Raging Sea

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Would it be the same?

  Would they keep her safe again? Would they touch and whisper to her? Would they allow her to leave?

  Ran shook her head, pulling herself out of the reverie in which she’d sunk. Voices in the water? Daft! Safe in the sea? What folly! She shook the reins and the horse began moving again. With each step away those voices cried out louder to her. Her horse began to sidestep and falter, whether because it could hear the voices too or because she was tightening her hold on the reins.

  “Stop!” she cried out as the voices threatened to overwhelm her. “Be quiet!”

  And there was silence around her in the next moment. The waves went back to their normal ebb and flow from sea to shore. Ran glanced around and everything looked as it should.

  Was the upheaval of seeing Soren without warning causing her to be overset with emotions? ’Twas often claimed that women could not handle strong emotions and became hysterical. She did not feel out of control. She did not feel daft. She just could not explain these strange occurrences around her. Ran prayed that Einar was at the tower and could help her. The old man knew so much. Surely he could help her.

  The rest of the journey passed quickly and soon the tower came into view. She hastened to get there, anxious to see Einar. Spying another horse tied outside, she smiled. He was here. As she walked up the path, she glanced around to see if he was outside or on the beach. Not finding him, she climbed the wooden steps, pulled open the door and entered the tower.

  He’d spoken of a lower chamber in his letters, but she saw none. The wooden slats beneath her feet seemed solid. Across the chamber were the stairs to the top. Leaning over and looking up, she could see no one moving about. And only silence met her when she listened.

  “Einar? Are you here?” she asked aloud as she climbed to the first landing. “Einar?” Footsteps scuffed along the floor above her, so she clutched the length of her gowns to hasten her pace and reached the next landing and the second story chamber there. “Einar.”

  “Nay.”

  Her body recognized that voice before she even saw the one who spoke. He stepped out of the shadows and into the square of light from the open window carved into the stone wall.

  “Soren,” she said on a breath. It took a huge effort to focus on her mission and to ignore the whirlwind of questions and accusations and reactions that filled her. And to force the next words out. “Where is Einar?” She lifted her head and glanced toward the top of the tower. “Is he above?”

  “Ran,” he said quietly, almost intimately.

  Fearing a traitorous act, she avoided looking at him. Looking at him would remind her of everything she’d wanted, everything they’d had and done . . . and lost.

  “Ran,” he said. This time his voice forced her to meet his gaze. A terrible sadness lay there within his blue eyes. “He is gone.”

  Tears filled her eyes and burned in her throat at his words. She did not need to ask what he meant, for she knew. Einar Brandrson was dead. Grief for the loss of her friend shattered her heart. Soren had not looked away and, even though she wished she did not think of him kindly, she realized his loss was so much greater.

  “I am so sorry for your loss,” she whispered. Wiping her sleeve across her eyes, she cleared her throat. “When did he pass?”

  “A week ago.” Soren began to approach her. Ran wrapped her arms around herself and he stopped. “He was old. He went quietly in his sleep,” Soren explained.

  “I cannot imagine Einar doing anything quietly,” she said. “I’d always imagined him as a fierce Viking of old, being taken in battle and carried to Valhalla by a Valkyrie.” When she looked at Soren, she saw that he’d glanced away. And she saw the sorrow, and something that resembled guilt, in his gaze. “How does Ingeborg fare?”

  “She has accepted his passing well enough. ’Twas not unexpected to her. His age and his growing infirmity . . .”

  He walked away then, over to the window, and stared out at the sea. The silvery outline that surrounded his body reminded her of her reasons for coming to find Einar. Fruitless, hopeless reasons now.

  “You thought him here?” he asked quietly. “Why not go to his cottage?”

  “He spoke often of this broch in his letters,” she answered. Soren turned and faced her, his face and expression now unreadable.

  “He wrote to you?”

  “Aye. He is, was, my friend.”

  “What did he say of this place?” Soren asked, his eyes blazed now. “What know you of this tower?” He stepped closer.

  The memory of what had torn them apart flooded into her thoughts, reminding her that she could not trust him. He’d never answered her questions. He’d never defended himself. He’d simply turned and walked out of her life. Which was exactly what she wanted to do now. If Einar had not told him of his discoveries here, then mayhap it spoke of his lack of trust in his grandson and he did not wish Soren to know. She shrugged.

  “Only that he liked to visit here and watch the sea.”

  His gaze narrowed and never moved from her face, as though waiting for more. She had nothing more to say to someone she could not risk trusting ever again. She needed to get away. Away now.

  “My father is expecting me,” she said, walking to the steps.

  “Your father has not returned to the islands from Caithness,” he said.

  “How do you know that?” she asked. Why did he know her father’s movements?

  “I heard from the merchants in town.” Now it was his turn to lie. Again. His lower lip twitched from the corner to the middle when he spoke an untruth.

  If she was looking at his mouth, it truly was past time to leave. It mattered not how he knew about her father’s travels. It mattered not, she repeated to herself several times. She owed him no explanation of any kind on any matter at all. None.

  “Again, I am sorry for your loss,” Ran said, walking past him to the steps.

  He let her pass in silence and she made her way down and out of the tower. She would return to it when Soren was not there, to honor Einar’s passing in her own way. She would also visit his daughter-by-marriage, Ingeborg, to offer her sympathies. The woman must be heartbroken, in spite of what Soren might believe.

  Soren must be heartbroken.

  Ran almost stumbled at the thought of how deep his grief must be. Einar was more father than grandfather to Soren, his only kin left alive as far as she knew. Part of her wanted to run back inside and console him and tell him of the letters and Einar’s discoveries.

  But two years of her own grief and anguish served her well in that moment of weakness. Ran righted herself and walked to where she’d tied the horse. Loosening the reins and gathering them in her hand, she prepared to mount.

  And instead sank to her knees as the loss of her dear friend became real to her.

  Einar had been kind to her so many times and in so many ways. She’d always known him in the way that kith and kin do—her brother had been Soren’s closest friend and their families spent much time together. He was well respected amongst those living here on Orkney, and even her father sought his counsel on matters of business and farming.

  When she and Soren had fallen apart, Einar kept in contact with her. Before she left and even while she lived elsewhere these last two years, he informed her about life on Orkney without her having to seek out the information. He told her of the important changes in Kirkwall and amongst her friends. And other than one line—a great wrong has been done to you—he never mentioned Soren or referred to the humiliating occurrence between them.

  And now he was gone. Tears poured down her cheeks as she sobbed at the thought of never seeing the old man again. Of never hearing his wisdom or humor. Of losing another piece of her life. She released the reins and cried out her sorrow.

  Hands clutched her shoulders. Strong hands guided her to her feet and then arms enclosed he
r and held her close. She knew the feel of them and the scent of the man who held her to his chest and whispered soft words. For a moment she allowed the embrace. Then, a shock stunned her. Stunned him, from the expression in his eyes.

  The glow around him grew brighter and, from the way he stared at her, he saw something as well. The way her blood heated was familiar to her—he’d always affected her that way. Their passion had never been soft and gentle. Their joinings had always been hot and deep and shattering.

  But this heat was different somehow.

  Those watery voices returned and grew louder and louder as the very sea shouted her name from its depths. She turned and watched the waves grow violent as they seemed to throw themselves into the sky and dissolve only to rise again. Above them, the clouds swirled, dark and light, in small circles then larger ones, ebbing and flowing like the waves in turbulent eddies.

  Her arm began to burn and it brought her to her senses. Ran pulled herself free of his embrace and the sea returned to its usual color and the sky cleared.

  “I did not mean to . . .” Soren reached out to touch her again and then dropped his hands at his sides. “Your pardon, Ran. I should not have touched you.”

  Ran shook her head and nodded and shrugged, completely overwhelmed now by the emotions seething within her. And from seeing him. And touching him. And smelling his scent. Had he not witnessed or heard what she had? Did he not see the changes in the world that she did? Earlier, he’d touched his arm as she did. And now?

  If he did see or feel anything as she did, he spoke not of it nor acknowledged it at all. Backing away, she grabbed for the reins of her horse and managed to pull herself up onto its back. Soren watched her without saying a word, until she was ready to move around him. Why she’d ever thought she could manage seeing him, she knew not.

  “I have no right to ask and you have no reason to agree, but it would mean much to me to see the letters he wrote to you, Ran. These last months . . . he has, he had been confused. I but wish to understand what he was going through. Think on it, I pray you.”

  Ran felt the truth and the pain in his words and nodded. “I will do that,” she agreed. He stepped out of her path and she touched her heels to the horse’s sides, urging it to go.

  She pushed all thoughts and questions out of her mind and rode as fast as she could back to Kirkwall. Allowing him to see the letters meant contacting and seeing him again. She’d lost control this time and she’d blame it on being surprised by his presence and the news about Einar. There was simply no explanation for the rest of what she’d seen though.

  Seeing him in Kirkwall across the marketplace had shaken her; this encounter scared her, for it demonstrated that not only would she always be in his thrall but that other strange things were happening to and around her. Things she could neither explain nor understand.

  If only Einar yet lived . . .

  Ran decided to worry on that later. For now, she must carry out the responsibilities and prove to her father that she was worthy of his faith in her. Soren Thorson and whatever was happening here on Orkney was a complication she did not need.

  Chapter 5

  Soren watched her ride away. His hands clenched and his body ached with the need to take her and hold her and have her. She was his. When she had been his, his life had been right. His life had been full. Just now, for the moment when they’d touched, he had become something else, filled with some heart-pounding power caused by her closeness. He even heard the clouds above calling his name and coming to him.

  And Ran became something more. As the sea-colored glow shimmered around her, she stared at the waves and they threw themselves into the air in sheets of water against the turbulent sky. With her gaze on them, they seemed to dance and come to her.

  She’d stepped back out of his embrace and everything ceased, as though the colors and the sounds and the visions had never happened. Was she somehow connected to the strange abilities his grandfather claimed Soren had? Thinking on it further, Soren wondered if that was why his grandfather kept in touch with her over these last two years.

  Damning himself a fool, he cursed aloud—several times—as he paced around the perimeter of the stone building. He’d finally reclaimed his life after the debacle that was Ran Sveinsdottir. The terrible results and repercussions of the devil’s bargain he’d made could not have been foreseen or planned. Yet, he had lived through it all and regained control over his life only to see his life shattered once more.

  Was it a coincidence that both times it somehow involved Ran? And his grandfather as well? Soren kicked the dirt in front of him and gazed down the road, watching the dust rise as her horse rode away.

  It mattered little that Einar was dead now, not in the whole order of things. The agreement struck with Svein Ragnarson remained in place and too many would be harmed if he revealed it to her or to anyone else. Many would pay for his weakness.

  And Ran was indeed his weakness.

  Caught unaware when she entered the tower, he could not be blamed for his shock and his reaction. When she called out Einar’s name, no one could have been more surprised than Soren. The revelation that she’d kept in touch with Grandfather alone was astonishing but that there were letters was completely unexpected.

  When Ran finally rode over the rise of the next hill and out of sight, Soren walked back inside the broch and looked around. If Einar had mentioned this place enough that Ran sought him here, it was significant, more so than he first thought. Climbing the steps to the top, he gazed out and watched her cross the distance toward the city. Every part of him wanted to chase her down and say everything he’d never had the chance to. To make her understand the truth of it all. That she was his and always would be.

  But that could never be.

  He could also not admit to her that, as his aunt suspected, he’d kept aware of her location over the last two years. He had. He’d told himself he did it because he did not trust Svein Ragnarson to treat her well enough. To hold to the bargain as promised. No matter the strange turn of events or that she had returned at all.

  Glancing around the chamber now, Soren turned his attention back to the puzzle left behind by Einar. He took the parchment out and placed it on the stone floor, adjusting it so that the points on it matched the positions of the places around the tower.

  Eynhallow and Rousay lay across the water to the east and north, with Wyre and Egilsay to the south and east. His grandfather had visited those islands and more while working for the bishop and he’d marked many standing stones and circles on his map. Some places that Soren did not recognize were also outlined. Several circles joined and the overlapping area spanned the beach on the western coast. A dozen or so squares covered the stretch of land between the lakes Harray and Stenness. Concentric circles outlined and covered the tidal isle of Birsay, where the bishops of Orkney had previously lived.

  Soren had traveled all over this island and knew nothing existed in those places now, save the ruins on the Brough of Birsay. That isle had been inhabited by many peoples in its history, from the ancient Picts to the pagan Vikings and the Christian Norse. But it lay empty now, so this drawing made no sense. If the weather held and the work on his farm was done, he would travel there to see for certain.

  His arm stung and he lifted it closer to examine the skin there. Tugging his sleeve up and out of the way, he revealed the ever-growing patch of skin inside his forearm. The mark, a bolt of lightning, grew more defined and deeper, pulsing and moving as though real.

  He’d seen this somewhere before. This exact shape and size. The same image was right before him—in Einar’s other drawing. Soren opened that carefully, kneeling down and spreading it out on the floor next to the map.

  There it was. A lightning bolt that matched the one that was now visible on his arm. Comparing it to the sketched one, the resemblance was uncanny, as though the same person had created both of the images. A
s remarkable as that was, it was as nothing when Soren followed the line connecting some of the symbols to others and found the lightning bolt paired with the image of waves.

  Waves like the ones he’d seen when Ran stared at the sea. The color outlining the black image was the same as the one he’d seen around Ran—the same turquoise hue that was the color of the sea surrounding Orkney.

  He fell back then, landing hard on the floor and skittering across until the wall at his back stopped him. She’d grabbed her arm as he had when he saw her in the marketplace. The same spot. The same arm. Did she have a mark as he did?

  Soren pushed his hair back and took in a breath, trying to sort through the pieces of what he knew. There were connections hinted at in the drawings and the map, but he resisted thinking on them. To accept them would mean believing in some outrageous things. Things his grandfather had suggested that were simply too fanciful or ridiculous. Or mad. Or heretical.

  He shuddered at that. If declared heretic, his lands and life and soul would be forfeit. That was the fate his bargain would have prevented from happening to his grandfather and now he stepped close to that fate.

  Glancing at the drawings, Soren knew he was already too far into this matter to turn away. The mark of lightning on his arm burned then, taunting and teasing him. Alone, away from prying eyes, he could try what his grandfather had suggested the night he died. Though it seemed real to him that night, mayhap a simple test now, in daylight, would reveal his foolishness and send him on a path away from this one?

  He stood and climbed the final set of steps that led to the roof of the tower. The winds buffeted him, tearing and pulling at his cloak and hair as he walked to the edge. His name echoed around him in the winds. Or mayhap the winds swirling around him sounded like voices?

  Soren.

  Stormblood.

  Son of the wind.