visions and the wisdom of the runes is more difficult in many ways than holding a weapon and a shield in battle. I’ve done both. The gods can be fickle. War? That’s something we all understand. You live or you die. Give me the sword any day.”