Raging Sea (13 page)

T
he only good thing about that day was that the weather was fair. Lack of sleep and the need to hold his control in a tight grip made him bad-tempered throughout the day. Ran never looked askance or commented, but she knew to give him some distance this day.

It did not matter, truly, whether she was near or far, he could not get her out of his mind. They split apart, each going in a different direction around Brodgar's ring of stones, looking for signs or clues. But every time he glanced over at her, she was looking at him. They spent the morning examining each of the more than thirty stones, and then searched the cairns that lay in all directions around the circle. Most of the cairns were simple mounds or small hills with no stones or places to leave clues. Some, a very few, had flat stones or raised ones nearby.

They shared a simple meal and headed north again. It would take a few hours to reach the coast and the place designated by Ander. How the priest was traveling there, he knew not, but he worried not about that. If Ander said he would meet them, he would. As they approached the Loch of Skaill, they found Ander waiting for them on the main road to the bay called by the same name.

“My friends,” the priest called out.

“Ander,” Soren greeted him.

“Father,” Ran said.

“Have you found any clues left behind by Einar?” Ander asked, as he fell in with them.

“None,” Soren answered. “Though we have learned much since we saw you last.”

As they rode past the loch, Soren and Ran explained what had happened in their encounter with Hugh de Gifford and what he was searching for. Ander seemed at ease with everything they told him, which disturbed Soren in some manner.

“Should you not object to such things, Ander? Or tell us the cost to our immortal souls for pursuing knowledge of false gods?” he asked finally.

“In my travels and work for the bishop, I have seen and read and learned many things, Soren. I have learned that it is the sacred duty of good people to battle evil whenever and however they encounter it. It is what God's Son teaches us. And if our Almighty Father allows there to exist other lesser deities or beings to aid in His cause and is not threatened by their presence, who am I to tell Him otherwise?”

Soren considered the words of explanation for a minute and could not decide if Ander was jesting or not. Ran shrugged, unwilling to argue with the priest.

“When you say it in that manner, it makes sense,” he admitted.

“Well, my friend, I heard your words, declaring the powers you now have, but I admit that I would be more comfortable if I witnessed it.”

“You wish to see a display, Ander?” Soren asked.

“You saw my hand change, Father,” Ran said.

“Ah, I did. But it was as I lay delirious. I may have dreamt it.”

“O ye of little faith,” Soren muttered as he looked to Ran. She nodded and walked to the edge of the loch. He waited for her to go first.

In an instant, Ran became water. Then she let her form go and seeped into the ground under her feet. A minute later, she rose out of the surface of the loch and took her human shape once more. When she reached his side, Ander nodded at him. As he considered what to do, he noticed that the priest kept poking Ran as though testing her to see if she was real.

Soren let go of his body and changed into a cloud. Whirling around them, he floated up above them. He spread out in a thin layer and then gathered again, changing to wind in a moment. Ander let out a laugh, appreciating the sight before him. As he soared around them, Soren saw something he could not have seen from the ground.

Behind a small hill and outcropping of rocks, four people stood—two men and two women. He dropped to the ground behind them and took his human shape before they turned around. His hands tingled as the lightning built within them.

“Who are you?” he called out.

His voice sounded like thunder as he spoke. Ander and Ran rushed to his side. The priest reached out to stop him from casting a bolt at them. But one man, the larger man who was clearly a warrior, changed into something else as he sensed the threat of Soren's power. Something even larger. Something blue. If Soren's voice was like thunder, this creature's was an explosion and war cry in one. He prepared to charge Soren but was stopped when one of the women—one who glowed in the hot metal orange of fire—stepped in front of him and placed her hand on his arm, calling him by name.

“William, he is a friend, not a threat,” she said. The creature growled loudly and seemed to grumble as he stepped back, allowing the woman forward.

“I am Brienne of Yester,” she said. “We mean you no harm, Stormblood.” She glanced over at the creature and he changed back into the warrior. A blue haze outlined the muscular body of a trained fighter. A knight mayhap? “This is my husband, William de Brus,” she said. “Lately of Scotland.”

“Why were you hiding here?” Soren asked, lowering his hands and letting the lightning go back into his blood.

“That was my idea, Soren. I wanted them to see you and meet you. And this is Aislinn and Marcus, their priests,” Ander explained.

A woman priest? Soren's shock must have shown, for the young woman stepped closer and said something only to him. “The Old Ones did not worry over women serving them like this new one seems to,” she said.

Soren looked at the much older man and nodded in greeting. Ander introduced Ran and Soren by their names and heard the priests whisper “Waterblood” and “Stormblood” in wonderment and awe.

“Will you return with us to our encampment so that we might speak?” Brienne asked them.

Soren remembered part of the story Ander told him about the bloodlines and their powers. He looked at each one, knowing that William must be the warblood, and Aislinn and Marcus already acknowledged their priesthood. Staring at Brienne, he tried to figure out if she could be fire, the one linked to the war hammer on the drawing. The color around her remained aglow in the shades of fire.

And if she was, was she related somehow to the fireblood they'd met? The one holding Svein prisoner and doing unspeakable things to others? As though she'd read his thoughts, she held out her arm and tugged her sleeve out of the way.

Two flames, entwined, burning.

“Fireblood,” Soren said.

“We have met the other one,” Ran said, stepping closer to look at the mark. “Hugh de Gifford.”

At the name, the warblood came out once more, growling and pulling Brienne behind him. “De Gifford,” the blue berserker growled. Though Ran startled at the sight and sound, she did not move away.

“You have?” Aislinn, Marcus and Brienne asked in one voice.

“He has my father. And his ships,” Ran admitted.

Ander stepped in and put up his hand.

“We should not discuss such matters on the open road. Soren, Ran, come back to the camp with us and we can discuss all manner of subjects.”

“With us?” Soren asked.

“I was led to them by dreams, Soren,” Ander admitted in a quiet voice. “I can explain.”

Although he was leery of going with these strangers, Ander's vouching for them convinced him. Ran nodded her agreement and they waited for them to retrieve their horses.

In little time, they crossed over the last hill before reaching the shore and Soren blinked several times before believing the number of men, fighting men and others on that beach.

Suddenly, it was not the two or three of them fighting this great evil and her minions. It was a large number of trained fighting men, priests and others involved.

Soren smiled at Ran then, relieved that she might not be placed in the danger that Ingeborg warned him about.

“They might even know more than Einar,” he whispered to her, as they walked through the area, greeting people as they passed.

“At least they can tell us more,” she replied, more at ease now than she had been all day.

They joined a small group made up of, as it turned out, the leaders of this army against evil. In addition to the fireblood and warblood, there were the priests and a few other fighters—human warriors—considered as the leaders. Everyone in the camp followed their orders, but Ran was fascinated by their attitude toward the young woman priest.

It was clear to see that they favored her. As Aislinn passed, everyone greeted her. They asked her questions. They all tried to find a way to speak to her. She was held in esteem, that much was apparent to Ran as they walked through the camp.

Questions filled her mind as they gathered to speak. Even as introductions were being made, Ran tried to concentrate on them, rather than the man who remained close at her side now.

Last night's folly made the light of morning very uncomfortable for her, for them. Part of her wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the ground and spend the day with the sea and rivers instead of facing Soren. Now, surrounded by dozens of others, it was easier not to look at him. Not to blush in embarrassment for what she'd said and, worse, what she'd done with him. To be amongst others made it possible to pretend it had not happened.

But, if they were to give her father and his men, many of whom she'd grown up with or sailed with, a chance at survival, she needed to learn more about this nobleman who served an ancient evil.

“Aislinn, do you want to speak first?” William asked.

“You must be overwhelmed by all of this, all of us,” the lovely young woman said. Her eyes seemed to glow and there was a faint color, like moonlight, around her. “Marcus and I and the other priests, save yours”—she nodded at Ander—“have lived apart on a small island off the southwest of Scotland for a long time. We have studied the ancient legends and Old Ones. We worship them in man's place, keeping the rituals alive.”

“Aislinn is the strongest seer ever to come amongst us,” Marcus added. “Some months ago, her dreams grew stronger and more prophetic. Then one night, our own blood rose, as did our marks, and we knew the evil one was trying to reenter the world.”

“That is the story I told you,” Ander added. “I found many more versions of that same one in other books. It is an ancient battle fought many times.”

“But how is this all possible?” Soren asked as he took her hand in his. It was a comforting gesture that felt right to her for now. “You have been trained for this, spent your lives studying. How did we get this power? How did they?” He nodded at Brienne and William.

“My father was bred for it,” Brienne said. “His family has remained faithful to the evil one through the centuries.”

Ran stared at her and realized the similarities to the nobleman who held her father. The same black hair. The same amber eyes. “Hugh de Gifford is your father?”

“Aye. But my existence and inheritance of the power was an unplanned surprise for him,” she explained with a soft glance at her husband. “He tried to pass his power to a noble daughter, but the gods had a different plan.”

She was a bastard.

“I was sent by the king to investigate the strange stories. He feared that Hugh de Gifford was involved in sedition. What I found was more, so much more than that,” William said softly. He lifted the hand he'd entwined with Brienne's and kissed hers. The love between them was difficult to watch, considering the love lost between her and Soren. She pulled her hand from his.

“I had no idea that I would find Brienne or the power I have or the rest. And we are still learning about our powers,” William said and looked at her and Soren. “Now you are facing the same decision we had to make but know you are not alone.”

“Tell us how you discovered the truth,” Aislinn said. Soren nodded at Ran.

“I have always lived with the sea, sailed it,” Ran said. “Then, on my journey here, I fell from the ship and I heard voices in the sea. When I survived, I knew something was happening but had no idea of what or how.” Ran smiled at each as she spoke. They understood the confusion and fear she'd felt.

“Then the mark rose and I knew I was different. When I next saw Soren and could see the aura of color around him, I suspected he was somehow involved.”

“How fortuitous that you two were already known to each other,” Marcus said.

“And lovers,” Brienne said. At Ran's frown, the woman changed her words. “In love.”

“Nay!” she protested at the same time Soren did. Standing, she moved away from Soren so there could be no mistake.

“We are not . . .”

“Our families each knew the other,” Soren explained. “In Orkney, many families have been here for centuries. Some from even before the Norse took control.”

An awkward silence took hold. The men, Ran saw, were clearly uncomfortable. The women, well, their gazes filled with sympathy as they met her eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” Brienne said. “I misunderstood your connection and did not mean to speak of such personal things.” But the knowing look in her gaze belied her words. As did the exact same one in Aislinn's.

“My grandfather knew about the Old Ones,” Soren said, breaking the tension and while looking at everyone else but Ran. “He had told me stories since I was a child. I did not understand what they were until he passed. That was when things changed for me.”

The sadness and loss in his voice tore at her heart. He reached inside his tunic and brought out his last connection to Einar, holding them out to the group. Ander nodded to the other priests.

“He told me that I carried the blood and power of the god of the sky and storms. Taranis, he said. I did not believe him until it was too late to tell him so.”

“We have all lost much,” William said. “Friends, family, possessions and our lives. All given to this cause. Hugh killed my father to ease his path.” William stood then and pulled Brienne to his side. “But we have gained much in this quest. I have gained much,” he said. “The question is: will you fight the evil one who attempts to come back to our world and destroy it?”