Raging Sea (10 page)

“The man who holds my father against his will, Father. He said he is fire.”

“You saw him?”

“Aye,” she nodded. “But he did not see me for I remained part of the sea.”

The priest's eyes widened again and she could see he had more questions. Instead he turned his attention back to the drawing.

“There! There is the symbol I have. Outside the circle and along the edge. And there in it, near that hole.”

A number of those stick figures lined the edges of the drawing. Ran reached out her hand toward the drawing. Soren took her hand.

“Have a care. When I touched it before . . .” He shuddered. “This is more than a drawing, I think.”

Before he could be stopped, Father Ander touched the place in the center that had been completely blackened in. His body jerked and went still. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward. She'd seen someone have a fit like this once—he had rolled on the ground and frothed at the mouth.

Ran moved quickly behind his head and held him steady on her lap, so he would not hurt himself on the floor. Soren folded the map up and put it aside, careful not to touch the center of it.

“Ander,” he said. “Ander.” The priest did not respond.

“Father,” she said directly into his ear. Touching his cheek and then tapping it, Ran repeated his name a few more times.

Mayhap a cold cloth or a sip of water would help him? Looking around the empty chamber, she wondered if . . .

Ran looked at Soren and then placed her hand on the priest's forehead. Thinking of cold, clear water, she watched as her hand became that. Water dripped over his head and his cheek as she touched him there. Then, holding her hand higher, she let some drops trickle into his mouth.

Father Ander began to rouse. His eyes fluttered open and met hers just before he saw her hand. She changed it back to flesh and dropped it to her side. Soren reached out and helped his friend to sit. The priest shook his head and then shivered.

“My friends,” he said. “We must find out what this means.”

“Ander, wait. What happened?” Soren asked, pulling him to his feet. “You fell unconscious after touching that drawing.”

“I saw. . . . I dreamed. . . .” He shuddered again and made the sign of the Cross over himself, several times, before continuing. “Evil. Pure, uncontrolled evil is coming. We must stop it. We must,” he said. The vehemence in his words made her jump. “I saw everything burning. And I saw . . .” The priest seemed to lose himself in whatever he remembered for a few moments. “We must sort this out and find the way to stop her.”

“Her?” Ran asked.

“The name crossed out on the drawing is that of a female, a goddess of such evil that her name should not be written down or even be uttered aloud.” He blessed himself again and Ran wondered if he saw the irony of it.

“But Ran saw a man of power?” Soren said.

“Her unholy minion, that one. The one you saw. Her hand on earth, intent on freeing her,” he said it quickly, like words learned by rote.

“How do you know this, Ander?” Soren asked.

“I know not, my friend. I know only that I must use what I have to find a way to stop her, as you two must use your gifts, your powers.” The priest walked to the doorway, looking invigorated instead of the man who minutes ago had lain unconscious on the floor.

“Where are you going?” she asked, standing and walking to the doorway as he continued on his path.

“I am going back to the bishop's library to seek out more about the evil one,” he stuttered out.

“Do you know her name?” Soren said. “Tell us.”

“Nay, but I will seek it out. You go on with your plan to seek out the places on Einar's map.” Father Ander stumbled down the steps and ran to his horse. Mounting it, he rode off toward Kirkwall, with the words of the prayer to the Lord's Holy Mother—
at the hour of our death
—echoing out behind him.

Ran realized he had been listening for longer than she'd first thought. He'd heard all they'd said. And he'd never once remonstrated either of them for discussing such heretical things as ancient gods and goddesses and powerful bloodlines. Even knowing that such stories or books or drawings existed was sinful in the eyes of the Church.

If anyone had known what Einar created or knew and reported it to the bishop, Soren's grandfather would have been in grave danger. Very grave. Indeed, his whole family would be suspect. And yet this priest seemed not bothered by it. He threw himself into whatever this endeavor was without hesitation and without question.

She felt Soren's heat at her back before he spoke. Thinking on it, she knew where he was and even if he was looking at her. Her body had not forgotten his touch and wanted it even now in the midst of this new and dangerous situation. And she wanted his strength and his comfort. If she could have commanded her memory to forget what he had done, what he had cost her and what she'd promised herself, Ran would have faced him and walked back into his embrace.

And would never leave it.

That thought scared her. Two years of pain and humiliation and her heart could ignore it at the sight and nearness of him. Would she never learn?

When he stepped closer and placed his hand on the frame of the door, watching Father Ander riding away, she ducked low and passed under it, moving to the other side of the chamber.

“So, we meet at Ingeborg's cottage in the morn then?” she asked. Ran retrieved the wooden box of letters and waited for a reply.

“Aye.” He said nothing else and watched as she left the tower. Only then did she remember how she'd traveled to the broch.

“Keep these safe for me? Tell Ingeborg to read them if she wishes.” Ran handed the box back to Soren. Heading to the beach, she heard him call out to her.

“Ran, we need to slow them down or they will reach the Mainland before we have found a way to stop her,” he said. “I will slow the winds in their sails. You might calm the waters?”

Smiling at the way he made it sound commonplace, she nodded. “I will.”

“And have a care and stay a safe distance so he does not know you watch.”

How had he known she would seek out the man and watch over her father?

Because they knew each other well. They were two halves of one whole. Or they had been before he broke them in two. She nodded once more and made her way to the beach.

“On the morrow,” she said before diving into the sea, becoming water before she hit the surface and merging with the rest of it.

T
he first decision Soren made was to travel to the places on the map. Unsure of his—their—powers, he readied the horses. One to ride, one for supplies.

“What are you not telling me?” Ingeborg asked.

“Are you leaving on the morrow as you'd planned?” he asked instead of answering. His grandfather would want her protected.

“I know there is more to this than you are saying. Something that those papers revealed to you. You inherited that streak of stubbornness from Einar, Soren.” She turned to go back inside.

“Ingeborg,” he said softly. “I do not know much and have more questions than knowledge. I know where you will be and I will send word to you when I understand.”

She did not look at him as she nodded and went inside. If his dreams were correct, this house would not stand for long. If Ander was correct, Ingeborg would not be safe, even on the northern isles. No one—no man, woman or child—would be safe from this great evil. But it gave him some peace to know his aunt would not be
here
.

A sound drew his attention and he watched as Ran approached. She rode like a proud warrior maiden of old, in a gown over breeches. He remembered the feel of those legs wrapped around his waist as they'd joined. His mouth even watered as he remembered the taste of her skin and her mouth. His own breeches grew tight at such memories, so he turned away and finished tying the canvas that covered the supplies.

“Good day, Soren,” she said as she climbed down from the horse. “Is Ingeborg within?”

“Aye,” Soren said, taking the reins of her horse. “We will go after you've spoken to her.” He watched her enter the cottage after knocking on the door.

In a shorter time than he thought it would have taken, Ran and Ingeborg walked out, arm in arm, and stopped in front of the cottage. With their heads together and whispering quietly, he thought them plotting something against him. They'd done that before. Before . . .

“I am ready, Soren,” Ran said. “No need to frown.” She took the reins and mounted, seating herself quickly.

Soren walked to his aunt and hugged her. “Travel safe,” he whispered to her.

“Swear to me that you will save her, Soren. Swear it!” Ingeborg clung to his sleeves, holding him close. “Choose no one, choose nothing, over her.” With that, Ingeborg released him and stepped back. Dabbing at her eyes, she called out her farewell to Ran and then met his eyes.

Whether Ran had told her or whether she'd gleaned it from reading Einar's letters, Ingeborg knew that something bad was coming. And that they were at the center of it. When he glanced at Ran, her expression remained open.

His aunt began to sing softly, so that only he could hear it. Without thinking, he joined her . . . in one of the songs that Einar had taught him. When the words ended, she smiled.

“It is a prayer, Soren. A prayer to the Old Ones to watch over you and bless you.” His mouth dropped open at her words. She knew? “Some mere women learn much by listening, you know.”

Did she know anything more?

“Einar told you to sing them when you needed help. Or guidance. Remember that, Soren. It is important.” She stepped inside and turned to close the door. “Gods be with you.”

Nothing in his life was as it seemed only weeks before.

As he walked to his horse, he felt Ran studying him. The words, those last words, that Ingeborg spoke had shaken him to his soul.

He'd always thought he'd been defending Einar against false charges, but the more he discovered, the more he began to realize that his grandfather was truly a heretic. If Soren held powers he believed were granted by an ancient god, did that make him an apostate as well?

Soren felt the entire world beneath his feet shift in that moment. He was not the man he thought himself to be. He would not lead the life he thought he would. His relatives were not what he thought them to be.

“Are you well, Soren?” Ran asked.

“I think not,” he replied. What else could he say to her?

“What did Ingeborg say to you?” She guided her horse closer.

“Her words matter not. She simply made me realize that we are crossing a line in doing this. Everything we were raised to believe in our lives was wrong. Now we will seek to learn what the truth is.”

“A good thing, seeking the truth?” she asked, watching him closely. Her green eyes narrowed and he knew exactly what she was thinking about then.

“In this? I am not certain, Ran,” he admitted, mounting the horse and guiding it over next to hers. “But it does not appear that we have a choice in this. 'Tis either go and find it or it will find us.”

“I am not good at waiting,” she said. Which, to him, referred to several different matters.

She was impatient when something needed to be done. She was worse when it came to waiting for something to be done. Worst though was her impatience in passion. He had to look away then, for he was certain the lust would be on his face and she would know what he was thinking about.

“Let us go then,” Soren said, urging his horse forward, down the road toward the Bay of Firth and then west toward Hamnavoe, the harbor town. The first hours passed by in silence.

The winds that shaped Orkney whipped around them as they did most days. Very few stands of trees could survive because of the strength of those winds. He asked them to ease for now and they did. Ran noticed the change.

“Did you do that?” she asked. He nodded. “What else can you do?”

“I have not tried too many things,” he admitted. “Not knowing if there are limits or an amount of this power, I did not want to use it up.” He slowed his pace. “I can control the winds and clouds and storms. I can make lightning. And I was able to fly with the winds.”

“I would have never imagined speaking of such things in a calm manner, but it is how I feel about what has happened to me,” Ran said. “I thought that the sea was dragging me along with it, somehow keeping me alive and breathing in it. But then, I held up my hand,” she said, doing that. “And I could see through it.”

Her hand, once flesh and bone, now turned again to water in the shape it should be. Just as she'd done when Ander lay unconscious on her lap. She was looking at him and did not even realize it. Soren nodded at it and she followed his gaze.

“Like this!” she said, excited at the sight of it.

“How far can that go? When you are not in the sea?” Soren asked. The sound of a rider approaching stopped them from finding out.

“Do you know who it is?” Ran asked, turning around and shielding her eyes from the sun to see.

“Looks like a boy,” Soren said. As that boy grew closer, he recognized the lad. “A servant in the bishop's household.”

“Mayhap Father Ander sent him?”

“Most likely,” Soren answered.

It took but a few minutes for the boy to catch up with them. Soren waved to the young servant and called him over.

“Father Ander sent me to find you,” the boy said, out of breath from the riding.

“How did you find us?” Soren asked, waiting for the boy to regain his breath.

“Father sent me to your aunt's cottage and she said you headed in this direction. Toward the lakes.”

Soren took out the skin holding water and held it out to the boy. “What is your name?”

“Kelsig,” the boy answered, before taking a deep pull of the skin.

“Rolf's son?”

“Aye, Rolf the miller.” A good man and one who wanted his son to succeed in life. Serving in the bishop's household could lead to an education and training in the Church. Since Bishop Dolgfinnr answered to the Archbishop of Trondheim in Norway, there was travel and many other opportunities for those in his service.

“So, Kelsig Rolfson, what message did Father Ander send you to tell me? Or did you bring one?”

“He said he would meet you in two days' time on the coast. Near the squares. He said you would know what that meant.” Kelsig paused and looked from Soren to Ran and back again. “You do know what that means, do you not?” he asked. When Soren did not respond quickly enough, the boy continued. “Because I do not want to have to come back all this way and tell you.”

Ran burst out laughing at the aggrieved tone and Soren smiled, nodding at Kelsig. “I am glad to tell you that I do understand the message and you will not have to ride to me again.”

And, within minutes of reaching them, young Kelsig Rolfson was riding back to Kirkwall. Once he was out of sight, Soren took out the map and opened it, holding it so Ran could see it.

“I know of nothing on the coast there,” Soren said. “I have been there and passed by the area by boat and nothing is built there.”

“I wonder what the squares are or what they mean?” Ran asked. “If we take this same road north, we will pass between the two lakes and can explore the squares Einar marked there.”

Soren agreed. “I know that this circle is the old burial cairn. Then this one would be the stones near the southern edge of Loch Harray, to the east of Loch Stenness.”

Stone circles and burial cairns were scattered across all the islands of Orkney. Sometimes the stones were appropriated away for other needs, but the grave sites, some thought to be haunted, were usually left untouched.

“But those squares make no sense to me,” Ran said. “Unless something has been built there—barns or storage buildings—since I left?”

“Nay,” Soren said. “Well, we will see when we arrive there.”

Soren felt the silence between them, as they rode, as they ate, and as they arrived at the burial cairn. Words had never been a problem for them in the past. They'd spent hours talking and planning their life together. And in this moment, he missed that the most. They were facing unknown dangers and she was willing to do that, but she could not simply talk to him.

•   •   •

Ran felt his gaze on her. She knew he watched her closely. As they passed places familiar to them, Soren would begin to say something to her and then stop, realizing how uncomfortable she was. Reminding her of their past only brought the bad memories with any good ones. She hardened her heart dozens of times since their journey began and she suspected she would need to strengthen her resolve in the matter of Soren Thorson many, many more times before they parted ways.

As they would need to.

Whether or not they were able to return to their lives after they rescued her father and saw an end to whatever was happening to them, she and Soren could never return to what they had been.

But her body did not or would not hear those words of wisdom and reacted to every touch or glance. When he'd helped her down from her horse and touched her back and arm, her body ached to feel his touch everywhere. When he reached past her to get the sack holding their meal, her breasts ached for his hands to caress them. The worst was the way her mouth watered when he smiled or touched his tongue to the edge of his lower lip.

All those nights of pain and heartbreak suffered would be forgotten in an instant if her body made the decisions.

As they finished their meal and rode toward the first of the stone circles on Einar's map—near the southernmost part of Loch Stenness—a sense of unease filled her. The horses felt something too and became skittish as the distance between them and the stones decreased.

“Why are they so disturbed?” she asked, looking around the area for the cause. No one else approached. No animals were there. The sky was clear and Soren kept the strong winds under control. “I see nothing.”

“But you feel it as well?” he asked.

The low humming. The slight vibration from below the ground and even through the air. She nodded. “I hear something. You?”

“Aye. Like the buzzing of thousands of bees or insects. Let us move closer and see if it changes.”

The horses balked when they urged them forward, so Soren suggested leaving them there, closer to the road, and that they approach on foot. As Ran adjusted her cloak, she saw Soren remove a sword from his pack. She raised an eyebrow as he slid it into a scabbard on his belt and walked to the edge of the field where the stones stood.

Ran had a dagger inside her boot for protection, but she wondered if those weapons could fight against the evil that Father Ander spoke of. They made their way across the empty field to the slight rising where the huge stones sat in a sort of circle. Though the reasons and uses of such things had been lost in the passage of time, they never ceased to impress her.

These stones by Loch Stenness were the tallest in the area, taller even than the ones farther up the road called Brodgar's Ring. Stories told that several stones had been toppled and taken in pieces so that only eight of the original eleven stones remained in place. Smaller ones lay inside the circle, in the center of it. Looking back across the distance, she could see the burial cairn they'd passed and several other stones, separated but close enough that she knew they were somehow connected.

“I wonder what these were for?” she asked aloud. Walking around the stones, she looked for any markings and found none.

“Legends are all the explanation we have,” Soren said. “Some have noticed that they align with the sunrise on the solstice. Others claim they are ancient temples.” He ran his hands over the surface of the one closest to him as he walked past it and she had to look away. “I see nothing on the stones.”

“Nor I,” she said, following him into the center of the circle. She could see an indentation in the ground, but no other sign of Einar's knowledge or presence. “Should we ride on? Look elsewhere?”

Soren pulled the map out and held it up before them.

“There are some squares in that field, between here and the lake. Come. We can search before we leave.”

When she stepped into a boggy spot in the field, Soren held out his hand to her. Even knowing it was not a good thing to do, she took it and he pulled her free. A few paces later, he did it again, but that time, she noticed, he did not release it. Ran told herself it was necessary. His height and strength would keep her from falling. She told herself many things in the next few minutes as they walked toward the water's edge.