Read The Humming of Numbers Online
Authors: Joni Sensel
The Humming of Numbers (15 page)
The door flew open. It bounced back and would have slammed shut again but that Aidan's force carried his whole body into the doorway. Flailing desperately to regain his balance, he stumbled to fall just inside the door. It struck him and stopped there, half open.
A chorus of startled grunts greeted him.
A
ghast at his clumsy entrance into the alehouse, Aidan started to clamber to his feet. Someone kicked him back down. The foot pinned him there on his elbows and knees before he realized that it belonged to Lana. He could hear her shrieking at the top of her lungs. Her sounds might have been words, but not in any language he knew. He caught sight of a ring of stunned Viking faces. Then he remembered the plan. He'd almost ruined it, but she had responded quickly enough that the effect might have been even better. He whirled to cower and grovel at her feet as though more frightened of her than of the raiders. When he saw her livid face, he did not need to act much. Lana stood in the doorway, arms flung high, filling the space, both boughs aloft in her hands. The yew blazed; if she'd shifted it a few inches she could have set fire to the timbers herself.
ghast at his clumsy entrance into the alehouse, Aidan started to clamber to his feet. Someone kicked him back down. The foot pinned him there on his elbows and knees before he realized that it belonged to Lana. He could hear her shrieking at the top of her lungs. Her sounds might have been words, but not in any language he knew. He caught sight of a ring of stunned Viking faces. Then he remembered the plan. He'd almost ruined it, but she had responded quickly enough that the effect might have been even better. He whirled to cower and grovel at her feet as though more frightened of her than of the raiders. When he saw her livid face, he did not need to act much. Lana stood in the doorway, arms flung high, filling the space, both boughs aloft in her hands. The yew blazed; if she'd shifted it a few inches she could have set fire to the timbers herself.
By sheer force of will, Aidan scrunched his eyes almost
closed. He needed to spot any threatening motion, but he needed even more to focus on the humming of numbers. Flooded with people and shock, the room roared like the sea. Beer tankards dropped. He felt and heard Norsemen leaping to their feet, scattering dishes and toppling stools. The men instinctively grabbed for their weapons but didn't seem to know whether to use them.
closed. He needed to spot any threatening motion, but he needed even more to focus on the humming of numbers. Flooded with people and shock, the room roared like the sea. Beer tankards dropped. He felt and heard Norsemen leaping to their feet, scattering dishes and toppling stools. The men instinctively grabbed for their weapons but didn't seem to know whether to use them.
Lana tapped Aidan's head with the holly as if anointing him. It drew his attention from numbers to her voice, and now he understood some of her words. Physically she ignored the Vikings, but clearly her banshee cries were directed at them.
“Vengeance for the dead, whom I summon and raise with the incense of this flaming Yew!” she shouted. “As you have dealt death to the living, thus will death be delivered to you! Tree of Life and of Death, see it done!” She snarled and screeched, making hideous sounds that echoed sickly in the tightness around Aidan's stomach.
Wrenching his attention back to the raiders, he listened for numbers. One by one, as Lana's shrieks filled the air, he isolated those of the men nearest him. None were easy to dismiss; all of the invaders were riled and filled with the day's bloodlust and conquest, and they hummed powerfully. Even numbers Aidan normally associated with temperance whirred and growled.
In the next instant he caught a firm, crooning eight, almost too calm in the havoc. He warned himself that just because Lord Donagh hummed of eight did not mean the Norse leader did, too. He knew from the sound's bold assurance, however, that he had found what he sought.
He converted a wave of relief into bellowing and gnarling. Still at Lana's feet, he barked like a dog, then slobbered and convulsed as if possessed by a demon. This act, meant to prove the fearsome power of witchcraft, sowed further confusion, to Aidan's relief. Men who had stepped forward now skittered back. They stood agape at Lana, probably not understanding a word but clear enough on her demonic fury and its apparent effect on the monk. Both scowls and emerging snickers gave way to horror.
Writhing, Aidan squirmed away from the door and toward that beckoning eight. Lana pursued him as though unaware of their audience, tapping at him with the holly. Men in blood-stained tunics stepped on one another's feet and crowded the walls, parting before Aidan and Lana. Terrified the same men would close around behind them and attack, Aidan roared and shivered more madly than ever. Finally he could reach out and claw at the high leather boots of the man he thought was their leader.
The Viking humming of eight did not retreat. He only
drew one foot back to kick off the demon-tormented monk. Aidan saw the blow coming well enough to take it in the shoulder instead of the head. Pain boosting his howls, he let the kick roll him back toward Lana. When she stepped over him, he knew she had understood.
drew one foot back to kick off the demon-tormented monk. Aidan saw the blow coming well enough to take it in the shoulder instead of the head. Pain boosting his howls, he let the kick roll him back toward Lana. When she stepped over him, he knew she had understood.
Rolling his eyes madly, he caught sly glimpses of the room. He could see smoke curling down from the thatch, mingling with the haze that hung over the hearth. The brewster's guests hadn't noticed the new tendrils yet. They stood transfixed as Lana fearlessly directed her attention now to the man Aidan had tagged. Giving no ground, he glowered at her but did not yet lift a hand. The rest of his men watched to see how he would react. Their leader's response and the few seconds that followed would determine who lived and who died.
Aidan cast about desperately for Brendan Donagh. He spotted the brewster and his wife, two older boys bound to a heavy table in the back of the room, and a pile of tattered girls' garments that might have had a limp girl inside them. He prayed it was not his sister Regan. He did not see the lordling or anyone with sacking over his head.
Aidan rose half to his feet. For the moment the awestruck Norsemen were still locked in the apprehension that a dead witch might be angrier and even more dangerous than a live one, since she might not be mortal at all.
Lana would not have more than a moment longer, however, before their leader or some other brave Viking decided to find out.
Lana would not have more than a moment longer, however, before their leader or some other brave Viking decided to find out.
“Fire! Fire!” Aidan shouted in both his own tongue and Latin. Though he doubted the foreigners would understand either, he needed them to react to the burning thatch soon. He could smell it all the way down on the floor, so the flames had to be flashing and biting overhead.
The brewster took up the cry, dancing and pointing at the invading flames. The nearest Vikings eyed the rafters and pushed toward the door, suspicion twisting their features. They tightened their grips on their weapons. Their progress was hampered, however, by the rest of their fellows, whose attention remained fixed on Lana.
Weaving and flailing, Aidan dodged about in a crouch, desperately scanning the crowded room for the lord's son. He had met Brendan and knew the young lord hummed of seven, but there were many sevens here to sort out, amid much noise and confusion. Fear clutched his heart: Everything was taking too long. He would never survive, much less succeed, and Lana would die alongside him. Anguished, he glanced toward where she'd last stood.
“Haste, Aidan!” she shrieked, adding to the clamor. Before Aidan even recognized that demand was for him, she continued.
King Holly, do my work!
Take the will from those I strike!
Return the harm they've brought this place!
Pierce their hearts and pin their souls
with everlasting winter fire!
Take the will from those I strike!
Return the harm they've brought this place!
Pierce their hearts and pin their souls
with everlasting winter fire!
From the corner of his eye, Aidan saw her fling the burning yew into the air, scattering the men beneath where it fell. Then she slashed the Norse leader across the face, hard, with her holly bough.
“Thus may Holly blind thine eyes to better see thy path to death!” she roared.
Aidan cringed, horrified by what she'd just done and certain he would now witness her murder almost before he could move. To his great joy, the large fellow recoiled, blinked twice, and clapped his palms to his eyes. With a holler, he stumbled back into the arms of his men. Lana followed, whipping the holly branch in furious arcs against the surrounding faces. The leader's roar, whether curse or command or inarticulate wail, set the others in motion. Vikings stampeded like geese before a wolf, yelping. Flames licked near their heads.
Aidan dropped back to his knees as if in prayer and curled his head into his arms, perhaps the only person in the room not in motion. He had to block some of the confusion so that he might actually hear. The position triggered
habit in him, and a silent plea rose from his heart up toward heaven.
habit in him, and a silent plea rose from his heart up toward heaven.
There! The seven he sought purred subtly from the far side of the hearth.
Forgotten by the Norsemen in their panic over the wild witch and the new threat of burning, Aidan scrambled between slashing legs and around the glowing mound of coals. He found a body hunched nearby, a male body with cloth over his head. Brendan Donagh's smooth, resigned seven contrasted immensely with the room's tumult of numbers, all of which were now overlaid by the grating of terrified ones. Aidan had to respect that self-possessed seven.
“Stay still,” he hissed into the sacking, thumping Brendan to make sure he heard and paid attention. “I'll set you free. Just a minute.” The covered head nodded, so Aidan knew Donagh was alive and still conscious. His hands fumbled to remove the hood, held in place by snug coils of rope twined around the lordling's neck.
While his fingers scrambled, Aidan shot a glance around the room. He saw mostly wide backs. Norsemen surged toward the door, overturning benches on the way. Their tide swamped back at the threshold, where they swirled and shoved in their attempts to all get through at once.
Aidan's work also jammed: He couldn't loosen the
knot. Moving instead to Brendan's bound hands, he wished he'd brought the scythe blade after all. The lashed ropes were too tight to untie. Expecting someone to notice his efforts and begin raining down blows any moment, Aidan reached for the pothook at his belt.
knot. Moving instead to Brendan's bound hands, he wished he'd brought the scythe blade after all. The lashed ropes were too tight to untie. Expecting someone to notice his efforts and begin raining down blows any moment, Aidan reached for the pothook at his belt.
It was gone. It must have fallen loose, unnoticed, when he'd stumbled at the door or squirmed and groveled thereafter. Aidan's legs wavered at the realization that he had crawled deep into a hornet's nest without any defense whatsoever. If he hadn't already been on the floor, he would have fallen.
He whirled to grab something, anything, that the brewster might have at his own hearth. The blank floor around the firepit mocked him. Even the hearth's iron firedogs were gone. The Norsemen had made sure that their hostage, though bound, could not grope for a weapon.
Abruptly, the jam at the doorway broke. Roaring men stomped out into the dark. A sudden fear gripped Aidan: Lana would either be trampled or swept out with them into a blade that didn't wait to make sure it was biting a raider. He had to find out exactly where she stood now. He jumped to his feet.
A bushy-bearded Viking at the back of the crowd, not expecting a young monk to rise into his path, slammed against Aidan. Reflexively, their glances met. The Norse eyes narrowed, seeing immediately that Aidan was not so
possessed by demons as he had appeared. The big man raised the ax dangling in his hand.
possessed by demons as he had appeared. The big man raised the ax dangling in his hand.
Aidan leapt sideways. He only banged up short against an ale cask. In the instant before the man swung, Aidan knew he would die if that ugly blade hit him. He knew equally that the tables and benches and fleeing bodies around him did not grant him a place or a path to get out of its way. He grabbed an upended stool, aware that the weighty ax would smash through the wood and into him with barely a pause no matter how well he parlayed. Thuds and wails and murderous cries from outside the door told him his kin and their neighbors were busy. That must be satisfaction enough. Not wanting to watch the ax hit him, he swung the stool toward his opponent and swiveled his head to let his last sight be Lana.
She stood alone in a front corner of the house, glowering. The holly bough she held high before her like a fearsome green sword. Burning thatch rained around her. Even in their rush to escape from the fire, the Norsemen gave her wide berth.
As if she had felt Aidan's gaze, her face turned to him. She screamed his name.
The end of her cry was lost in a clatter and crash. The stool bashed from his grip, Aidan fell backward, stumbling over the captive he'd hoped to protect. He scrambled once more to his feet before he realized that he hadn't been
knocked back by an ax in the chest. The two boys tied to the table in the back of the room had upended their anchor. Whether by fate, witchcraft, or chance, one corner had struck the threatening Viking's legs and knocked him to his knees, sending his ax blow astray along with the stool. Aidan smashed his heel into his enemy's bristling beard before the weapon could be lifted again. The man toppled and lay still.
knocked back by an ax in the chest. The two boys tied to the table in the back of the room had upended their anchor. Whether by fate, witchcraft, or chance, one corner had struck the threatening Viking's legs and knocked him to his knees, sending his ax blow astray along with the stool. Aidan smashed his heel into his enemy's bristling beard before the weapon could be lifted again. The man toppled and lay still.
Fire roared overhead, its heat growing intense. Aidan grabbed the ax and slashed its blade against the bonds of the two still struggling in panic with the table. They squirmed loose and lit out immediately.
Lana ran over to clutch him.
“Get to the door,” he ordered, seeing the blazing house empty of raiders. “Take care it is safe before you go any farther. Run to Liam, if you see him. He'll protect you.”
She took two steps before halting. Her eyes had crossed the pile that might have been a female captive. She ran and crouched to check.
Deciding he would get her out faster without argument, Aidan yanked Brendan Donagh to his feet. Still blinded and bound, the lord's heir shouted questions, but either composure or cowardiceâit was hard to tell whichâkept him from offering any struggle. Aidan hustled him toward the door and shoved him outside to the dirt of the
yard. Young Donagh's ropes could be removed later, once Aidan had saved someone he cared about more.
yard. Young Donagh's ropes could be removed later, once Aidan had saved someone he cared about more.
He found Lana trying to get not one but two battered and frightened young women to their feet. His sister, Regan, when she recognized him, flung herself into his arms. He nearly carried her out, putting her down more gently than he'd managed for Brendan. Lana followed, guiding the other. Several men from the village, done swinging weapons and abruptly left with nothing to do, met them.
Aidan started again for the doorway, wreathed now in flame. Lana grabbed his arm.
“One more,” he said, yanking loose and sprinting back to the threshold. If he took time to explain, the flames would make him too late.
Running crouched and coughing into the burning house, Aidan pulled the neck of his robe nearly to his eyes against the smoke. He could see almost nothing, but he thought he could get there by feel. He cracked his knee against the overturned table. Jerking away, he trod upon the Viking he'd downed, then stumbled and fell to his hands and knees at the hearth.
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