Raging Sea (6 page)

S
oren watched her ride away. His hands clenched and his body ached with the need to take her and hold her and have her. She was his. When she had been his, his life had been right. His life had been full. Just now, for the moment when they'd touched, he had become something else, filled with some heart-pounding power caused by her closeness. He even heard the clouds above calling his name and coming to him.

And Ran became something more. As the sea-colored glow shimmered around her, she stared at the waves and they threw themselves into the air in sheets of water against the turbulent sky. With her gaze on them, they seemed to dance and come to her.

She'd stepped back out of his embrace and everything ceased, as though the colors and the sounds and the visions had never happened. Was she somehow connected to the strange abilities his grandfather claimed Soren had? Thinking on it further, Soren wondered if that was why his grandfather kept in touch with her over these last two years.

Damning himself a fool, he cursed aloud—several times—as he paced around the perimeter of the stone building. He'd finally reclaimed his life after the debacle that was Ran Sveinsdottir. The terrible results and repercussions of the devil's bargain he'd made could not have been foreseen or planned. Yet, he had lived through it all and regained control over his life only to see his life shattered once more.

Was it a coincidence that both times it somehow involved Ran? And his grandfather as well? Soren kicked the dirt in front of him and gazed down the road, watching the dust rise as her horse rode away.

It mattered little that Einar was dead now, not in the whole order of things. The agreement struck with Svein Ragnarson remained in place and too many would be harmed if he revealed it to her or to anyone else. Many would pay for his weakness.

And Ran was indeed his weakness.

Caught unaware when she entered the tower, he could not be blamed for his shock and his reaction. When she called out Einar's name, no one could have been more surprised than Soren. The revelation that she'd kept in touch with Grandfather alone was astonishing but that there were letters was completely unexpected.

When Ran finally rode over the rise of the next hill and out of sight, Soren walked back inside the broch and looked around. If Einar had mentioned this place enough that Ran sought him here, it was significant, more so than he first thought. Climbing the steps to the top, he gazed out and watched her cross the distance toward the city. Every part of him wanted to chase her down and say everything he'd never had the chance to. To make her understand the truth of it all. That she was his and always would be.

But that could never be.

He could also not admit to her that, as his aunt suspected, he'd kept aware of her location over the last two years. He had. He'd told himself he did it because he did not trust Svein Ragnarson to treat her well enough. To hold to the bargain as promised. No matter the strange turn of events or that she had returned at all.

Glancing around the chamber now, Soren turned his attention back to the puzzle left behind by Einar. He took the parchment out and placed it on the stone floor, adjusting it so that the points on it matched the positions of the places around the tower.

Eynhallow and Rousay lay across the water to the east and north, with Wyre and Egilsay to the south and east. His grandfather had visited those islands and more while working for the bishop and he'd marked many standing stones and circles on his map. Some places that Soren did not recognize were also outlined. Several circles joined and the overlapping area spanned the beach on the western coast. A dozen or so squares covered the stretch of land between the lakes Harray and Stenness. Concentric circles outlined and covered the tidal isle of Birsay, where the bishops of Orkney had previously lived.

Soren had traveled all over this island and knew nothing existed in those places now, save the ruins on the Brough of Birsay. That isle had been inhabited by many peoples in its history, from the ancient Picts to the pagan Vikings and the Christian Norse. But it lay empty now, so this drawing made no sense. If the weather held and the work on his farm was done, he would travel there to see for certain.

His arm stung and he lifted it closer to examine the skin there. Tugging his sleeve up and out of the way, he revealed the ever-growing patch of skin inside his forearm. The mark, a bolt of lightning, grew more defined and deeper, pulsing and moving as though real.

He'd seen this somewhere before. This exact shape and size. The same image was right before him—in Einar's other drawing. Soren opened that carefully, kneeling down and spreading it out on the floor next to the map.

There it was. A lightning bolt that matched the one that was now visible on his arm. Comparing it to the sketched one, the resemblance was uncanny, as though the same person had created both of the images. As remarkable as that was, it was as nothing when Soren followed the line connecting some of the symbols to others and found the lightning bolt paired with the image of waves.

Waves like the ones he'd seen when Ran stared at the sea. The color outlining the black image was the same as the one he'd seen around Ran—the same turquoise hue that was the color of the sea surrounding Orkney.

He fell back then, landing hard on the floor and skittering across until the wall at his back stopped him. She'd grabbed her arm as he had when he saw her in the marketplace. The same spot. The same arm. Did she have a mark as he did?

Soren pushed his hair back and took in a breath, trying to sort through the pieces of what he knew. There were connections hinted at in the drawings and the map, but he resisted thinking on them. To accept them would mean believing in some outrageous things. Things his grandfather had suggested that were simply too fanciful or ridiculous. Or mad. Or heretical.

He shuddered at that. If declared heretic, his lands and life and soul would be forfeit. That was the fate his bargain would have prevented from happening to his grandfather and now he stepped close to that fate.

Glancing at the drawings, Soren knew he was already too far into this matter to turn away. The mark of lightning on his arm burned then, taunting and teasing him. Alone, away from prying eyes, he could try what his grandfather had suggested the night he died. Though it seemed real to him that night, mayhap a simple test now, in daylight, would reveal his foolishness and send him on a path away from this one?

He stood and climbed the final set of steps that led to the roof of the tower. The winds buffeted him, tearing and pulling at his cloak and hair as he walked to the edge. His name echoed around him in the winds. Or mayhap the winds swirling around him sounded like voices?

Soren.

Stormblood.

Son of the wind.

Son of the storm.

Command the lightning.

Command us!

Soren turned around and around, seeking the source of the words. They came from above and around him, in the winds and in the clouds that gathered there. White and gray, the nebulous mists pulled at him. He could feel that they wanted him to speak to them. Forming and dissolving, almost playfully, over and over, surrounding and hiding the tower on which he stood.

Command us!
The voices rang out as one, echoing within the fog they'd formed. And then a myriad of whispers grew around him, louder and louder, until he could hear nothing else. Soren turned round and round, searching for the source, for he simply could not believe what he was hearing. There had to be a source of it all.

He found none. No one was nearby. No person spoke at all.

The sounds were in the winds and clouds. Hell, the sounds
were
the winds and clouds. As he tried to discern what was truly happening, his grandfather's words came to mind.

Do not ignore my words, Soren. You have the blood of the gods in your veins. You have a place destined in the coming war.

Soren felt the truth in his blood as heat rushed through his body and his hands began to shake. Sparks arced from his fingers and he held them out away from his sides. The fiery flashes became stronger and brighter as a fire flaming to life when lit. The mist answered with a shower of sparks around him.

His whole body burned now and the flashes of light became something else—stronger, fierce, dangerous. Soren aimed his hands at the wall of the tower and concentrated his focus there. A bolt coalesced from all the smaller flashes and shot across the distance to the wall, exploding against the stones.

The wall crumbled beneath the onslaught of power.

His power?

Son of the storm!

He called the lightning!

Soren Stormblood!

The voices grew louder and more excited and his blood reacted. Soren felt the power there, growing and pulsing. He listened to the words and believed. Soren thought about the storms, the gales off the North Sea, and the winds began to swirl and dive between the tower and the strait separating the two islands. A thick black bank of clouds built there and rain pelted the land and sea.

His hand itched then, tingling and shaking once more, and he knew the lightning readied to strike. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it at the storm. The bolt heaved through the clouds, expanding and multiplying until dozens of them shot through the air into the water. The surface exploded into waves of water, spreading out in all directions in an instant.

Soren stood, watching in shock as the very real possibility that he could control the clouds and winds and lightning sank in. He laughed aloud, for it was truly a mad idea and yet . . . He pushed with his hand and the storm clouds were shoved over onto Rousay, away from the Mainland. And there they remained as he watched them test the limit he'd placed on them.

He could command the storm?

He could command the storm!

Soren watched his hands as they glittered with power. He could feel it seething in his blood, coursing through his body. And, though he'd destroyed the wall, he could sense that there was much, much more power hiding within. But what else could he do? How could he test these new abilities?

What did storms do? Or clouds? Or winds?

They blew. They rained. They soared.

Before he could even put the thought in his mind, the winds picked him and lifted him above the tower. As it spun around and under him, Soren looked down to see the ground below him—far below! Higher and higher, he flew until he could see across the island and across the sea. Too shocked to contemplate the method or meaning of this, he stared south and could see across the other Orcadian islands down to the Scottish coast.

He blinked, unable to take it all in. It was still there below him when he opened his eyes. If he could see all of this, could anyone see him? What would they see?

The clouds swirled around him now in answer, masking him from anyone beneath him. To anyone looking up, he would be seen only as a cloud moving quickly in the air. Indeed, he could see everything clearly. Or he thought he could until he held his hands out before him and he could not see them. He moved them and realized he was looking through them as though they were like the costly glass in church or palace windows.

Shaken by the sight, he turned to look around. The tower was directly beneath him and he wanted to return to it. The winds and the clouds took him there. When his feet touched the stone floor of the tower, he fell to his knees. The clouds, mist and winds dissipated after whispering his name and rustling through his hair, almost as a gesture of farewell.

Alone, Soren pushed to his feet and glanced around. How could the world be so usual when his entire existence had just changed in an instant? What else had his grandfather not told him? He raced down the steps to the chamber where he'd left the map and parchment. The only thing he could do was seek out the places marked so prominently and search for those other symbols. Mayhap old Einar had left signs in other places?

Ander might be more helpful than Soren had first thought. Soren's knowledge of God or gods was limited, but Ander was highly educated and knowledgeable about many things, including history. He'd reacted at the name
Taranis
yet he had withheld it, just as Soren had withheld the other parchments from Ander. Soren would give his friend a few days and then approach him.

Ander's singular failing was his curiosity. It had gotten him, them, in trouble many times in their youth and continued to plague him now. Once curious, Ander was like the best hound in seeking out an answer or bit of knowledge or some obscure detail. Soren did not doubt that within a day, two at most, the priest would know what the words were and all about Taranis. By the way his grandfather spoke his name, Taranis must be some ancient, forgotten god.

A fresh, searing pain in his arm made him swear aloud. Pulling up his sleeve, he found the indistinct mark was nothing of the kind. Now, a rippling lightning bolt sat there, pulsing with power, reminding him apparently that no god, ancient or otherwise, liked to be forgotten. Or mocked.

Soren folded the parchments with care, tucking one inside the other, and left the tower. As he rode away, his mind filled with questions and plans. He would ask his mother's cousin to take over his daily duties on the farm so Soren would have time to follow this collection of clues left for him.

Whether a fool's errand or a true quest, he knew not. But Soren hoped, when all was revealed, that his grandfather's words had some meaning. Einar deserved at least Soren's best attempt to find out and would do so to honor the man to whom he owed so much.

R
an was concerned.

It was well past a week and her father had still not returned to Kirkwall. There'd been no reports of storms or mishaps from other boats and sailors who arrived from points east, west, south and north. If he got caught up in some matter, he would send a messenger ahead.

And yet none had arrived from him.

Shaken by her encounters with Soren and devastated by the loss of her friend Einar, she'd spent two days alone at the house in Orphir unable to regain the emotional control and balance it had taken her two years to attain. She also mourned for the old man who'd seemed to care for her more than her own father did.

Ran needed to speak to Ingeborg, for she had cared for Einar for years and could tell her of his last days. If she had departed for Orkney only a few days earlier, she could have seen him . . . could have asked him . . . She shook her head in grief and frustration. But for a few days.

Ran had read and read again all of his letters from the last two years. Filled with his ironic humor and funny way of looking at the world around him, they had been her only connection to the place and people she'd tried to leave behind. It was as though he had known that she did not wish to break all of her ties. He kept her informed in a way that no one else could or did. And with but a few words, he supported her when her heart was broken and prevented her spirit from the same fate.

Yet, Ran was not here when Einar needed her. That failure cut through her as surely as a knife would, but there was no way to make amends.

Unless she helped his grandson.

Soren.

Ran moved along the corridor and out into the yard, walking to the edge of the water and onto the pier. The winds whipped around her and pulled her hair free from her braid. Gathering it in her hand, she stared at the bay.

She'd known she might see Soren and she had. She'd suspected she would speak to him and that she'd done as well. But to seek him out and share something personal, something meant only for her to see, was a different matter.

As she considered her choices, the water began swirling under the place where she stood. Rather than startling her, the slow movements soothed her and she found that watching them made her thoughts clearer. Sitting on the wooden pier, she leaned over and dipped her hand in.

The water changed, warming at her touch. She thought how nice it would be if all the water in the bay would warm like this. It would be a pleasure to swim or bathe in. Even though the water would warm over the summer months, it never lost its chill.

Closing her eyes, she heard the voices again. They whispered and soothed, the sounds undulating as the water did around her hand. Ran slid down as she had many times as a child and let her hand dip lower into the current. When she opened her eyes, her hand was gone.

Shocked, she pulled back out of the water. Her hand was there. It was fine. But for that moment, she had not been able to see it. Mayhap she had fallen to sleep? Or was lost in her thoughts? Or had she seen something that was not there?

Ran.

Waterblood.

Come with us.

Something deep within her answered, drawing her back to touch the surface. The water moved over her hand, caressing it and tugging at her. They called her to come in and she wanted to.

She wanted to.

Dare she? Dare she enter the water on her own?

Standing, she decided to follow the call and see what would happen. She was not mad so she walked off the pier, going to the edge of the water where it was shallow. Glancing around and seeing no one, she unlaced her gown and pulled it over her head. Ran removed her shoes and stockings as well, leaving only her shift.

At the water's edge, she paused for but a moment, not long enough to change her decision, and entered. One small step and a second one. The voices shouted now, their tone jubilant and excited, her name rang out.

Ran Waterblood!

Ours! Ours!

The water swirled around her, moving up from the surface to cover her. Like a thing alive, it enclosed her and pulled her in deeper. She drew in a breath, and after several more halting steps, Ran leapt the rest of the way.

As the first time, she felt welcomed and treasured by the water. How could that be? She could not survive here, not without breathing air.

And yet, here she was, under the surface, surrounded, still breathing . . . something. The voices became like chattering children, fast and high and excited, saying her name. Laughter and joy all around. She smiled and turned to see thousands of shimmering lights there with her.

Who are you?
she asked in her thoughts.

We are the power that lives in the seas. We are you, Waterblood. You are ours!

How is this possible?

You are the waterblood,
they whispered back.
You have our power in you. Command us! Tell us!

Ran let go of her fear and laughed then.
Take me. Show me the sea.

Once more the excited whispers increased. Then the water took hold of her and pulled her away. Turning and moving, Ran tried to see what lay on the bottom of the sea or other creatures like fish. Several large fish moved away as she was pulled through the water. Glancing toward the light, she knew which direction was up but she looked down again.

Never had she seen such a sight. Large rocks lay strewn along the bottom, covered in moss and other growths. Plants with long leaves that floated toward the surface, sea grass and seaweed grew amongst the rocks. The water took her to the bottom, many yards beneath the surface and she touched the plants. Ran put her feet on the sand and looked around in wonderment and awe.

A noise caught her attention and she glanced toward the surface. A large vessel passed overhead and Ran noticed the way it sat in the water and moved through it. How far from shore was she to see such a large ship? The sea lifted her and soon she found herself just beneath the edge of the water. Ran pushed her head into the air and watched the ship sailing west and out of the bay.

She was several miles from her father's house in Orphir!

Ran knew how to swim and had swum good distances from shore, but never had she traveled this far or this fast. When she looked down into the water, she could not see her body. Frightened, the voices eased her worries.

You are with us, Ran Waterblood. You are safe.

She lifted her hand from the water and it appeared as flesh and blood. When she let it drop, it became part of the sea. The euphoria and wonder racing through her prevented her fear. Ran let go once more and became part of the sea.

This was miraculous. And awesome. Completely strange and inexplicable. As she spent an hour or so in the sea, traveling far from Orkney and back again, she had no idea of what this incredible change meant or how it had happened.

We have always been part of you, Waterblood,
the sea answered.
Now you are one with us.

I must go home now,
Ran thought.

She was propelled through the sea then, faster and faster until they reached the bay around which lay several of the southernmost islands of Orkney, including the Mainland. Lifting her head from the water, she watched as they brought her back to the very spot from which she'd leapt, and placed her softly on the sand. Ran rolled from her belly and sat up, looking back in amazement.

The water of the bay before her burst with waves that rose and crashed into one another, creating a huge spray of water filled the squeals and chatter of the voices. The sounds echoed softer and softer until she sat there in silence. Though she should be shivering from exposure to the cold air, the water in her shift and on her skin and hair remained warm.

Standing, she gathered her clothes and shoes, planning to return to her chambers by the back way so she would remain unseen. But her mind was filled with the significant questions left unanswered by the sea.

Why me? To what purpose is this happening?

Without a moment's hesitation, the voices answered her. But it was not a collection of voices, but one, a woman's voice.

You are and have always been waterblood, carrying the power of the seas and rivers within you, Ran. Your purpose is to save humanity from the great evil who is coming.

Shocked by both the words and meaning, she shook her head in confusion. She was simply a woman, one woman, not some type of shield maiden or heroine from the old sagas still told here on the islands. A great evil? They were under the control and protection of the Norse king and his earl. They were safe.

The great evil sends her minions even now, Ran Waterblood. Prepare to meet your destiny.

Ran shivered then, in deep shudders that racked her body as something within her raced into every bone and muscle through her blood and into her heart. The water was within her, as was the power about which the voices, and voice, had spoken. But what her destiny was or who this great evil was, she knew not.

She yearned for Einar more than ever in that moment. She needed someone to confide in about these wondrous but frightening changes and events. Her father had not returned yet, though she knew Svein Ragnarson had no patience for things that did not involve shipping goods, sailing or making a profit.

Matters of faith or other facets of life meant little to him. Even his children were important to him only for what they could bring to his collection of power and wealth. His long-dead wife had been acquired as an asset to his business interests. Part of his disinterest in his children had played to Ran's benefit, for once she was too old for a nursemaid and had reached the end of her education, Ran had been left on her own much of the time.

Ran could do as she wanted. See whom she wished to see. Fall in love without rules.

That thought forced her feet to move. Ran made her way to the back door of the house and opened it quietly. Her bare feet made no sounds as she walked to her chamber. Her father's house was staffed by only a small number of servants until he returned. So she did not worry overmuch about being discovered as she was.

“Another encounter with the sea, Ran?”

Ran turned and faced Dalla, the woman who kept house here and oversaw the other servants. She also was her father's bedmate when he was here.

“Dalla, I did not see you as I passed.” Ran continued walking, hoping the woman would let the matter lie. Had Bjorn spoken to her in spite of his agreement not to speak about what had happened? If Dalla knew something, her father would know it within minutes of his arrival. “Pardon my rudeness.”

“Is the water not too cold to swim in it now, Ran? You could catch your death and become ill.”

How did the woman manage to convey both concern and hope for a bad end in one utterance? Dalla had that talent. Ran stood up straighter and offered her best glare to the woman who was no more than a servant and a whore.

“I do not answer to you, Dalla. Do not mistake your place.”

“Ah, but you will answer to your father. Will you not?” Dalla walked closer and returned her glare with a haughty one. “'Tis you who should not mistake my place here, Svein's
dóttir
. You will be married off soon and leave forever while I will remain in your father's favor in a way you will never be.”

Ran slapped the woman's face for such an insult, watching as the servant was shocked by the action. No one put Dalla in her place, not even Ran's father, so the woman carried on as though she were mistress of this house. She was not and never would be, for her father would never honor Dalla with marriage.

Yet, the insult and the reminder of the other part of her bargain with her father stung. Without another word to or glance at Dalla, Ran made her way to her chamber and slammed the door shut. Now reminded of the rest of the bargain—a marriage of her father's choosing in exchange for two years of control of the shipping business in Orkney and a large share of the profits made—Ran, threw herself on the rope-strung bed and screamed into the pillows.

She'd wanted some control over her life, unusual as that would be, and her father wanted to use her to make an alliance, so the agreement gave them both something they wanted. In two years she would still be of marriageable age and in the prime of her childbearing years, too. But she would have money of her own and her children would inherit her share of Svein's business interests. It was practical. It was beneficial. At the time she'd agreed, a marriage of convenience and business was the only kind she would consider, especially so close to Soren's betrayal.

Now though, this new happening, this strange change, forced her to consider what to do. Did she pursue the cause of her new ability? Or ignore it and discover the reason for it when it revealed itself to her? An ability to control the seas would be an advantage of immeasurable opportunity for her father. If she could use her power to move ships as fast as she'd traveled, there would be immense profit.

Somehow she knew that this power was about something much, much larger than profit. The voice said her destiny was to save humankind from some great evil. And she knew to the depth of her soul that it was true. The voice also said something evil was coming and that she must prepare. How could she do that? What was her part? Rolling to her back and staring at the ceiling above her, she realized that whatever was happening involved both Einar and Soren.

Einar's seemingly innocent and unconnected words now made sense to her. With his brief message of consolation he had also included words about a larger future and her place in something bigger than Orkney. She'd thought he meant a marriage to a man from across the sea in Scotland or in Norway or elsewhere, part of her father's plan for an alliance that crossed boundaries. Now she thought Einar's words were connected to this power.

And Soren . . .

His arrival in the marketplace was a surprise. His departure should not have been. But in those few moments before he'd walked away, he'd grabbed his arm in the same place she had held hers—the place where that peculiar mark now lay. If they shared the same mark, did he have the same power as she? Or was his different?