Bones of the Dragon (31 page)

T
he wedding was an important ritual among the Vindrasi, for it marked the end of one portion of a person’s life and the beginning of another. No matter what his age, a boy was not truly considered a man until he became head of his own household. A girl was not a woman until she was married. Thus the need for haste in marrying Skylan to the Kai Priestess. No matter how many battles he had fought and men he had slain, Skylan was not considered a man until he had taken a bride.

Weddings were customarily planned well in advance. Preparations for the ceremonies and the feasting to follow would often take weeks, if not months. For Skylan and Draya’s wedding, such preparations had to be rushed, completed in less than a day and a night.

The people of the other clans who had come to Vindraholm for the Vutmana stayed for the wedding. They cheerfully pitched in to assist the Heudjun in the work. The mood was festive. Torval had made his choice, and though some privately had doubts as to the god’s decision, none stated them openly. Everyone was determined to give the new young Chief of Chiefs a chance to prove himself.

The sacred grove of oak trees in which weddings were held was made ready. Children scoured the grounds, picking up fallen branches and twigs and sweeping away dead leaves and grass. In the Chief’s Hall (a longhouse far larger than the hall in Luda), men assembled the long tables and benches that would be used for the feast. Other men went hunting, bringing back deer and elk, while older children were sent to round up the pigs that had been turned loose in the woods to graze. Women began baking numerous loaves of bread. They would rise early the next morning to roast the meat and prepare stews and fruits and vegetables.

Skylan and Norgaard were given a longhouse in which to change their clothes and rest and eat. Norgaard did not stay there long. He went to the Chief’s Hall, where old friends were gathering. Skylan would have gone along, but his father insisted that he remain in the longhouse, rest, and see to his wounds. Norgaard sent Treia to tend to his son.

Weaker than he liked to admit, Skylan agreed.

Treia bathed the wounds, dressed them with poultices, and bandaged the cut on his leg. She was efficient in her ministrations, if not exactly gentle. She did not try to hide the fact that she found such work distasteful.

“Now you should rest,” she told Skylan when she was finished. “You will need your strength.”

“I want to see Aylaen,” Skylan said to her as she was about to leave. “Would you tell her to come to me?”

“No, I will not,” Treia answered dourly. “Tomorrow is your wedding. You must eschew the company of women until then.”

“Aylaen is my betrothed,” Skylan said, frowning. “She must be upset that I am marrying someone else. I need to explain things to her.”

Treia gave him a strange look. “Aylaen wishes you joy, Skylan. We all do.”

She left, again advising him to sleep, but Skylan had no intention of obeying. He had to find Aylaen. He was pulling on his boots, preparing to go in search of her, when she arrived, accompanied by Garn.

Skylan expected her to be grief-stricken, her eyes red with weeping at the thought that he must marry another woman. He was considerably taken aback when she seized hold of his hands and kissed him on the cheek.

“I am so proud, Skylan,” she said warmly. “And so happy for you! I think Draya is a lovely woman.”

Skylan regarded her in frowning astonishment. “I thought you would be upset and disappointed. I must break our betrothal—”

Aylaen immediately grew more somber.

“It is Torval’s will, Skylan,” she said, subdued. “We must accept the decision of the gods.”

Skylan turned to Garn. “My brother, I am sure you have much to do in preparation for tomorrow. There is no need for you to stay. I want to talk to Aylaen alone.”

Skylan wanted to tell her about his plan that she become a Bone Priestess and move here to Vindraholm to study with the Kai. He could see her every day. Be with her every night . . .

“I have work to do myself, Skylan,” Aylaen said. “I am helping the other women with the baking. You are hurt and you must be exhausted. I will let you rest.”

“But I don’t want you to go, Aylaen,” Skylan said bluntly. “Garn, you may leave.”

“No, Garn, wait.” Aylaen drew near Skylan and again pressed her lips against his cheek. “With all my heart, I wish you joy.” She smiled at him, then hurried out the door. “Get some sleep!” she called over her shoulder.

Skylan seized hold of Garn. “You talk to her. Tell her she has to become a Bone Priestess.”

“I don’t think—” Garn hesitated. “It’s just that Aylaen has never expressed any interest—”

“What does that matter?” Skylan demanded brusquely. “Tell her this is the only way we can be together.”

“You cannot be together, Skylan. You will be married,” Garn said, troubled.

“I have thought it all over,” Skylan said. “We all know this marriage is only ceremonial in nature. Horg had concubines. All married men do—”

“I do not think Aylaen would be a concubine, Skylan,” Garn said. “Even if she agreed, would you subject her to such dishonor?”

“It would only be until my wife dies—”

“I must go, Skylan,” Garn said abruptly. “Norgaard is sending me back to Luda to fetch the bride-gift and the sword of your fathers. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

Garn left. The longhouse was quiet. Skylan limped over to the sleeping platform and threw himself down on it. His wounds had not particularly bothered him, but once he lay down, they began to hurt. The salve Treia had used burned. He could not get comfortable.

The cure is worse than the sickness, he thought sourly.

He lay staring at the wooden timbers of the ceiling and thought about Aylaen and her reaction to him being married, a reaction he found puzzling. She was losing him to another woman, and yet she had wished him joy! He did not want Aylaen to be overcome with grief, of course, but he thought she should be a little miserable.

He thought back to her shining eyes and her sisterly kiss on the cheek.

“I know what she is doing!” Skylan said suddenly. “She is being strong for my sake. She fears that if she shows her sorrow, she will make me unhappy, and she does not want to spoil my triumph.”

Pleased with this logic, Skylan quit thinking about Aylaen. He began to relive the day, his glorious victory over Horg. With the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears, he sank luxuriously into well-earned sleep.

He slept the night through, so exhausted that he did not hear his father return.

Skylan woke early the next morning, rousting Norgaard out of his bed. Norgaard groaned. He had been up late visiting with friends and relatives from other clans. The ale had flowed freely, with the result that Norgaard was bleary-eyed and complained a good deal about the brightness of the sun.

Garn arrived soon after Skylan rose. Norgaard had sent Garn back to Luda to retrieve the bride-gift—a golden brooch formed in the shape of a dragon biting its own tail, adorned with two emerald eyes. Norgaard had won the valuable brooch in battle, and he had given it to Skylan’s mother. Now Skylan would give it to his wife.

Garn also brought with him the ancient sword that had been in their family for generations. Norgaard had presented the sword to Skylan’s mother on the day of their marriage to be held in trust for their son. Skylan would in turn give the sword to his wife, to be held in trust for their son. The absurdity of
that
happening made Skylan chuckle.

The
Venjekar
had sailed back to Vindraholm in triumph, accompanied by a flotilla of smaller boats. Every member of the Torgun Clan who could walk (and some who couldn’t, but had to be carried on litters) came to see Skylan, Chief of Chiefs, wed the Kai Priestess. This was a proud day among the Torgun; their clan had never been so honored since the days of their founder, Thorgunnd. The people came dressed in their finest, bringing food and gifts.

The morning dawned clear and bright. The sun danced on the water, as though the Goddess Aylis was already looking forward to dancing at the wedding. The wedding day began with both bride and groom undergoing a ritual cleansing. Accompanied by his father and Garn and his best friends, Bjorn and Erdmun, Skylan entered the men’s bathing house. Draya would be performing the same cleansing ritual in the women’s bathing house, among her family and friends.

The house contained tubs of heated water. They would bathe, then enter a room filled with hot rocks. The men poured dippers onto the rocks to create clouds of steam, in which they relaxed, allowing the perspiration to flow from their bodies, taking with it all impurities.

As they sat in the steam, Norgaard imparted the wisdom fathers always shared with their sons on how best to live with a woman, ways to make her happy and keep her content. The young men added their own ribald comments and jests, causing much mirth and merriment. After the steaming, the men plunged into tubs of cold water to clear the pores, blowing and snorting and gasping at the shock.

Skylan returned to his dwelling and dressed in his finest clothes, including a new tunic given to him by Norgaard. Skylan was touched to learn that his late stepmother had sewn it just days before her death. Garn knelt before his friend to buckle the ancient sword around Skylan’s waist. The sword was quite old, not fit for use in battle, but prized nonetheless. Skylan had sent the emerald brooch to his soon-to-be wife that morning, in care of Bjorn and Erdmun.

Due to the haste of the wedding, Skylan had not had time to commission the wedding ring. Norgaard, with considerable effort, removed his own ring from his gnarled finger and gave it to his son. Father and son embraced. Norgaard spoke a few words of love and pride that brought tears to Skylan’s eyes.

Skylan clasped Garn in a bear hug.

“Did you talk to Aylaen?” he asked in a low tone.

Garn returned the hug. “Aylaen wishes you joy, Skylan. As do I, my brother. With all my heart.”

Skylan was impatient. “I know that. But Garn, did you talk to her about coming to Vindraholm—?”

Garn pretended not to hear. “It is time for the ceremony. Look outside. Everyone is waiting to honor you.”

Skylan could see that. The road in front of the dwelling was filled with friends, relations, comrades. Garn clapped Skylan on the shoulder and then led his friend forth. Skylan walked out of the shadowy dwelling, emerging, blinking, into the bright sunlight, to be greeted with rousing cheers. Skylan forgot about Aylaen, forgot everything except what he owed to the god.

He placed his hand on the silver amulet and whispered, “Thank you, Torval! I will try to be worthy of your faith in me. I swear on my life!”

The warriors would not permit Skylan to walk to the sacred grove. They hoisted him up on their shoulders and carried him through the streets. Women flung blossoms at him. Men sang the old songs that always accompanied the bridegroom to his wedding.

The grove was a sacred place of ancient lineage. Located well inland from the sea, the grove stood in a small valley surrounded by forests and grassy hills. Twelve enormous oaks formed an irregular circle at the bottom of the valley. Although these oaks were tall and straight and would have made excellent timber for the dragonships, no one even thought of cutting them. Every clan had its own sacred grove, but none were as old or honored as this one. Gogroth, God of the World Tree, was said to have planted the oaks in honor of the gods.

Early that morning, Bone Priestesses carried the statue of Vindrash to the grove and placed the statue in the center of a large sward of cut green grass. Acolytes decorated the statue with flowers, and the Bone Priestesses blessed the grove and invited the gods and goddesses to attend the wedding.

After the grove had been consecrated, the Heudjun and their guests from other clans crowded into the shadows beneath the enormous arms of the spreading oaks. Weddings were joyous affairs, this one especially, for it was the wedding of the two most important people in the lives of the Vindrasi.

Everyone was in a festive mood, able for a short time at least to put aside worries and problems. Those who had doubts about Skylan’s youth and inexperience kept silent. Skylan was Torval’s choice, and no one wanted to bring down the god’s wrath by daring to question his judgment. The people clapped and cheered when Skylan arrived.

He took his place in front of the statue of Vindrash, together with his father, Garn, Bjorn, and Erdmun. Skylan scanned the crowd quickly, hoping to see Aylaen, but such was the press of people that he could not find her.

Strains of music came from the grove, the sound of a harp played by Balin, Togogroth and bard. The crowd hushed, for the music heralded the coming of the bride. Skylan toyed restlessly with the hilt of the sword. He hoped the ceremony would be soon over and he could move on to the feasting and merriment. In the Chief’s Hall, he might have a chance to speak to Aylaen. Garn jabbed him with an elbow in the ribs, and Skylan ceased fidgeting.

The bard appeared from among the trees, and behind him came two lines of Bone Priestesses, singing a song of praise to Vindrash. They took their places around the statue. Among them was Treia, who stood cold and aloof and slightly apart from the others. Skylan smiled at her, but either she did not see him, which was possible, given her weak eyesight, or she chose to ignore him.

A hush fell over them. Customarily, Draya would have been escorted into the grove by her father or another male relative. She had no male relatives now living, however, and she had asked Sven to serve as her escort.

Sven walked ahead of Draya, carrying a sword that was the bride’s traditional gift to the groom. Skylan had eyes more for the sword than for his future wife. Whereas the sword a groom gives his bride is ancestral, the sword a bride gives the groom is supposed to be newly forged.

Admittedly Draya had not had time to have one specially made for her husband, but she could have purchased or bartered a sword from a clansman. Skylan glanced at Draya as she walked behind her escort, and he was amazed to see she wore her hair unbound, as a maiden would do on her wedding day.