Authors: Giles Kristian
Raven: Blood Eye (48 page)
'He's a vicious bastard, lord,' I said with a smile.
'Aren't we all?' Sigurd ran a hand through his golden hair. Then his eyebrows arched mischievously and he batted one of my dark plaits, the one with the raven's wing still entwined in it. 'Freyja's tits, lad! You look like Black Floki, but even meaner,' he said.
I glanced at Floki who was goading Svein the Red. 'No one looks as mean as Floki,' I said, loosening my aching neck and shoulders. 'I'm sorry I did not cut Ealdred's head from his neck, lord.' I looked out to sea and the glittering lip of the world. 'He has the Christ book and it will make him rich.'
'And he has
Fjord-Elk
,' Sigurd growled. Then he gripped my shoulder and watched as Svein the Red walked up
Serpent
's boarding plank with a sack of food over each shoulder. We had found several such sacks amongst the shelters on the beach. I considered telling Sigurd about the cross Ealdred had put at
Fjord-Elk
's prow, but thought better of it.
'It's time we rode Rán's daughters again, Raven,' he said, his eyes blazing hungrily. 'Will you bring the girl?' I had not dared to hope Sigurd would take a woman aboard
Serpent
, but then again, he was taking a monk. What did I know?
'Yes, lord,' I said, my stomach rolling over with hope. 'If she will come.' Cynethryth was sitting on a rock a stone's throw from
Serpent
, looking at the glittering sea as she had been for hours. It was as though she expected to find something there.
A gust blew Sigurd's golden hair across his face and he gave a dour grin. 'She'll come, lad,' he said.
I stood there for a long time, staring south across the sea as a wind blew down from the north, whipping the white hair off Rán's daughters and promising to fill
Serpent
's great square sail.
The Norns of fate were weaving still.
EPILOGUE
WILL SOMEONE PUT SOME MORE BEECH ON THE FIRE? MY OLD BONES
don't keep out the cold like they used to. Ah, that's better. There is something magical about a good fire. A man can read a fire if his heart is open and his eyes are clear. Even old Asgot's magic was new in the world against the mysteries of dancing flames. So, where was I? The Wolfpack took to the grey sea once more and
Serpent
's dragon-headed prow, Jörmungand, with his faded red eyes, dipped and fell as a kind wind carried us away from the land of the English. For a while, we would breathe the salty air licked cool by Rán's leaping daughters, and leave the reek of blood far behind in the soil on which many brave warriors had fallen.
My tale does not end there. But I see that some of you are tired. Young men today. No stamina. Is it morning already? Is that daylight creeping beneath the stout door? Perhaps I will say no more this night. All good tellers of tales know they must leave their listeners hungry for more. Are you listening still, Óðin? And you, Thór? Are these things of which I speak still as fresh to you as they are ancient to me? No, I will say no more this time. Come again tomorrow night and I shall continue. Brave Týr, you know the rest as well as any in Valhöll. You know that I speak the truth. That I, Raven, sailed with Sigurd the mightiest jarl and the fiercest wolf of them all. And though the fresh, whipping wind cleansed me of the stink of blood, there would be more. Because I was a Norseman.
