Lord of the Runes (14 page)

For once, her cousin hadn't lied. He had turned to Estrid right after being with Asa. But what could she expect? While they'd carved the rune together, it all had been so magical and beautiful. Though his touch was strong, he took such great care with her. His mouth was so gentle on her skin. So believable.

But then, when she'd completed the rune, her past had rushed over her again, as though a spell had been broken. It had engulfed her in the terror and blood.

She shuddered and put a little toy sword into the bag. The memory hadn't lasted but an instant this time, and hadn't been as overwhelming. Perhaps, after all these years, she was getting better. But he had seen her like that again and had turned to someone else in the next moment. Just as Estrid had warned her so many times.

“Are the toys for the children ready?”

She looked up at Magnus standing in the doorway. “Yes. Odin brought many nice things for them this Jul.”

“That's good.” He chuckled. “There's hay and carrots all over the common room from where they put them in their shoes. It would seem Sleipnir ate well last night.”

“They'll want to hear the story again, as they do every Jul.”

“Well, Eirik is said to be a good storyteller. Perhaps he'll do the honors this year and spare you.” He took the bag from her. “He wanted to speak to me today, but I had too much to do to oversee all the festivities. I had to put him off.”

“I thought Estrid worked on the festivals.” She walked with him to the door.

“She does. But she disappeared this morning and was gone for so long a time, I was concerned that things wouldn't get done. You were busy finishing up the last of the toys and Leif is useless in such matters. Several of the women did most of the work. I just agreed with them when they came to me with ideas. I know better than to do otherwise.”

Giving him a light punch on the arm in reproof, she went with him out into the common room. She looked around at the gathered crowd. Eirik sat with Leif, listening to another tall tale, no doubt.

She managed to walk to the head of the room without glancing at Eirik. Magnus had stopped to speak to him, but she kept her back turned until her brother joined her on the dais. It wasn't unusual for Eirik to disappear for a good part of the day, but where had Estrid been? Had they been together? Again?

It didn't matter. If he was that fickle, Estrid could have him. She would have nothing to do with him. She didn't need any more pain where her scarred heart was concerned.

“Now, I want to know who left this hay and these carrots all over the floor last night.” Magnus set the bag down at his feet and put his hands on his hips. He looked at the children, who had gathered by the longhearth. “I think I see the culprits. Suppose you tell me why you would make such a mess.”

They laughed and one of the boys said, “We didn't do it, Jarl. Father Odin's horse, Sleipnir, did it.”

Magnus raised his brows. “Bergen, are you telling me there was a horse in the hall last night?”

They giggled. “He's a magical horse, Jarl. So it's all right,” Bergen said. “And we want to hear his story.”

“We want our presents.” A younger boy frowned.

“And so you shall have both, all in good time.” Magnus nodded to Eirik.

He got up from the table and walked over to the children. Sitting down on a bench near them, he smiled at them and they settled at his feet.

Leif sighed. “I don't suppose we're going to hear about the glittering women in the East.”

“You men can have your fantasy women,” Birgitta said. “We have the rune caster to look at and he's real.”

Everyone laughed, including Eirik. “That tale is for another night, Leif. And not when there are children around.”

The chuckling subsided. “Now,” he said, “who knows who Odin is?”

“He's the Allfather.” Several children spoke together.

“He's known as that sometimes. But the true Allfather existed even before Odin did. He is unseen and has lived forever. He also bears eleven other names, like Spear Shaker and Ruler of Weather. He began the creation of all things. Odin is one of the most powerful of the gods. He's an Aesir, which means he lives in Asgard, and has a spear named Gungnir that always finds its mark when he throws it. He watches over the worlds on a throne called Hlidskjalf. His ravens, Hugin and Munin, fly from there every day and then come back and tell him what is happening in the Nine Worlds.

“Best of all, he has a horse named Sleipnir, who came from Loki, and who is the finest horse in the world. Sleipnir has eight legs and travels over all the Nine Worlds with great speed. He has runes carved on his teeth and Odin rides him in the Wild Hunt on nights like this.”

“How did he come from Loki?” A little girl chewed her fingernail.

Eirik glanced at Magnus, who shrugged and grinned. He gave Asa a pleading look, but she just crossed her arms. He'd get no help from her. It was obvious he had plenty of knowledge about such things.

He cleared his throat. “Loki had to stop a man from winning a bet against the gods. The man needed his own stallion, Svadilfari, to help him. So Loki, who could change his shape, became a mare and lured him away and the man lost the bet.” He hesitated. “And Sleipnir appeared by magic after that.”

“Oh.” The older ones nodded.

“Each year, on the longest night, like tonight, Odin rides Sleipnir across the lands in the Wild Hunt. It is the darkest time of all, a time of beginnings and endings, but it's also the time of the greatest hope. The god Freyr rides his great boar over the world, bringing light and love back to us. After this night, the days become longer and longer until the sun is in the sky almost all day.

“But Sleipnir gets hungry on his journey, so all the children put hay and carrots into their shoes and set them by the hearth. He eats it all as he goes. In thanks, Odin leaves gifts for them.” He glanced up at Magnus on the dais. “I think the jarl has the presents he left for you.”

The children laughed and shouted as they ran up to Magnus. He handed each child a toy—swords and ships for the boys, dolls and animals for the girls.

Asa gazed around the room at all the parents who watched their children with such pride. The laughter of children, the wisdom that came with childbirth, the sense of belonging with a husband, none of that was for her. Or so she had always thought.

She looked at Eirik as he showed a little boy how to hold his toy sword. He caught her eye and came toward her, smiling. Lowering her gaze, she turned away. There was nothing for her here.

Before she could escape, he took her hand in his. “Aren't you going to stay for some of the Jul cake?”

“No. I spent the day finishing the toys and I'm tired. I've worked so much on the dragon lately, I got behind on the gifts.” She gave her hand a light tug to free herself.

He tightened his grip. “Asa, last night—”

“Will never happen again.” She looked down. “Just tell me how to carve the lines and I'll do it myself. I don't care about powers or magic.”

“What's wrong? Why are you being so cold?” He brought her hand closer to him.

“Why does it matter? You have plenty to keep you warm. Now let me go. I don't want to cause a scene.”

He did release her and she went back to her room. She was likely walking away from the only man who could ever touch her. But she wouldn't be one of the many women in his life, even if she had to be alone. She entered her room. It was tiny, but it was hers and no one would bother her there. She shut the door against the shouts and laughter of those celebrating the rebirth of the light. It all just gave her an aching head.

The closer they came to spring, the closer they came to the time when he would leave forever.

And she'd never have to worry about his touch again.

 

 

“We don't know how he died, Hakon. There were no marks on his body. He just lay on the side of the road he was guarding.” The outcast twisted his hat in his hands. “At first we thought he'd fallen asleep on duty. But he was dead.”

Silvi glanced at Lifa. Her mother's face never changed, and neither did that of Nuallen, the thrall who stood behind her. His auburn hair glinted in the firelight, his eyes hard with resentment. It was part of their plan.

Last year, when Rorik and Eirik had raided Northumbria, Rorik had wounded Nuallen as he'd defended his land. Eirik had admired his prowess and strength, so they'd taken him as a slave for Lifa. He nearly died as they crossed the sea and Rorik wanted to throw him overboard so he didn't waste their provisions. But the sun turned black above them, though it was day. The stars came out. And Eirik told them it was a sign that the gods wanted him to live.

When he'd felt the iron collar of slavery around his neck, Nuallen had tried to kill himself, tearing his wounds open with his own hands. But Lifa stopped him, and told him of the sun and that he could not cross the will of the gods. He might, one day, earn his freedom, according to their laws. It had taken him a long time to heal, but as he did, they could see that, with his powerful body and sharp mind, he was, indeed, a warrior. In return for saving his life, he swore himself to Lifa and tried to get them to safety during the raid. Silvi and Lifa had other ideas, though, and he was forced to accept that. He still stood guard over them both, and laid plans with them to do what they could to thwart Hakon and his men.

He had lived up to his word. He'd told Lifa he could kill without leaving a mark on the body of the outcast, and it was true. Now they would put the first part of their plans into motion.

Lifa stepped to the center of the room and all the men shifted, eyeing her with trepidation. Lifa, Nuallen, and she had managed to walk a fine line between fear and uncertainty. But now they'd cross that line, and hoped it worked.

She wore the blue robes of her office, hemmed with gemstones, and carried her rune staff. Drawing herself up to her full height, she said, “It is the longest night, Hakon. The Wild Hunt rides tonight. When your man heard the rustling of the tops of the trees, he should have stayed in the center of the road and fallen facedown. He would have taken no harm other than the cold paws of the black hounds running over him. If he had been so brave as to join with them, he would have shared in the spoils they collected from the dead. But his fate was that of all
nithingr
who fear their own death, and so Odin took him.” She looked up at the roof that trembled in the storm building outside, and raised her staff.

“Above us is a sword sky, a wolf sky. Do you not hear it? The thundering of Sleipnir's hooves? The shrieking of Odin's hounds with fire flashing from their eyes? Odin gathers the dead, and so it will go on until the spring when the Hunt will end. You've left no food out for the ancestors. You left no wheat in the fields for Odin's horse. You would not allow us out to do these things, and Odin knows this. He's taken one of your men as payment. And so it will continue until he's appeased.”

The men all grumbled, watching what Hakon would do. Lifa lowered her staff and set its end hard on the ground in front of her. Lightning flashed through the room and the men cringed. She did not move.

“And how do I appease the gods, rune mistress?” Hakon acted contrite, but he had to bow to his men's unease and their respect for her status.

They were a rough lot, ignorant and volatile. It wouldn't take much to cause a rift between them and Hakon, and that was something Silvi and her mother might be able to use in the future.

Silvi's hair raised, crackling. She stood beside Lifa. “Listen now to Odin's answer.”

Lightning smashed into the ground outside the longhouse. It blinded them for a moment and the men fell to the ground in terror. She met her mother's gaze and Lifa nodded. She'd felt it before it happened as well.

Hakon dropped to his knees beside the high seat. He looked up, his eyes wide. “Odin, tell me what we must do to please you.”

“He doesn't hear you, Hakon,” Lifa said. “For the winds sweep away your words, like the dried-leaf whisperings they are. He'll speak only to me, through the runes.”

“Tell him I will make any sacrifice. Cows, horses, slaves. Whatever he wants of me.”

Silvi glanced at Nuallen, but he never flinched. He watched Lifa with cold eyes. He was as much a warrior as any of their own men. He would not fear death.

Lifa only smiled. “Anything you offer him would be of this village and is not yours to give. Odin will not accept it. It belongs to those whom the gods decreed would live here always. With each piece of food you eat, each cup of ale you drink, you make another debt.”

He rose from his knees. “We won Haardvik with our swords, the same as any raid.”

“You won it, not in lawful battle, but with treachery.” She looked into the shadows, her eyes unfocused. “Long ago, a star landed in this place. My husband's ancestors saw it fall, found it, and took it as a sign that they should remain here. They forged the star into a sword and this land into a home. To have the right to sit in that seat, you must wield that blade, which the gods gave to us long ago. But it is lost now, so you cannot rule here.”

He sneered. “Perhaps they took it back to tell you that you no longer have the right to this place.”

She struck the ground with her staff. “They protected it, assuring that you could not soil it with your touch.”

His face reddened. “You listen to me, woman—”

“No, you listen well to me, outcast.” She stepped up to him and pointed at the group of his men. They grumbled and stared at Hakon, no doubt troubled by his lack of respect for her magic. “One by one, they will pay the price for your cowardice. One by one Odin will take them, until the debt you have incurred is paid. And one by one, you'll travel the path to Hel. For you will never earn the right to sit as heroes in Valhalla, though you cling to your swords as a baby clings to its mother's teat.” She snapped her fingers at Nuallen. “Attend me, thrall.”