Raging Sea (19 page)

S
oren followed the winds as they encircled the island, allowing them to lead him. In spite of knowing they'd planned it all out to give de Gifford's spies something to report, he did not like it.

Most of all, he hated saying what he had to Ran and hearing her words about their separation. Under those words lay the betrayal that would never ease between them. For even if he explained and she believed him, there was still the fact that he had not chosen her. And worse, it was not his bairn that Aslaug took to her death, but Ran's brother's. Another secret he kept from her.

He laughed then, bitterness now filling his heart.

All for naught. All for naught.

Well, his grandfather would have died a terrible death, so he was grateful it had never come to that.

And if these powers had risen at the time they were together and promised one to the other, how differently this might end.

Soren followed the winds higher and higher until he could look down on all of Orkney in one view. Going lower and lower until he was over the two largest of the Mainland's lakes, he searched the place where they believed the circle was. From up here, Soren could see the faint outline of it out in the middle of the lake. The size was immense, bigger than any henge of earth or stone he'd ever seen. Easily it was twice as large as nearby Brodgar's Ring.

How low had the water been for men to build such a wonder? Considering how far out in the lake it was, he could not estimate the number of years since its creation. He knew of other stones and walls that now lay under the sea because of changes to the coastline from decades or centuries of relentless storms and currents. Had that happened here?

Swirling lower, he noticed the way the earth pitched near it, making it look as though the whole of the circle simply slid off the edge of the land into the water.

Had it? Had those gods Ran had witnessed had enough power to accomplish such a thing? If the powers they imbued into their bloodlines were any indication, he would have to say that they did have enough to cause such a thing to happen.

And what power would it take to raise it from the lake bed? Or to move the water away and hold it until they performed the ritual? Would they have enough power to do both? All while fending off both the other warriors and de Gifford's men?

Soaring high again, he knew he would need to wait at least a day before seeking out de Gifford. His reason to go to him would be to confirm Ander's imprisonment and to seek information about his friend's condition. He had no doubt that de Gifford would try to lure him in. Soren knew he must not be too arrogant in his ability to fool this man. Pride must have no place in this or he would fail, as would they all.

Unable to seek out Ran, Soren returned to his own farm, changing where no one could see him and walking his lands. He spoke to those who worked the lands for him and his cousin who oversaw it now. For a few hours, it was like returning to the life he thought would be his.

He worked alongside them through the day and shared their meal. With nowhere to go, he slept in his own bed, for what he knew would be the last time and morning found him well rested. Soren wrote out a document turning all of his property over to his cousin and left it there. He took some time to write a letter to his aunt, hoping to explain more about what he'd learned since seeing her last. He prayed that she had traveled north.

Finally, the time came for him to seek out the one man who could be the death of everyone he knew . . . if de Gifford succeeded. When he arrived in Orphir, Soren was determined that he would stop the man and the evil he worshipped from ever entering his world.

Soren found nothing to be as he expected it.

After the scene on the ships at Westray, he expected chaos and disarray. He expected a desperate force of men enslaved against their will.

Instead he found a well-ordered encampment surrounding Svein's house. The ships were farther out in the bay, but repairs were being made to them. Men training at arms. Men organizing supplies. Men preparing food.

He walked along the path from the road and was greeted by one of the guards. If the man thought that someone appearing out of the air was an oddity, he said nothing and did nothing other than point him in the direction where his lord could be found. The surroundings were clean and the atmosphere calm, though as he walked closer to the house, he felt some tension growing.

The last time he'd visited this place was over two years ago. Svein had summoned him and Aslaug as though he were king and they his subjects. Soren had mistakenly thought the subject to be discussed would be upcoming marriages. He expected Ran and her brother to arrive at any time. He expected his request to marry Svein's daughter would be taken seriously.

He'd left, they'd left, bound in a terrible plot that, meant to save the ones they loved, cost too much. If Soren had only known the truth then. If he'd known about Einar's faith. If he'd known what the results would be, he might have had the strength to stand against her father.

Soren took in and then let out a deep breath as he approached the doorway. This house was modest for a man of Svein's tastes. Instead of a fortress to defend him and his family, he'd chosen a stone house near the water. Svein's reputation for ruthlessness kept any petty thieves away. His connections to the bishop through generous contributions of prayer and gold and his connection by kin to the now-absent earl stood him in good stead.

But Lord Hugh de Gifford cared nothing for Svein's position or connections; he simply wanted to use the man for whatever he could. And he had.

“You look like a man considering choices.”

Soren looked up into the very face of evil.

He'd seen and heard de Gifford only once before and the man from that encounter and this man were completely at odds. Instead of the person he'd seen before, he found a man he thought now too young to be Brienne's father. Vitality shone from the man's face and stature. He wore the costly garments and jewels of a wealthy nobleman. His name spoke of a French or Norman background though his accent gave neither away.

“I am,” Soren replied.

De Gifford motioned for him to follow and led him to the chamber Svein had used during their discussion. Had he chosen this room intentionally? When de Gifford smiled, Soren knew the answer.

“So the dealings with Svein you have had in the past—they happened here?”

He had already decided that the truth about this would be his best weapon, so he glanced around the room and nodded.

“He forced you to disavow your beloved, marry his son's betrothed and live a lie or he would destroy your family.” He knew it all, probably from Svein's own lips.

“Aye,” Soren said. “And Aslaug's family as well.”

“And the bairn she carried.” De Gifford knew it all from the expression in his eyes. Soren nodded again, watching and waiting for de Gifford's first move. Well, second, since bringing him to the place of his failure and humiliation was the first.

“And you want to save him?” de Gifford asked, sitting in the large chair used only by Svein.

“I do not wish to save him,” Soren admitted. “She wishes to save him.”

“Ahhh. The daughter who has let you back into her . . . well, certainly not bed, for that is the one place where you haven't fucked her yet.”

Soren struggled to keep an even temperament. Control was essential now.

“Women can be forgiving,” Soren said, smiling at the man. “Very, very forgiving.”

“So I can kill him now?” Hugh asked calmly.

Soren held back from the word he wanted to say. He could not appear too eager.

“I do not want to save him, but I do not want you to kill him. I want him to know his failure. I want him to confess his crimes against me to his daughter and then I will kill him. In front of her.” Soren turned away and stared out the window at the sea. “If you kill him, he becomes a martyr. Svein can be no martyr.”

“For a simple farmer, Stormblood, you have interesting friends and enemies. In this moment, I cannot decide which it is better to be.”

“But I am not a simple farmer, am I, my lord?” Soren used the honorific for the first time. “Nor was my grandfather before me. Marcus said he was the strongest priest ever born of the blood.”

“Old Einar. The target of Svein's persecution.”

Soren faced the nobleman and walked toward him.

“When I first encountered you, I had no idea of the magnitude of this situation,” Soren explained. “And now? Surely you have been told about the broch? And Einar's drawings? The location of the other bloodlines?” Soren offered.

Hugh's eyes flared at the mention of the last, turning the color of molten metal for a single moment before returning to normal. “By her father, that priest and others,” he replied.

His spies might have told him about the broch and the drawings, but the location of the other three bloodlines and the priestess' place in the rituals to come had been kept a secret. Marcus himself had seen to copying that particular panel of the wall. And then he'd had it whitewashed so none would see it.

“I know now about the old gods and my place as their descendant. I am tired of having others decide my fate,” Soren said quietly. “I already know you need me to open the gateway, so tell me of your plans and my place in them.”

De Gifford studied him for several long moments before reacting. Then he nodded. Standing, de Gifford walked to a table in the corner of the room and filled two goblets with a rich, reddish liquid. He walked back and held one out to Soren before taking his seat again. Soren held his cup to his host and then tried it.

“A comfort I allow myself. 'Tis from the bishop's own supply.”

It was a richer wine than anything he'd ever tasted. Smooth and full of flavor, it warmed his throat and stomach. Soren could tell it was potent, too. De Gifford probably wanted to loosen his tongue. Another sip and he complimented with a raised cup.

“If you help me in opening this gateway, the goddess will be very pleased. She was the most powerful amongst them, you know. She can give you powers and a position of great importance in her new kingdom,” de Gifford promised.

“I want the two you hold and Ran,” Soren stated calmly.

“Why the good father?”

“We have a bond since childhood. I owe him much,” Soren said, once again speaking the truth.

“I have plans for Ran,” de Gifford began. “She offers such . . .”

“I want the priest, Svein and his daughter when this is done,” Soren repeated. “I am certain I will want other . . . comforts,” he held up the cup and smiled. “Before I agree, I want your word on this.”

“We plan to breed the bloodlines and produce other powerful people to serve the goddess. Once she is freed, they will all be at our mercy,” de Gifford explained. “Even the daughter of my flesh will once more have some use.” He glanced away for a moment and then turned back with a smile, a lecherous one. “Ran Waterblood is extremely powerful; her blood is strong.” Soren could see the man becoming aroused as he spoke of Ran.

“She is mine,” Soren said forcefully. “She owes me three years. And sons I should have had. So first, I will breed sons on her to serve the goddess,” he said, pausing to take a mouthful of the wine. “Then, once she has paid her penance for believing her father's lies, I am not opposed to allowing others . . .”

Soren let the words drift off and slid his hand down and touched his cock. De Gifford's lust was apparent. The man laughed aloud and drank down a good portion of his wine.

“This all depends on you bringing her to our cause. Will she open the gateway? Will you?”

“She thinks I will save her father for her. She's begged me to do so—and she begs so prettily when she needs to,” Soren smiled. “I told her I would find a way.” He drank the rest of the wine and put the cup down and nodded. “If you have a priest to carry out the ritual, I will open the gate.”

Hugh stood from the chair quickly and threw his cup against the wall, screaming out. Soren tried to be patient and waited on his show of fury to pass.

“The damned priests die before I can turn them to my purpose,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “They live like sheep, dragged onward by Marcus and fed nothing but his lies and his will.” He stopped and took several deep, rapid breaths, regaining his control. “The last one, with the last one, they broke the bond they had forged amongst themselves and let him die.” Hugh took one last breath and met his gaze. “The only one I have now is your priest. The one of the Christian god with no training in the old ways.”

Did he dare? Soren knew this was the dangerous part of the bargain, but it could be the only way to make this all work.

“If you can turn him to our cause, I can give him the words during the ritual.” Knowing it was a huge risk to Ander, to his soul, to sanity and his life, Soren let the words settle.

“How is that possible? You are the stormblood, descended from Taranis the Terrible,” de Gifford said. “A priest must be trained. A priest must learn the spells and the chants—”

Soren leaned his head back and began to hum the first song Einar had taught him. When de Gifford just stared in disbelief, he added the words. After a few lines of the chant, the ground began to shake beneath them, tremors coming from somewhere away from the water and moving through the house.

From wherever the portal to hell opened into this world.

He stopped and waited for de Gifford's reaction. The nobleman grabbed his arm and pulled Soren's sleeve up, searching for the mark of his bloodline. It was there, the lightning bolt surging now, sending bursts of power into his body and blood.

“How can this be?” Hugh asked, staring at the mark. “Only priests can learn the spells and rituals.”

“I told you—Einar Brandrson, my grandfather, was the most powerful priest the Old Ones created. I carry his blood, too. He has taught me the words and the sounds since I was a boy. I only realized it when I saw those words carved into the walls of the broch. ‘One to open, one to close' he would say as he sang them to me.”