Lord of the Runes (5 page)

She began to set up the board for another game, but stopped as Magnus spoke to them both, his words too low for anyone to hear.

Estrid came to them, carrying a pitcher. Magnus waved her away, paying no attention to her. As she turned to leave, her face was dark and sullen, not so pretty any longer. But when she glanced Eirik's way, she brightened and gave him a coy smile and a little wave.

He dropped his head, groaning, and stared into his cup of buttermilk. It was going to be a long winter.

* * *

“He's a warrior.”

Asa stopped setting up the next game as Magnus spoke. He turned his palm up. “I looked at his sword hand and he has the same calluses we do. Also, his weapon is an Ulfberht
.
The best. The bones of the bearer's distant ancestor are ground up and put into the molten steel as the sword is made. Only a wealthy man would have one of those blades. Not a rune reader who simply wants to defend himself on his travels.”

Asa set the king piece on the center square of the board. The hardness of Eirik's body beneath her hand last night had told her the same thing. He was a fighter, a man who lived by his sword. He had killed, and perhaps not just in battle. She didn't pick up another playing piece, lest Magnus see how her hand shook. It had been all she could do to approach Eirik as he'd sat with her brothers. But she was the jarl's sister and, as such, she'd had to extend her hospitality to him. Now, she'd avoid him as best she could. But Estrid wouldn't avoid him, and if all he saw was her pretty face . . .

“Why were you so rude to Estrid, Magnus? She only wanted to offer you some ale.”

“She only wanted to listen in on what I had to say, Asa. She's always doing that. You still see her as she was when you played together as children, not as she is now.”

“Perhaps if you included her more often, she wouldn't be so angry all the time.”

“She's been angry since her mother left with ours to return to their homeland.” Leif set up several game pieces. “And she was a sullen child before that. As her cousins, we took her in, gave her a place with us, but she holds us accountable for her loss.”

“It's no secret that Estrid blames you for not letting her go with her mother when she left, Magnus.” She sighed. “Maybe you should let her go, now that she's older. She feels like the unwanted member of the family.”

“And how much more outcast would she feel among the Irish as the half-breed daughter of one of their captured noblewomen and a hated Viking raider? They wouldn't even recognize her as legitimate, since our mothers married our fathers here with our own ceremony. It would not have been according to their Christian beliefs. I wouldn't have that for either of you. Not seven years ago, and not now.” Magnus picked up the king and turned it over in his hand. “You don't begrudge my not sending you with Mother.”

“After Father died, she made her choice. She loved her homeland more than she did us. Besides, I have you both.”

“And Estrid has us, but that's never been enough for her. And no man will wed her, because of her spitefulness.” Leif set down another ivory piece. “Watch her, Asa. There's something not right with her. I've noticed it for a long time, but I don't know how to help her.”

Magnus glanced at Eirik. “And we have other things to watch, as well. I've heard of a large band of outcasts to the south. We must be vigilant come spring.”

“They would never find us here in the
fjells
.” She tried to catch Magnus's eye, but he wouldn't look at her.

“Even though he said it was by accident, Eirik found us. And if he did, others might follow. He's to be treated as an honored guest, but keep your eyes open and your heads clear. Our ancestors chose to live here to keep our wealth and people safe. For many generations, it's been successful. We've had our skirmishes from time to time, and the outcasts here have taken a few sheep, but nothing more serious than that. Still, nothing lasts forever.”

At that, her enthusiasm to play another game of
tafl
faded. She released Leif from his promise to have her trounce him again, and her brothers left. Besides, she had work to do. She contributed to the community as much as anyone did, if not more. Magnus always said her work brought in more gold than all of the women's weavings combined.

Pride filled her. At least her family had accepted her talents, encouraged them, in fact. But it was as Magnus had said: Each to his own way. Every person in the village used his own gifts to create, mend, build, weave, and forge items Magnus could take to the markets. He sold or traded them for the commodities that helped them survive here.

This daydreaming wasn't getting her anywhere. It must be light enough now.

She stood and almost collided with Eirik, who was behind her as she turned. It was the first time he had stood before her, and he was so tall and powerful. Jumping away by instinct, she put her hand to her throat and faced him. She didn't need to see calluses on his palm to know what he was. Even in his weakened state, he carried himself as a warrior. The straightness of his shoulders, the arrogant angle of his jaw, the confidence he exuded, all spoke to her.

He held out his hand. “I didn't mean to startle you. I only wanted to thank you again for helping me last night. I'd like to repay you, if I can, though I know the jarl said I wouldn't need to.”

“Repay me?” Her thoughts lay scattered about her like snowdrifts. They blew further away as she looked up into his blue eyes. They were as deep as the fjords themselves.

“I'd like to do a reading for you. I'll cast the runes for everyone, of course. But I could do a more extensive one for you. The past, the future, whatever events swirl around you even now.”

Just how much would he be able to see? She suppressed a shudder. She could never take that chance. “That's not necessary. Last night, you didn't want to accept help from anyone else but me. I must have reminded you of someone. A woman named Sela.”

His face paled. Was he about to fall ill again? He took a deep breath, and his gaze slid from hers. Did he feel guilt? “I must have seen your hair and thought you were my wife. Yours is a very similar color to hers.”

Her heart shouldn't have tripped as it did when he mentioned his wife. She slipped past him, giving herself plenty of space so she wouldn't be trapped between him and the wall. Strength poured from him, surrounding her, even though he hadn't moved.

“I thank you for your offer, but there's no need. I know what happened in the past. And I'll keep my dreams of the future for the time being, for they may be all I have of it.”

She walked away, her head down. She would never have her runes read. Magnus had said she should never again allow the past to enter her mind. She was never to speak of it, remember it, or it might conquer her. As to her future, it had been ruined long ago. And she would keep the present for herself.

It was the safest place to be.

* * *

So beautiful.

Eirik was so beautiful, shining golden and powerful like the sun. His glory entered her, bursting into her, filling her with light even in this cold darkness.

Estrid lowered her head, her hair veiling her view of the bedchamber around her. The night had held her for far too long, just as it imprisoned the sun in the winter. Coldness. Darkness. Stillness.

But not where
he
walked. Not in the warmth of his voice. And not in his eyes as he'd looked at her.

Long ago, the heart, her mother's heart, which had held her within it, cracked and died, spilling her forth into the world, alone. The sea had swallowed her hope, the winds and the tides carrying Mother far away forever. Then the other promises were broken. The hair of flame, luring him in like a moth to the light. Then the screams, the blood, the betrayal like a knife blade to the soul, and she was left alone again.

Now the gods had seen her sorrow and sent Eirik to her. She would turn her face into his radiance, drink him in. Finally, after so long a time, she would be filled.

She would never be alone again.

* * *

The chamber was tiny, but it served him well. It was scarcely large enough for a bed and a chest for his things, but most longhouses didn't even have separate rooms. Privacy was a rare luxury and Eirik welcomed it.

A couple of the serving girls had made their interest known. He had turned them away with a smile. Another time, perhaps. He still hadn't quite regained his strength and he had other things to do this night. A good evening meal, time in the sauna, and a bracing cold rinse afterward had restored him. Now, he was ready to seek answers.

A single lamp lit the room, shining on his sword where it leaned against the wall beside the bed. It wasn't his family's ancestral sword. That rested in the fjord. This had been his father's personal weapon, made by a swordsmith so legendary, no one knew if he'd even existed. Why Ivar hadn't used it in the battle against the outcasts instead of the more valuable blade, he might never know.

Still, having it there allowed him to feel nearer to Ivar, just as the runes brought his mother and sister closer in his mind. He held the gem-encrusted bag in his hand. Silvi had stitched the stones and gold charms on it for him. He ran his hand over them, his eyes closed. Remembering.

He had cast them aside in his grief three years ago—the runes and his family. Would the runes speak to him now? Take him back as his family had? He'd promised to read them for Magnus and his people, but what if they wouldn't open to him any longer?

He'd never completed his training as his mother had wanted. To do that, he would have had to become a priest, studying for years. He'd wanted to follow in his father's footsteps instead, learning the ways of a warrior, sailing the vast trade routes, seeing the world. He'd done so.

It hadn't been for glory and adventure, as he'd dreamed of when he was a youth. He'd traveled to escape his pain and anger. Perhaps it was better not to know what the gods had planned. Still, he needed to arm himself as best he could, for now and in the months to come. A wise warrior sought the weapons at hand.

He hadn't mentioned the outcasts to Magnus. It would be well to keep those playing pieces to his side of the board for now. Nothing would happen until the spring. He had time to decide whether they could be allies, for at that point, he would have an idea of who these people were and if he could trust them. Until then, he dared not reveal any of his vulnerabilities to them.

He needed answers. From the time he was a boy, the runic knowledge had always come from a place deep within him, perhaps passed along to him from his mother's blood before his birth. Though he had never told her so, she'd known. He'd never delved far down, not wanting to look too deep within himself, but now he might have to.

Bowing his head, he cleared his mind. A familiar sphere of light grew from within him, surrounding his thoughts, pushing aside any shadows. There was no room for the forces that dwelled in the dark places. There could only be the radiance of the Aesir, and of the Allfather who had first sought this wisdom.

He spilled the runes into his hand. Dropping them onto the blanket where he sat, he studied the ones that had fallen faceup and what they would tell him.

Like a river whose dam had broken, their power coursed through his body. He closed his eyes as the forces pummeled his thoughts. The ancient symbols spiraled around him until they caught him up in their whirlwind and he could no longer hold on to reality. Trusting, he let go. They carried him into another place.

He stood on a mountain peak. Overhead, a storm roiled in a blood-red sky. A sword sky, a wolf sky.

Five points of light, like stars, whirled down out of the clouds. They slowed and formed the cross of Thor in front of him, the casting pattern he'd used most often. They burned molten and golden. He reached out and touched the first one at the bottom of the cross, the position of the forces surrounding him now.

The rune of Jera sparked under his hand. A time of waiting. It was the beginning of an end to one cycle and the start of a new one. He must wait. He could not push a river, only stand on the shore for this time.

The next rune, in the position of obstacles, burned so hot as it appeared, it seared him. Kenaz. It held the power of the forge to transform him into a new form. He must have the strength to withstand the forces pounding against him.

Lightning struck, almost at his feet, but he stood firm. A rune, thrown by the bolt, flashed into the uppermost position, that of favorable forces. He smiled. Tyr, the rune of the warrior. He'd fight, rise through his own efforts, but his prowess would bring him victory. It also indicated a man in love, a thing from his past. Why would it come now? The runes were timeless. The past, present and future could all be as one to them. As a mortal man, the difference lay within him.

The storm eased. No wind, no sound, nothing moved. The star to the right of the others, in the position of the near future, slid down and vanished. It left a glittering frozen trail behind it. Isa. Like ice, the present was immovable. But as an iceberg lies mostly below water, so were things hidden from his view. Dangerous things.

He brushed his hand over the star at the center of the cross, between the other runes. Ing grew from the light, showing a new stage of life. A completion of beginnings and the realization of a dream.

He stepped back to study the cross. This was what he sought. It all made sense, except the Tyr, indication of love. He couldn't afford such infatuation again. In this, he
would
defy the gods.

The ground beneath him shook and opened up. He leaped back as tendrils grew out of the earth and arced into the sky. Leaves unfurled from it and it widened into a massive tree trunk. The branches swept up the rune casting, carrying the symbols into the heavens.