Yet everywhere she looked she saw Vikings, some of them very near, near enough for her to hear the rustle of their clothes and see the gleam of their golden arm bracelets. One was sitting just above her on his sea chest. The dying light cast him in bronze. She could make out the individual hairs on his head and in his long, pale, silky beard which was flapping in the sea wind. He was wiping his sword, a gold-hilted malignancy with a calfskin scabbard.
Vikings! She was a captive of Vikings!
But not for long. What would happen to her people when she was drowned — Arneld and Udith and the others? Who would speak for them among these ruthless, wrathful, purely heathen barbarians? Who would advise them and buoy them up?
Oh, I don't want to die, not at the sea's hands. A dream, let this all be a dream, just a horrible dream!
***
For the hundredth time Edin jarred herself awake, a cry of terror poised in her throat. Her breath came hard and fast. Unable to sleep, unable to stay awake, she was near madness. The longship lay becalmed in a fog. The Vikings had put up roof-slats, then stretched a canvas over them to make a tent against the night. All up and down the deck they slept in their warm bags of unshorn sheepskin. They seemed not to mind living like ants in a dish, practically on top of one another, without room to move.
The captives had been given a few unsewn sheepskins as well. They were doing their best to sleep, and most were succeeding. Only Edin sat goading herself to wakefulness, not daring to sink into the oblivion her body begged for.
The night seemed endless, timeless. Minute after minute fell dead, never adding up to a passing hour, never bringing a change. It felt as though her eyelids were weighted with iron, and her head felt as if one of these warrior-monsters had buried his axe in it. How long had it been since she'd slept. Two days and two nights? The worst two days and nights of her life. She felt dizzy and disoriented and increasingly crazed.
Finally she came to a decision, and with it came relief, sharp and sweet. She rose and picked her way over the sleeping form of Udith. She took careful steps towards the prow, giving attention to where and how she put her feet. Slowly she made her way over the Vikings' sleeping bags and stooped out from beneath the tent.
Because of the mist, it took her a moment to spy her enemy on the prow platform by the head of his dragon. She paused. Remembered pain and panic rippled across her skin. Nonetheless, she went toward him, wobbly, but without hesitation. She almost felt herself drawn forward, as if by some formidable magnetic force.
She stopped at his feet and reached to tug the hem of his cloak with her bound hands. She was smiling, feeling euphorically pleased that soon her horror would be over.
He half-turned, saw her, and turned to look down at her fully. Her gaze lifted from his legs to his harshly hewn features. She flinched and swayed on her heels as if she'd been physically struck, for even in her mad euphoria, she felt uneasy under the relentless gaze of those cool eyes.
He said softly, so as not to wake the others, "What have you come to ask me this time, Saxon?"
"Two things."
His heavy-lidded gaze slid to her lips. "Speak out, in clear words; I'm unafraid — mayhap because I can't recall a time when a kitten leapt at my throat and I couldn't save myself."
He wasn't afraid of anything, not even God. But of course, of God in the Christian sense, these Vikings would have no conception. She'd heard that they worshipped many gods. Who? And what did they demand of these warriors?
He was waiting, and she remembered what she'd come to say: "They shouted 'Jarl Thoryn' —is that your name?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I've watched your face for so many hours, I know I'll never forget it; but I want to make sure I have your name right as well, so that I'll always be sure to know you."
"Why should you need to know me? Are you to bring my end upon me, little bedraggled woman-slave that you are?"
"Yes," she said evenly, "if I can "
The corners of his mouth crisped — the nearest thing to a smile he seemed to own. "Many a time I've heard of doomsters —we call them shieldmaidens — but never have I seen one before. According to what they say, a true shieldmaiden has a voice like splintering icicles, or like the swish a gannet makes when it falls out of a cold sky. She wears a winged helmet and carries a shield" His gaze skimmed down her. "You don't fit the description. Isn't that your underwear you're shivering in? And your voice —well, it's not like splintering icicles, not at all."
She lost patience with his game. She was giddy and having trouble keeping her stance, even though the ship was barely rocking. "I asked you, is your name Jarl Thoryn?"
"I am a jarl and my name is Thoryn. Thoryn Kirkynsson."
She nodded, satisfied. "If I can, I will seek you from beyond, Thoryn Kirkynsson. You will live to regret all you have done to me and mine, but too late."
He squatted down to her level, as if to see her better through the grey mist. She felt his presence, restless, dynamic, surging with energy. She also felt his anger, but somehow kept herself from stepping back from it.
"What is your second question?" he snapped.
She faltered, then said, "I ask you to do it now."
What followed was a ghastly silence. She dared not look at the black water. Her heart pounded as he stepped down before her. Now he positively radiated crude power. She was more afraid in that moment than ever before.
"Now?" he said. His expression became darker and more ominous as each second passed.
"Yes!" she hissed. She dared not look into his face anymore; she knew there was no smile there, and no mercy.
He took her waist in his hands. She didn't resist. As his grip tightened and he lifted her off her toes, she only closed her eyes. His fingers bit into her waist so hard she thought he would pulverize her. In the darkness behind her eyelids she saw butterflies in brilliant profusion . . . yet she was quiet. She could feel that splendid chest flexing—then felt his beard brush her cheek and heard his voice in her ear: "Now doesn't suit me, Saxon. You're weak, so weary you can hardly stand, too weary to afford me the pleasure of watching you struggle."
She opened her eyes. His face was a mere inch from her own. Even in the dark she could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, those shuttered grey eyes that could no doubt simply congeal an enemy in mid-attack.
I wish it were a dream.
He said, "Go back to your place and sleep without anymore jolting'up. I grant you my word that I'll not grab you this night."
She couldn't keep the sob out of her voice. "No! I can't bear this waiting anymore! Do it now!"
He gave her a shake. "Don't be so thrallish-minded! I'm offering you rest, Saxon. And in the morning I'll see you have a good breakfast set before you, so you can make your journey to the bottom of the sea on a full stomach."
"No!" She writhed half out of his hands, twisting toward the gunwales. He caught her and tightened his hold again. She squirmed futilely in his iron embrace. "Jarl of the sties! Jarl of the pigs! Jarl of the midden — do it now! Do it now!"
She was hysterical, and only half-understood what he meant when he said, "Little joy lies in ending this sweet spectacle in such a way, but what is a chieftan to do if he wants the respect of his shipmen?"
She was vaguely aware that she'd awakened them, of the lifting of large male faces with heavy beards and staring eyes. "Do it now!" she cried piteously, plucking at his hard arms. "I can't bear it —the waiting —I can't bear it!"
He said, not harshly, "I understand, Shieldmaiden, and mean to put an end to this foolishness, with all generosity."
She saw his fist and knew he going to hit her with it, and she had only an instant to be grateful: She would drown without knowing. She felt the blow to her cheekbone like a hammer striking from across the sea —and then felt and saw and knew no more.
Until she woke under the canvas shelter at dawn. She sat up bonelessly. The motion of the ship made her head nod on her neck like an unopened lily bud on its
stem. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, and now her headache was gone. But in its place, the side of her face felt sore. She lifted her bound hands and found her cheekbone swollen.
She also discovered that she had a fine cloak wrapped about her, and beneath it, she was wearing a huge woolen jerkin, a man's garment. She considered these sleepily, as if they were all there was in the world for her to consider just now. She wondered without urgency how she could have come to be wearing them. Her hands would have to be untied to be put through the armholes —but her hands were tied now. So someone had untied her, dressed her in the jerkin, tied her again, then wrapped her in the cloak.
"She's awake!"
Edin looked at Juliana's glossy black hair and blue eyes, still a little dumbly, still disorganized, still mostly self-absorbed. The girl said, "He gave his cloak to you, my lady. He carried you in his arms and laid you down here like a lover wrapped in his own cloak!"
A sharp, delicate chill soaked through the pores of Edin's skin.
"I told you he wanted you." The girl giggled.
"Hist!" whispered Udith.
But Juliana could not be repressed. "Did he ravish you, my lady?"
Ravish. The girl said it as if she thought it a delicious word.
"Did he?"
Edin was fully awake now. "None such as him shall ever abuse me that way!" She paused, bestowing thought to the jerkin, the cloak. "At least, I don't think he did." She turned to Udith. "Would I know —if I were knocked senseless, I mean?" Her hands went to her cheek again. "He hit me, and I don't remember anything after that."
The two servant women exchanged glances. Juliana giggled again and said, "You feel no soreness?"
"It's very sore. I'm sure he blacked my eye." She fingered the swelling gingerly, trying to recall. . . .
She'd been hysterical. And he'd hit her. But the bruise didn't seem overlarge, considering her memory of the size of that fist coming at her. It seemed he'd hit her just hard enough, and no more.
"No soreness elsewhere?" Udith asked.
Edin realized what they meant, and lowered her eyelashes. "No."
Udith sighed deeply and crossed herself, while Juliana seemed a little disappointed. Edin took a new look at her. She was a plump creature of sixteen with a wide, inviting mouth and broad hips made for childbearing. It came home to Edin why the Vikings had decided to bring her, when they'd rejected others who were more skilled.
At that moment the Vikings were lifting the top-cover, and Edin saw that the morning had broken as clear and as cool as a crystal. A flurry of birds swept about the longship's mast, and a gentle breeze just wrinkled the tops of the long green swells. She searched for the jarl, and her eyes found a large form in a sleeping bag near the prow. Evidently he'd finally given in to a need for rest himself.
He didn't wake till noon. By then the day was much different. Dark clouds had built a fortress on the starboard side, and a grim wind had come up, whipping salt spume into any face lifted above the level of the gunwales. Though the sky was still blue directly overhead, the huge banks of black and threatening clouds moved along the horizon.
As the jarl took command, the wind began to whip the sea into a froth. Terrified, Edin took young Arneld into the Viking's commodious cloak with her. Nonetheless, after another hour, she and the boy were both weeping. The water got more turbulent by the minute.
With astonishing swiftness, a squall of rain closed down. As well as she could, Edin kept her eyes on the jarl. She watched him go aft and give some order to an older, very fair-haired man who was struggling at the steerboard. The jarl shouted to make himself understood against the wind. He took the steering oar himself and heaved on it with all his vast brawn while the other man lashed it to the ship's side.
When the bulk of the dark clouds reached them and lowered down, it was as if the whole world had plunged into darkness. The full force of the storm hit, tossing the longship like a straw. The wind shrieked through the rigging and blew white spray off the tops of the waves. The jarl shouted orders, and men shuttered the oarports that pierced the sides of the ship below the rails and lashed the two wounded Vikings to their places. As the waves continued to rise, every man was in a frenzy to lash and stow his gear and plunder. The jarl moved among them, lending a hand here and there.
The wind rose to gale force. Clouds flew low across the heaving ocean. The atmosphere was one of roaring water and blinding rain.
Night came, and still the wind rose. The Vikings couldn't put up their tent; the dragonship remained completely open, offering no shelter for the shivering crew and petrified passengers.
For Edin, time became a haze of screaming wind and pounding waves. She huddled with her teeth set and her eyes wild. In her worst nightmares she'd never dreamed the sea could assume such proportions. Sometimes the deep green towered as high as the mast, reared above them and hung over them before it toppled down, smashing everyone to the boards, smiting the longship like a stick of wood in a tide, swirling it around and around. She lost her sense of direction, her sense of the world, her sense of herself.
The low sides of the dragonship admitted great sloshes of water. There were small drain holes at the level of the deck, but since the deck was loose, made up of planks set over a skeleton of supports, before the sea water could rain out the holes, it poured between these planks into the shallow hold. This called for constant bailing. Men had to crawl down into the bilge and pass up buckets for dumping. It was slow, exhausting work, bailing by bucket and muscle, and it went on for three days and three nights, until the Vikings began to swear in voices that were exhausted threads, and to kick at any captive who happened to get in their way. The two injured men lay on the boards, groaning and begging their friends to slip a knife into their ribs so they might not have to endure another day of torment. The jarl's eyes grew as chill as the sea.
The captives, a man, a child, and four women, who had all thought to live and die within walking distance of their birth places, prayed and moaned through it all. What were they doing on this vast expanse of unknown water? Once Juliana cried out a Biblical text: "'It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!'"
No, Edin told herself, what was fearful was to be cast out of the hands of the living God, which was what she truly believed had happened to her. Her God had forsaken her. Somehow she had offended him, and now she was on her own.
Arneld's eyes were sunken. Dessa's elfin-shaped face was pale. They had been snatching food and drink whenever it came within reach—usually nothing but salted fish and cold meat — and they were all long past fatigue. There was a queer apartness about each one. Edin sensed their spirits were almost gone.
Wet to the bone, rubbing her bare feet together against the cold, she had a dull premonition that they would all drown, mayhap even all be thrown overboard by the increasingly surly Vikings —unless they did something in their own behalf.
The jarl stood on the prow platform, his head level with the bottom of the dragon's head. With one arm hooked around the serpent's neck to keep himself from being tossed overboard, he stared forward into the world of barreling, thunderous clouds and mountainous waves, looking exactly what he was: a man full of cruelty, appetite, and death lust. As protection against the wind and spray, he wore oiled-skin garments now. He seemed miles away from where Edin now got to her feet, determined to make her way to him.
She'd seen men fall while trying to move around on the washed deck, and as a rolling wave caught the keel, she too slipped. The way the wind blew the rain, it was like a sandstorm, stinging her flesh, burning her lips, and blinding her vision. She stumbled several times more before she at last stood behind the jarl.
"Thoryn Kirkynsson!" The wind sucked her voice away before it could reach his ears. As best she could, she scrambled up onto the unprotected, windswept platform. There she paused, chilled by the presence of a primal force and instinct too potent for her understanding: a Viking. Then she shouted again, "Thoryn Kirkynsson!"
&nbs
p; He swiveled. His features above his drenched golden beard were set in a look as black as thunder. He took in the sight of her still wearing his cloak which drug the deck, then abruptly threw his free arm around her and pulled her against him. Stabbed by fear, she felt his hand clutch her bottom, bracing her against his thigh. At the same time he shouted, "By Odin, what do you want now!" The ropey veins in his neck stood out.
She shuddered like an eel feeling the touch of the skinning knife, but lifted her wrists between them. "Unfetter us!"
He seemed disbelieving. "You little ... go back to your place before you're swept overboard, robbing me of the pleasure of tossing you in myself!"
She looked up at him, and if it weren't for his arm fast about her, she would have stepped back, appalled by the naked malignity in his face. Nonetheless, she shouted, "If you unfetter us, we can help."
"Help? You could help by serving as sacrifices to the Great Bearer of Life. Kol Thurik— " he nodded over his shoulder —"the one who fell this morning and sits there chewing his broken tooth — he claims Freya has shown her back to us."
She looked over his restraining arm, down at a powerful middle-aged man who was hanging on to his lashed sea chest as he rolled against the violent motion of the ship. His lip was bloody, and Edin could imagine the pain of the broken tooth behind it.
She looked back. The wind was seething around her, roaring, ripping the green waters on all sides. With the rush under the keel, the rise and fall against the grey world, she couldn't help but lay her hands on the jarl's chest for balance. She felt the deep throbbing of his heart —while her own pattered out a frightened cross-beat. He'd used the word sacrifice. These were heathens. There was every chance he was completely serious. She said, "If you throw us over, Viking, we will only feed the fishes — and the only life we'll bear forth is that of herrings."
The wind surrounded her, whipping her words away, and for a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. But then she felt his chest move with what might have been a huff of grim humor. She said again, "Unfetter us. We can help bail."
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