The Coming of the Dragon (2 page)

“I just got here,” he protested.

“Let the boy stay,” Hemming said. “It’s nothing dangerous.”

Fulla gave her husband a sharp look, but he was grinning at Gunnar, who capered to the other side of the horse, away from his mother.

Several of the women had stopped on the cliff to watch as the boat grew more defined. Fulla thought there might be someone in it, but it was still too far away to see clearly. The wind insisted on sending her hair into her eyes. She pushed it back and scanned the sky, now cloud-covered. The air had a heavy feel, but it didn’t smell like rain. On the beach, Amma still hadn’t moved, even though the tide had turned to creep back toward her. “If it’s not dangerous, I’m going down to her.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hemming said.

She shook her head and gestured toward Gunnar.

“He’ll be all right.” He dismounted and threw his reins to Gunnar. “Watch my horse, son.”

Gunnar beamed and stroked the horse’s neck.

Hemming looked up at the two younger warriors, who sat on their horses, scanning the horizon. Some wordless conversation seemed to take place among them before they both gave Hemming sharp nods.

A movement made Fulla turn toward the mountain. It was just a goat, standing on a rock not far away. It almost seemed to be watching them. Inwardly, Fulla laughed at herself and tried to calm her nerves. Then she made her way back down to the beach, Hemming behind her.

When she glanced up to check on Gunnar, she saw that many of the women had gathered on the cliff. Even some of the children had returned and stood watching from behind their mothers’ skirts. Fulla frowned. It didn’t seem wise for them to stay so close to the beach, but there was nothing she could do about it.

As she moved to stand beside Amma, she could see the boat more clearly. It wasn’t very big. Unless they were flattening themselves against the bottom, it couldn’t hold very many warriors.

She looked at Amma, whose lips were now parted. She leaned slightly forward, and her eyes were narrowed, not against the sun’s glare but with what looked like eagerness. She was breathing quickly. Fulla’s own breath quickened with anticipation and fear.

Pulled by the incoming tide, the boat drew nearer, rocking on the waves. As the prow dipped, Fulla got a glimpse of something inside—a head? But the prow rose again, blocking the view.

“Is there someone in the boat?” she asked Amma, her heart pounding.

Amma nodded, her eyes never leaving the water.

“Hemming?” Fulla turned to her husband to make sure he’d heard and saw his hand gripping his sword hilt. She glanced back at the cliff to find Gunnar, who was now sitting atop his father’s horse. At least he could get away quickly if he needed to. But what about all the women and children who stood watching?

The craft drew nearer, near enough that she could see it was a rowboat, and not a very big one. There were no oars. Fulla swallowed, trying to quell her anxiety.

The prow rose, then dipped again. As it did, she saw something round—a shield. Hemming had seen it, too; he walked forward, unmindful of the waves splashing over his shoes.

The boat was no more than a furlong away now, but the nearer it got, the more its high sides shielded its contents from view. Those on the cliff would be able to see into it more easily, and Fulla glanced back in time to see Dayraven, one of the young warriors, dismounting from his horse.

When she turned around again, she realized she was alone; like Hemming, Amma had been drawn forward. Water rushed over Amma’s shoes as a wave came in, then sucked at the bottom of her skirts as the wave rushed back out to sea.

Fulla moved forward, too, ignoring the icy water on her
ankles, keeping her eyes on the boat, on her husband, on Amma. She could hear the slap of the water against the boat’s sides and see a line of barnacles attached to its wooden hull.

And then, coming in fast over the rocks, the boat was upon them. Amma rushed into waist-deep waves to grab a side of it as Hemming took the other, and Fulla found herself hauling at the prow, aware of a sharp reek floating on the salt air.

A wave pushed the boat forward, and she scrambled out of the way, bumping into Hemming in her hurry. The boat scraped over the rocks and sand, Amma and Hemming pulling at it as Fulla watched, hand to her chest in astonishment.

From the bottom of the boat, surrounded by a sword, a shield, and a chain-mail shirt, a wool blanket exposing its bare shoulders, a baby stared up at them with wide brown eyes.

Fulla looked from the baby to Amma, who was reaching for the child.

“Don’t touch it!” a man cried out.

Dayraven strode toward them, his sword raised.

“It’s just a baby, Dayraven,” Fulla said.

“I said, don’t touch it.”

Fulla could see the fear on his face as he reached for Amma’s arm, pulling her back from the boat.

The look Amma gave the warrior would have caused
Fulla to crumple if it had been directed at her, but Day raven stood firm, putting himself between Amma and the boat.

“What’s this, now? Why shouldn’t she touch it?” Hemming asked, coming around to the other side of the boat.

“Look at it,” Dayraven said. “Don’t you see what it is? We can’t interfere with somebody’s offering to the gods—that would be sacrilege!”

Fulla turned her head just in time to see the baby screw its eyes closed, open its mouth, and begin to wail. Her heart hurt for the child, and she longed to comfort it. It must be so cold, so hungry, so afraid. But Dayraven could be right. The weapons and armor arranged around it did make it look like an offering to the gods.

“Get out of my way,” Amma said, her voice a snarl. Unable to loosen Dayraven’s grip from her arm, she tried to shoulder past him.

Dayraven jerked her by the arm.

“Dayraven!” Hemming said, his voice cold. “Let her go. Amma, stand with my wife.”

Fulla saw Amma glare at him, but she shook off Dayraven’s arm without trying to go to the boat. When she didn’t move, Fulla went over and stood beside her, her eyes on her husband’s.

“What are you suggesting we do?” Hemming asked Dayraven.

“It’s obvious. Either the boat has to go back out to sea, or we have to kill the child.”

Outrage filled Fulla and she couldn’t stop herself. “Dayraven! We don’t kill babies. We’re Geats—we’re civilized people!”

“Do you want to bring the wrath of the gods down on us?” he said.

She looked back at the boat and the baby crying in it and thought of Gunnar and his two older brothers. No, she didn’t want the gods to punish the people she loved for taking something that had been sacrificed to them. But could they do it? Send the baby out onto open waters again? Feeling her eyes moisten, she looked desperately at Hemming.

Without speaking, Amma rushed for the boat. Her hands were almost to the baby when Dayraven pulled her back, his sword at her throat.

“Stop, both of you!” a voice commanded.

Fulla didn’t need to turn to recognize it. She lowered herself into a curtsy as King Beowulf crunched over the sand and rocks.

“Unhand her, Dayraven. Amma, come to me, please.”

Fulla watched as Dayraven dropped his sword and lowered his torso in a stiff bow. Amma straightened her shoulders. She did not curtsy. Instead, she stared the king in the eye for a long moment before she walked over to him, her shoes squelching.

“You knew the boat was coming,” the king said.

She gave him the briefest of nods.

“You knew what was in it.”

Again, the proud inclination of her chin.

Then the king bent his head toward Amma’s and spoke to her in a voice so low that Fulla couldn’t make out the words. A gust of wind whipped a tendril of Amma’s dark hair from its knot, twisting it into a sinuous pattern that wound itself together with a strand of the king’s hair, gray silvered with white. She answered him, her voice as quiet as his. Behind them, the baby howled.

The king raised his head and looked around him, and so did Fulla. For the first time, she realized how many people now stood on the beach, forming a half-moon around the boat. She saw the bard leaning over to empty sand from his shoe, and near him, several warriors standing alert, spears and swords gripped tight. Gunnar was still on the cliff astride his father’s horse. She could tell he was pretending to be a warrior guarding the coast, and she tried not to think of what he might be about to witness—or what the gods would do if he didn’t witness it.

“The gods,” the king said, his voice calm and clear. People crowded closer to hear him, and Fulla held her breath.

“The gods have guided this boat to our shores. We are duty-bound to take this offering.”

He strode to the boat, leaned down, and picked up the child, still in its blanket.

Fulla let out her breath in relief.

He wasn’t going to have the baby killed.

As the king held the child high, Fulla could see a pendant hanging around its neck, disappearing into its wet and
soiled blanket. No wonder the boat smelled so pungent. How long had the baby been on the waters? Where had it come from?

Then the king walked to Amma and placed the child in her arms. As he did, Fulla saw Dayraven drive his sword into the sand, fear and anger inscribed in his face.

“Fulla,” the king said, and she looked at him, surprised. “Fulla, will you take Amma and the baby home with you?”

“No!” Amma said, and the king raised his brows.

“I’m taking him to Hwala’s farm.”

“No. I want him raised in the hall.” To Fulla, the king’s tone sounded as though he would brook no disagreement.

But Amma shook her head.

The king watched her for a moment. Then he sighed and looked back at Fulla. “Will you and your husband make sure they get to the farm safely?”

“Yes, my lord,” Fulla said, her eyes wide. How did Amma get away with such behavior?

“But, Amma,” the king said. “On this I won’t be overruled. The boy will train in the hall during the winters, when he’s old enough.”

Amma didn’t speak, but she didn’t argue, either.

King Beowulf reached out and, very gently, covered the baby’s head with his hand. It looked up at him and blinked. The king’s hand slipped from the baby to take Amma’s fingers in his own. “Take good care of him,” he said softly.

Then he stepped back to allow Hemming and Fulla to escort Amma and the baby off the beach.

The crowd parted, and as Hemming led the way, Fulla could see dark looks and hear muttered oaths from people on either side of them. The king might have saved the baby’s life, she thought, but he hadn’t ensured that it would be an easy one. She feared that too many of the people watching them agreed with Dayraven.

She moved closer to Amma, reaching out to steady her, to protect her, even though Amma walked calmly forward, the baby quiet in her arms. Together, they climbed the rocky path.

ONE

FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE, RUNE SAW THE SCYTHE
blade swing down. As he watched, horrified, it cut into Hwala’s calf. Everything happened at once: Hwala yelled; Skoll turned, puzzled by the sound; and Skyn’s mouth dropped open as he realized what he’d done. Then came the blood.

“Father!” Skoll cried, catching Hwala as he stumbled.

Skyn’s scythe dropped to the ground.

Rune rushed forward to kneel beside his foster father.

From between clenched teeth, Hwala grunted, “Get Amma.”

Almost before the words had been uttered, Rune was running, racing toward the farmhouse and the hut beyond it that he shared with Amma.
Gods, let her be there
, he prayed, his arms pumping as he skirted a boulder and
pelted through the homefield, not taking the time to go around it. “Lady of the Vanir, I beg of you,” he whispered as he burst through the hay. He skidded to a stop, but not fast enough to keep him from colliding with Amma.

“Sorry,” he said, panting as he steadied her. “Hwala’s hurt.”

“I know. Where is he?”

In his sixteen winters, Rune had learned not to question how Amma knew the things she did. “The west field,” he said.

She picked up the basket he’d knocked from her hand. “I’ll need water.”

Rune nodded and took off for the hut. When he caught up with her again, she was only halfway there. He took her basket in one hand, her arm in the other. The image of the blade hitting Hwala’s leg, the blood welling around the wound, made him want to pull her into a run, but she was already moving as quickly as her age would allow.

How had it happened? They had come to the end of one row when Hwala had turned. Had he walked directly into the path of his son’s blade? How had Skyn not seen him?

After what seemed an eternity, they reached the edge of the field. Across the stubble and the shocks of grain, Rune could see the curve of Skoll’s shoulders as he bent over his father, who lay on the ground, fallen stalks of grain around him. Skyn stood a little distance away, his face gray, the fist of his shorter arm beating into the open hand of his longer
one, over and over again, as if he wasn’t aware he was doing so.

Rune helped Amma to sit on the ground beside Hwala. She shooed Skoll back and reached out to probe the wound with her fingers.