The Island House (55 page)

Beneath
Fenrir
’s mast, Grimor waved a pale cloth to the next ship in line. It was the signal.

Fenrir
slid out ahead of the pack. She would be the first into the cove; that was as it should be. Once landed, Grimor would wait for his brother to call them up the cliff path. This, too, was right—to
Bear should belong the glory of Findnar’s unmaking as a Christian stronghold in the East, and the beginning of their joint dominance of this coast.

But Grimor did not see the other ships on the strait side of the sheltering headland.

Not sleek and long like the vessels of the Norsemen, these were broad and slow—traders instead of fighters—and they were fewer in number. But each was a bigger ship and carried more men. Cloaked, still, in darkness, they cut through the calm sea without fuss, and they, too, were steering for Findnar.

Signy had hidden all day in the combe. Hauling the coracle behind her—with some difficulty—she had climbed into the largest of the trees, and from there she’d watched the monks at the circle. It might have been funny once to see them labor to unseat the stones, but today Signy wept. For if the monoliths withstood assault, the monks still had one success—they’d pulled the altar stone down.

Such desecration hurt Signy deeply. Her clan had worshipped here for the whole of their sung history, and now it was defiled. Was there no part of the past that was sacred?

But as the day lengthened, Signy saw the monks trudge away toward the Abbey. They followed Cuillin after he’d shaken his cross at the stones and told them, as if they were living people, that he would return to destroy them yet.

One of the brothers was ordered to stay behind. Signy could hear him. Perhaps the man was frightened, for he sang psalms in a wavering voice as he chipped away at something—
ting, ting, ting
—the sound of a chisel against stone, insistent as birds calling out a warning.

Signy waited. If the sea was calm she would launch her little boat tonight and she would find Bear. She would not allow herself to think further than that—of what might happen if he no longer wanted her.

So often, for comfort, she had relived the few times they had touched each other. And she had remembered, too, when she bled into the earth as the child was expelled from her body. So tiny, so perfectly formed. They’d buried their daughter up there, among the stones.

Misery. And yearning. A veil too thick for even Cruach to pierce.

“Ah, Bear, can you hear me?” It might have been a shout, so great was the clamor in her heart. But Signy whispered the words, her own private prayer.

The bell called—Vespers—and the lone monk hurried away.

Signy climbed down from her shelter. Like a shelled sea creature, she labored across the meadow, the approaching dark her friend. Within sight of the palisade, she hid in the long grass and watched as the gate ward climbed down and ran toward the Abbey.

How to get through? On the meadow side the gate was closed by a wooden bar. Cut in one piece from the heartwood of an oak, it was so heavy four men were necessary to lift it. And, too, a massive haft and staple secured each end.

The service had begun at the Abbey, sound drifting toward Signy in the dark. Vespers was not lengthy. She had only a little time and not enough strength—that was quickly apparent. She could not shift the bar.

If she could not get through the gate, there was only one choice. She must climb over it.

The stairs that led to the wooden walkway above the gate were difficult with the coracle on her back, for she was tired and hungry. But the sky was her reward, for there above her head was the country of the stars where her parents and her child now lived. Signy held up her hands. “Bless me on this journey, Mother and Father, and my beloved daughter. May I know peace as you know peace.” There was no time, but this was necessary.

She peered out toward the strait.

The moon was beginning to rise over the lip of the world, a disk of dim gold. Soon the sea road would be thrown down upon the water, the silver path. She had to find a way to get down, but the gate was sheer and she had no rope. Therefore she must jump though it seemed a very long way. The coracle, too, might break if she threw it down. Signy swallowed. Distracted, she stared at the cove. So near and yet . . .

Ships were riding in on the tide. Hulls with shields on their sides, and moonlight found the helmets as the oarsmen bent and pulled. Very soon they would land, and then they would storm the cliff path. The gate was strong, but how strong?

Tears dropped from Signy’s open eyes. There was no escape. She had to do it, she had to warn Gunnhilde. She had to warn them all.

The force to run came suddenly. Her feet did not feel the stones in the path as she fled toward the Abbey.

The night climb had been hard. Two chosen companions and him. From Grimor’s followers Bear had chosen Edor’s steady-eyed helmsman—whip-slight, but strong enough to hold a boat in a wild sea and not old or young. The other was a tall boy who was good with both ax and sword—Bear had watched him at practice. They came from
Wave Biter,
and neither choice pleased Edor since it meant he lost two valuable hands and he’d not been consulted by Grimor. That rankled.

On the chosen day, the three rowed through dusk and on toward night, toward Findnar. Bear knew how to climb the rock pipe from the sea, but the others did not. They’d be fast learners or they would die. He’d found the pipe while looking for somewhere to stow his coracle out of the way of the nosy monks, and he’d taught himself how to climb it, down and up. Perhaps the little craft was there still, wedged in at the top.

The night was calm when they landed on the wave platform
at low water. There was a head of rock there, and to this they tied the hull.

Bear led his companions to the start of the climb. “Listen, and listen well,” he told them. “It will save you. Watch where I put my hands and my feet. Use your back to wedge your body while you find the next handhold. I’ll drive bolts into the rock for handholds and footholds as we go. Think with each breath that it may be your last.”

Bear did not look down, he looked up. When his eyes got used to the dark, faint starlight showed him the lip of the narrow crevasse far above his head. Soon there was nothing but breathing and hammering bolts with the ax and hauling his body weight higher, higher, closer to Signy.

Dressed in leather to save his knees, the helmsman copied Bear silently, move for move. He’d been a good choice. Their other companion, however, confronted with the height of the climb had frozen.

Bear said, “Better you guard the hull.” That consideration shamed the boy, and of course he followed—more slowly, but he overcame the fear. This choice, too, was vindicated; the youth would be useful after all.

As Bear heaved himself out of the mouth of the rock pipe, the moon was rising. The coracle had disappeared—that annoyed him. He’d spent long nights making it. But there was no time for regret, for the helmsman was close behind. He could hear the man breathing as he scrabbled the last handholds. Bear leaned to pull his companion up. A grim white face stared up from below—the youth, farther down but relentless. Bear respected that.

“We go to the gate. Follow.”

Skirting well clear of the Abbey grounds, Bear ran half-doubled toward the palisade under a rising moon, the helmsman at his heels. He knew the gate, for he had helped forge the bolts that held it closed.

Bear had thought of this moment so many times—rehearsed
each action in his head. This part was easy, and the rest would be, too, if he and Grimor could keep the men in check. And Edor. Edor did not like him.

He grinned. Many men did not like Bear, maybe some did not like Magni either, but they were both Grimor’s brothers. He’d have to prove that tonight.

The helmsman breathed easily as they arrived at the palisade, and he said nothing unnecessary. Good signs, both; the man was intelligent and staunch.

Bear pointed to the far end of the bar that held the gate. He mimed hitting the bolt out of the hasp. The man nodded and took out his ax; Bear did the same.

Bolts gone. Now for the bar.

There were feet on the cliff path.

“Magni?” Grimor. A low call.

Bear whispered back, “A moment, Brother.” It was odd to be called by his old name but less odd than it had been.

Bear held up three fingers to the helmsman. Two. One.
Heave!

The bar dropped from the keepers, and Bear stepped neatly out of the way as it hit the turf. He called to Grimor. “Push, Brother.”

Willing shoulders pushed the gates apart and in toward the meadow and the Abbey.

Bear stood back and watched the men stream past. They moved silently, the moon finding their swords and axes.

Grimor joined his brother. Bear grunted. He pointed at the waiting men. “They know what to do?”

Grimor smiled with his teeth. “They do. We’ll muster here until you send word. How many do you want?”

“Them”—Bear pointed at a small group of fighters—“and the helmsman and the youth.” His last companion had just arrived in a hurry.

Grimor beckoned the other men over. “You go with Magni.” He glared at one who dared to look cocky. “As few deaths as possible. Do you hear me?”

Bear stared toward the Abbey. Very soon the monastery would assemble for Compline. The lay servants entered the church last—that would be his best chance of finding Signy. He would make sure she was safely hidden, then the other men would be summoned.

Bear rolled his head to loosen the shoulder muscles.
So, Cuillin. The end-time approaches.
He grinned. That was a good joke.

Grimor slapped Bear on the back. “Ready, Brother?”

“Never more than now, Brother.”

Hand to forearm, they embraced.

“Brother Vidor?” Signy hurried to the kitchen. It was empty.

A door opened behind her, and a young monk stood there.

Signy ran to him. “Help me, Brother.”

The boy gulped. He ducked back and slammed the door behind him.

“You do not understand.” Signy rattled the latch. She could hear the novice breathing on the other side.

He yelled, “The Pagan witch! Save me, Brother.”

The door was torn open. An enraged monk stood there, carrying a burning torch. The boy cowered behind. “In the name of Christ, be gone, Succubus.” The man thrust the flame toward her face.

Backing away, Signy tried reason. “Brother, please. Listen to me.”

“Sorceress!” The man feinted forward.

Signy dodged; she was desperate. “They are coming! You must warn the others. Or all of you will die.”

Behind the monk, the boy’s eyes bulged. He fled, wailing, as the man ran at Signy. “We shall repel the legions of Satan!”

Signy turned and ran.