Lord of the Runes (9 page)

Sometimes, when Silvi couldn't come out of her visions, she seemed to see another world, like Asa did now. But Asa wasn't having a vision. Was she reliving the past, seeing something so horrible it still held her in its grip?

“Asa, what do you see? What do you fear?”

She curled even further into herself and her eyes filled. “Magnus. Oh gods, Magnus. Why did you do this?”

He drew back, his jaw tightening. Had her brother done something to her? When Magnus had heard what the runes told him, he'd seemed to regret something in his past. And yet, they seemed so close. Still, sometimes it could be that way, even with an abuser.

“He's dead, isn't he? Magnus is dead and it's because of me.”

Relief flooded into him, his muscles unknotting. If Magnus had been injured in the past, as close as they were, it would have horrified her. “Asa, Magnus is fine. He's alive. He waits for you in the longhouse. You have to come back now, so you can join him there.”

She nodded, tears slipping down her face. He reached out to wipe them away, but she pulled back and focused on him for the first time. She glanced at his bare right arm. He had only his cloak on, and it was designed to fasten on that side, leaving his sword arm unencumbered for fighting. She would be able to see that he was naked.

He pulled it around him and held out his hand to her. “Let me help you up.”

She didn't take his hand. Rising, she wrapped her cloak around herself. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I'll leave and you can finish.”

“I'm finished now.” He stepped back to give her room. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel threatened. “Just give me a moment to dress and you can have the sauna.”

Gathering herself with a visible effort, she raised the barrier between them again, becoming distant, as always. “I'll wait outside.”

When she was gone, he ran a drying cloth through his damp hair and down his body and pulled on his clothes. What could have carved itself so deeply into her mind that the wounds still bled like this?

He strode outside. It was doubtful she had waited around, and had most likely fled back into the house. A short distance off, she stood staring into the trees. His heart lightened.

He approached her, taking care to make noise so she would know he was there. She didn't need another scare. He made his voice pleasant as he reached her side. “Aren't you afraid the trolls will come and steal you away in the night? They do that, you know. They take the most beautiful women to their caves and make them cook for them for all eternity. But then, from what I've heard, if they did that to you, they'd send you back once they tasted your cooking. So I doubt you have much to fear.”

She ducked her head and he winced at his tactlessness. He had hurt her feelings. But then she looked up at him and, just for an instant, she smiled.

His mind stopped working. Her smile was a gift, so beautiful and rare, he stood witless, his thoughts slain by its power over him. As he stared into her eyes he was lost; every weapon he held shattered in his hands. He had no shield against this, nor blade, nor ship to escape in.

He didn't want to escape. This had been coming. He'd known it since he first saw her. Now it struck him like one of Thor's bolts, tearing him open, naked and exposed in the storm raging in his soul.

She covered her mouth with her hand, as though she regretted the smile, and looked away, back into the night. “The spirits in the woods have never harmed me. Perhaps it's because I don't fear them. I've found that what I see in the day poses a far greater threat than anything I can imagine in the dark.”

He needed to touch her, to know that this was real. But when he lifted his hand, she shied away from him. What could have made her this way? If he asked, it might drive her back into the horror lurking in her mind. He wouldn't risk reopening that wound.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I've been too forward. Is there someone else you favor? I don't want to step where I'm not welcome.”

She shook her head. “Where would I find a man who would want me for my strength? For who I must be? They want me because I'm the sister of a jarl. To bear children, to run a household, for the dowry I bring. I'm not meant for that. I've chosen to be a shieldmaiden instead.”

“I've sailed with several of them, and they love as does any other woman. Even they sometimes marry.”

“If a man is brave enough.”

“I think it would be well worth the risk.” If he didn't part from her now, he wouldn't be able to resist her. “It's cold out here. You still need your bath.”

“Yes, and you still need to read the runes. Estrid has been bragging all day that you chose to read for her first.”

Only so he could get rid of her the soonest. “So I did.”

“Besides, you're the one standing out here in the snow, with wet hair.”

He laughed. “Sometime I'll tell you of the days I've spent on the North Sea, with waves washing over the sides of the longship. The water froze our hair solid. I think I can survive this threat.”

The corners of her mouth tilted up. “You got what you deserved if you sailed in the cold time of year. I've been on the North Sea, but in the summer. We sailed one year to Hedeby in the land of the Danes and had to skirt it into the Kattegat. We were in one of our
knörrs
, our merchant ships, so we just lumbered along. Still, it was wonderful to be out there on the seas. I loved it. But to be in a sleek, powerful longship, slicing through the waters . . .” She fell silent, looking up at the stars.

If Thor had come and brained him with his hammer, he wouldn't have been more shield-struck. A woman of her strength and beauty, wielding a sword and loving the sea? He needed to find his wits wherever he'd left them and go inside before he did something he shouldn't.

“As you said, we both have other things we need to do.”

She nodded. “Good night, then.”

He watched her go to the sauna and close the door. By the gods, he needed to take care. They all knew him as a rune caster, and while that position would be honored and respected, it was not the same rank as the daughter and sister of a jarl. She could not marry below her station. Magnus would never allow it.

He walked back to the longhouse. Marry? What was he thinking? He didn't have time for this, or for her. He couldn't tip his hand just yet. He might be equal to them in rank, but right now that didn't matter. He had nothing and would continue to have nothing until he regained what was his by right and by birth. If he was victorious, then perhaps . . . If he wasn't, then he would be dead, for nothing short of that would stop him.

Estrid already waited for him at the table where he had read the runes for others on previous nights. He nodded to her and went into his small chamber to get them. When he returned, Leif sat nearby, leaning on the wall with a mug of ale. Eirik didn't need privacy to do a casting, but why would Leif be so interested in Estrid's?

She focused on him, smiling, her eyes dancing. “I've been waiting to see what you'll say to me.”

Leif raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of ale. Eirik gave her a quick smile, then closed his eyes to concentrate. The bag in his hands grew warm. He never knew if it was just from his own body heat, or if there was something more to it, but it always heralded a powerful reading.

Still, when he tried to envision the light surrounding him, shadows lingered nearby. They crept up the walls, and hovered over them all. This was not good.

He reached into the bag and stilled his hand over the wood pieces. Energy built on the palm of his hand and he felt for the rune that lay closest to that place. He placed it on the table, not looking at it, and repeated the process. When he completed the pattern, he set the bag aside and turned over any of the pieces that lay face down.

He kept his expression closed, letting no emotion show. His heart faltered. This was a dark, negative casting. What could such a beautiful young woman have within her that would warrant this? He studied the staves, considering what he would say. He could not lie. Each rune had several meanings, and it was part of the innate talent of the caster to know the right choice. He would have to pick the most positive meanings, yet still impart some warning about the influences around her.

He straightened and glanced at her. “The rune in the position of what is happening around you now is Eihwaz.” It often indicated death and setting a goal that was unattainable, but he couldn't say that. “It shows an apparent blockage that may be to the good. You should foresee the circumstances of your actions before you do anything. Keep your mind open to change.”

Tapping the next rune, he said, “Naudhiz indicates what stands in the way of what you want.” Shadows resulting in weakness, misguided action leading to ruin, obsession. No, he couldn't say any of that either. “You should use the shadows that sometimes surround all of us as teachers. It warns of a delay that could inflame passions. You must be patient.”

At least the next rune was positive, but joined with the following symbol, it meant she would draw failure to her. He took a deep breath and smiled. “In favor is Dagaz, a very good rune. You have a great change coming in your life, as different as possible from what you know now. But to attain it, you may have to leap into the void.”

“The void?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Only that sometimes we must simply trust, without knowing what the outcome will be. We take a leap of faith.”

Then Mannaz, reversed. A stranger, and a blockage inside of oneself that one refuses to see. He picked up the carved piece. “This shows an individual who may block some of your plans, but it's only short term. You must look within to release yourself from this. With Naudhiz, it can mean you need to lie low for a time. Again, the runes speak of patience.

“With the last rune, in the place of the long view, you have Elhaz reversed, which shows this to be a time of vulnerability and an offer which should be refused. A time to take care.” Also it showed self-deception.

He sat back. “You need to wait out this time and be patient and careful. A great change is coming for you, but it may seem blocked for a time. Just lie low and understand what is within you before you act, and you will succeed in your dreams.”

She beamed at him. “And leap into the void.”

“In a manner of speaking. But it's more important to use caution and patience first. Remember that.”

“I will.”

Birgitta waited for her turn, so Estrid had to leave. She ran her hand over his shoulder as she passed him and he suppressed a shudder. As he gathered the runes to put them back in the bag, they were still warm, though they had lain on the table in the cold room for a time.

Leif rose also, draining the rest of his ale. He sauntered away and sat down next to several giggling young women. But he had listened with even more interest than Estrid had. Why? Did Leif feel the same darkness around her that he did?

Before he closed his eyes to start the next casting, he glanced up. The shadows filling the room had fled with her, leaving only the glow of the firelight around them.

* * *

He'd picked her first.

First, first, first, first.

Estrid danced through her room, hugging herself. And he said such beautiful things to her, about inflamed passions, transformations, and a great leap into the unknown. But she needed to be careful. They both needed to be careful and wait, to be patient, as he'd said. The others couldn't know, of course. He couldn't speak of how he felt about her in the open, so he spoke in the riddles of the runes. She alone understood. He had seen their love written there. The great leap would be when he took her with him in the spring. And she needed to trust in him. Oh yes. It would be leaping into the unknown, but they would be together then.

She sat down on her bed. He'd warned her that someone would block the way. She'd have to watch for it. No one could stand between them. The others had left her behind and she would never allow it again. Not when she would have his beauty, his strength, and his power all to herself as they roamed the world.

Lying back, she ran her hands over her body, and cupped her breasts, as he would. He'd be so strong, so masterful. He would take what he wanted and she would belong to him. He would revel in her curves, in her woman-shape. Softness, sweetness, gentleness. Not like—

She clenched her fists over her heart. What if Asa was the one who stole him away? Jarl's daughter. Jarl's sister. Weapon-bearer. The highborn. But she was too cold, like an ice queen. What man would want her? Still, one man had, and Asa had taken him, then cast him aside just to spite Estrid.

But now,
she
would be the one doing the taking. And if Asa stood in her way? The runes had said it would be only for a short time and that she must look within herself to put an end to it.

She ran her hands over her body again and closed her eyes. His smile shone down on her like the sun, heating her skin.

Soon. She would start soon.

S
orrow wrapped around Asa, as heavy as her cloak as she walked through the village. She and their healer woman, Ingeborg, hadn't been able to save old Alv from the fever raging through the household on the outer edge of Thorsfjell. Only the healer and she had entered there, and they were taking a risk doing so. It fell to Ingeborg to help them, and Asa couldn't let the elderly woman work alone. So, against Magnus's wishes, she'd done all she could, though it was in vain. Alv had died, but his younger wife, Hetha, still lived.

They needed more than herbs to save her. In the past, their rune master carved the staves that brought healing to them. But he was dead. She drew a deep, cold breath as she glanced up at the longhouse. Several men stood outside, talking.

The days had become a bit warmer since the blizzard ended. The men had decided to go hunting that day to put fresh meat on the tables. Eirik had mentioned he'd like to go as well, so Magnus had outfitted him with a fine bow and arrows. They were obviously back now, and time was short for Hetha.

Leif had said she needed to speak to Eirik about helping her carve the runes on her dragon, and she'd been putting it off. But this was far more important and she couldn't hesitate any longer.

She'd had a difficult time keeping her eyes from Eirik as he'd prepared to leave that morning. He'd stood in the common room, his sword at his side, the bow in his hand. Power, so primal and male, had rolled off of him as he'd spoken with the other men. Estrid had given him a cup of mead to warm him, and the serving girls had clustered around the doorway to the cooking room, watching him. They were so fresh-faced and innocent. They still had their dreams of husbands and homes of their own to keep them smiling. No doubt, those dreams included Eirik.

All he'd known of her was her swordplay, her lack of feminine skills, and her panic when he'd touched her in the sauna. What had she been thinking when she'd peeked at him? Yes, it was obvious he was a warrior. But what was she going to do with that knowledge—tell Magnus she'd seen Eirik's beautiful, powerful, scarred body naked?
And, oh yes, by the way, brother, he does look like a warrior
?

She winced. And then she'd had one of her recurring memories. She should have been over that years ago. Magnus had ordered the old sauna torn down and a new one put up in its place. Nothing had been the same. Except the scent of the steam and the wood and the sensation of being held, trapped against a man's hard body.

Eirik had moved so fast, he'd caught her off guard. At the feeling of his hands around her wrists, everything had crashed in around her, even though it wasn't the same situation as the one so long ago. But she couldn't stop it.

He must think her mad. Maybe she was. The past had changed her, made her weaker, yet harder. At times, it was all she could do to keep the darkness from engulfing her forever. Only her love for her brothers, and theirs for her, kept her grounded. It was all she would ever have, but it was enough.

Their fates were set. Perhaps hers was to die on the battlefield instead of in childbed. That suited her. Their belief that such things were unalterable made their people the fighters they were, unafraid of any death. Indeed, who would want to die, old and infirm, in bed? It was their greatest horror. For each of them, it would be as the Norns willed.

Something had passed between Eirik and her, though, a shining, enticing link forged in that instant afterward when he had been a steady light for her, a strength she could lean on. That link would have to be broken when he left. He'd made no secret of it that he had been on his way to Trøndelag when he'd become lost in the blizzard. What was so important that he would risk his life for it?

She could never allow that tenuous link between them to grow into anything more. For one link would lead to another, until they formed a chain that would soon wrap itself around her heart.

* * *

Asa stepped through the front door to the common room along with a swirl of snow. As she removed her cloak, she glanced at Eirik, her lip between her teeth. Then she raised her head as though preparing for battle and walked toward him. He tilted his head and watched her, keeping his gaze locked on hers. A shadow touched her eyes as she stopped before him. What could she still fear?

“Asa. Will you have some ale? It will warm you.”

“No. Thank you.” She swallowed and cleared her throat. “You know the runes, how to cast them, how to read them. But do you know the healing runes and how to carve them?”

“Yes. My mother is a healer of some renown. She taught me so I could use their power in my travels.”

She sank down on the bench on the opposite side of the table. “There's a fever in a house at the edge of the village. We've already lost the old man who lived there, but his wife still lives. We have tried everything we know, but nothing has worked. Can you carve the proper runes for her? We would forever be in your debt.”

“It is I who am obliged to you for letting me overwinter with you. And in such things, there is no debt to me. The power does not come from me, but from the gods. Do you have any small pieces of wood that I could carve them on?”

“Of course.” She rose and led him to the weaving room, where her dragon head stood, covered with a cloth. “What do you need?”

She knelt at a pile of wood and he joined her. On a low shelf nearby, stood dozens of small carvings. She'd created all manner of animals, ships, dolls, boxes, utensils, and other trinkets. The bowls, spoons, and cups showed her talent. They were intricate, so beautiful, it near took his breath away.

She followed his gaze. “I do those through the year to give to the children of the village at Jul time. We also sell them at the markets in the summer. It keeps me busy.”

“No wonder your work is so sought after. They're magnificent.”

She blushed and the color only enhanced her beauty. “I enjoy the work and it brings much joy to the children and much gold to the coffers.”

A woman of such strength—she wielded a sword against pirates on the seas—yet of such imagination and delicacy as to make these things of beauty. He almost reached out to touch her as she sorted through the wood, but kept his hand where it was.

“Will these do? They're oak and should hold your carvings well enough.” She poured several small, round wood pieces into his hands, and for a moment, she so filled his senses, he had to remember why he needed them.

“They'll be fine.” They stood, and for the first time in his life he was tongue-tied with a woman. She stared up at him. He avoided her gaze and looked instead at her worktable. “I'll need to borrow one of your carving tools, if I could. Just the knife should be fine. I'll make two cuts for each line, meeting in the center. It will be simple. Not like chiseling stone for rune markers.”

“Have you made many rune stones?” She handed him her carving knife. “Our old rune master was too weak to carve them, so we never had any for memorials for our dead.”

“Not even for your father?” Shock spread through him. So far-traveling a man as he had been should be remembered. Word-fame was everything to the Norse people.

“No.” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “We have nothing to mark his life except our memories of him.” She removed the woven fabric from the dragon's head. She hadn't worked on much more of it and the sides of the neck were still blank. Biting her lip, she ran her hand along its curves. Her movements were soft, caressing, her touch light, and he couldn't take his eyes off her fingers. What else could she do with those talented hands?

He stifled a groan. “I'll take these out to one of the tables and begin my work.”

“Wait.” She didn't look at him, but her hand stilled. “There's something I need to ask you as a rune caster. A favor.”

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

She drew a deep breath, as though gathering her courage. “Our master knew the right symbols to carve on my dragons. Every year, he studied the signs, and the gods showed him the ones to use for that year. But he died last summer and I don't know what to do. I could make scales here on the neck. In fact, I tried designing them. You can see the charcoal marks I made. It didn't work. I've even dreamed of it, but my dreams didn't show me the right runes. Only that they must be here. The dragon has told me so.”

She looked up at him and spoke in a headlong, breathless voice, as though she tried to say it all before she lost her nerve. “I can't use the runes I have in the past. They might not be the right ones. Or I might not carve them correctly. I know that each of the lines must be done in a certain direction. And I'm unable to channel the power like a rune master can. I'm afraid of making a mistake that would bring disaster down on us. And then there are the colors I should use.”

Why would she be hesitant to ask him such a thing? He put a finger on her lips, silencing her. “I'd be honored to help you.”

She didn't pull back, allowing him to keep his finger there as she lowered her gaze. He moved his hand until he brushed her jawline, then he drew back, tightening his will. “I'll do a reading for it. But I must wait until after Alv has been released to the afterlife, for he is still here and I don't know what effect that will have on the runes. Once the
sjaund
is over, I can do a casting and we can begin working on it. You'll need to design the runes so they fit the space after I show you the proper ones. By the time that's done, we should be ready to start carving.”

Her shoulders relaxing, she nodded. “My thanks. It's so important to all of us.”

Before he did something even more foolish than allowing his thoughts to run rampant, he left and sat down at one of the tables in the common room. He turned the wood pieces over in his hands to get the feel for them, to understand exactly which runes they called for. But the healing symbols he needed didn't form in his thoughts. Instead, runic lines tumbled through his mind, chiseled into stone to tell their tale through the ages. The branches of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, wound through them as they circled it.

Why wouldn't they speak to him as he wanted them to? He needed only simple pieces to slip beneath the woman's pillow and direct the healing powers to her. Afterward, he would burn them and release their magic as a tiny sacrifice to the gods as thanks. Runes were only carved into stone to last as a memorial.

The idea hit him like a sword stroke. They were speaking to him, but they were telling him what
they
wanted him to do, what he needed to do to discharge his debt. He bowed his head, hiding his smile. It was perfect.

The certainty of it spread through him. This would be his masterwork, a tribute to a fine man who had raised his sons and his daughter to be filled with honor and selflessness.

He looked up as Leif and several other men came in, boasting of the deer they'd brought down that day. The men had been successful in their hunt and they would all eat well for it. He'd hunt also in the days to come, but it wouldn't be for meat. It would be for something far more lasting than that. It would ease, not the body, but the heart and the soul of a family. For all time.

* * *

“We may have a problem.” Magnus eyed Eirik as he sat at a table, carving small pieces of wood. Leif had just sat down to quench his thirst with a mug of beer after the hunt, and Magnus had joined him.

“And that's any different from usual?” Leif took a large swallow.

Magnus kept his voice low. “This might be serious.”

“Let me know when you find out if it is or not. I wouldn't want to waste my time getting upset unless it's necessary. That's your responsibility, and you do it so well.” He grinned into his beer before he took another swig.

“Leif.” He loved his brother, but there were times . . .

Leif set down his mug. “What is it?”

“I came in a few minutes ago and I could see into the weaving room. Eirik and Asa were together.”

“You're right. That could bring down the entire house.” Leif's voice was wry and he shrugged. “She did want me to speak to him about helping her with the runes. Maybe she finally found the courage to approach him about it.”

Magnus shot him a glare. “He had his finger on her lips. And she didn't pull away. She allowed it.”

Leif raised his brows. “That just might bring the house down. From shock.”

“I don't like it. He doesn't have the rank, or the wealth.”

“Do we know that for certain?” Leif glanced behind him at Eirik. “All we know is the little bit he volunteered when he first came here. It's not much to go on. I've been spending time with him, talking, drinking, playing
tafl.
He's very good at it, by the by. He should play with Asa.” He winced. “Forget I said that. Anyhow, I've found him to be well educated, far-traveled, and easy to get along with. He does have a streak of something dark running in him, though. But then, don't we all? That's why the world fears us. He would make a good raider, if he isn't one already.”

Magnus drummed his fingers on the table. Leif might be light of heart, but he was a keen observer of people. While it seemed nothing penetrated his mind too deeply, he was always watching, assessing. His humor was the way he handled the world, but he knew how it worked. Magnus always listened to him, to see what lay beneath the jests. And even those sometimes annoying statements could strike right to the heart of the matter.

He closed his fists. “We can't let him get too close to her. There's no knowing what further damage that would do.”

“There's always a risk where love is concerned.”