Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (12 page)

The rental facility had helmets available for rent as well. They were all black. Most full face. A few bucket models. Daisy didn’t like any of them. Instead, she purchased a full-faced, state-of-the-art helmet with intensely painted graphics. It was a display model meant to show the kind of over-the-top art that could be ordered. She took it as is: a busty blond Valkyrie lifting a fallen Viking warrior from the battlefield on one side, on the other, a busty, statuesque blond dressed in an armored bodice and leather standing in the center of a stone circle, holding a shining long sword in front of her, preparing to slay an ugly and obviously male giant.

Daisy tried on the helmet. It fit perfectly. She bought it immediately.

Even though she was no busty, blond Viking, she was ready to kick a little giant ass. Daisy smiled. She even knew how to wield a sword, although she preferred a katana to a long sword. Katanas are lighter and shorter than their Viking counterparts. Just like her.

In the fitting room, Daisy slid into her leathers. Once outside, she took temporary ownership of the BMW. She slipped the helmet over her head, started, and kicked her bike into gear and eased back the throttle as she let out the clutch and took off, feeling the breeze on her cheeks through her cracked visor. She smiled the whole way back to Kilmartin.

…

Something called to Daisy, making her follow the road to the right instead of going left, toward Kilmartin House. The road called to her often when she was alone on a bike. She didn’t question it, she simply eyed her fuel level and heeded the calling. She was more willing to take the road less traveled on a bike.

The road curved gently through the tree-covered hills until Daisy found herself pulling into a parking place along side a stream that fed into a loch. There was no sign, so she didn’t know the name of the loch. It was long and beautiful, and less than twenty miles from Kilmartin.

Daisy slowed, pulled into the carpark, and backed into a spot that would allow her to pull out in a straight line. She’d lost Gerry. She hadn’t seen his rented Rover after she left Glasgow. She hadn’t meant to deliberately lose him, but she wasn’t sorry she did. She welcomed the time alone.

Daisy left her helmet and her leather gloves with the bike and set off toward the bank of the stream. It wound its way down the hillside, making little waterfalls over rocks as it twisted and turned. Looking up the hill, she saw a wooden bridge, which she headed toward. The hill quickly became a mountain with each steep step she took. She was out of breath and she still hadn’t reached the bridge, but, when she looked back, she’d come a long way from the barely visible carpark.

“I’m glad Sensei Schwartz can’t see me now, huffing and puffing like I just finished a six-minute mile. Jeez.” Deciding that talking to herself was mildly therapeutic, Daisy started compiling a list.

“Ten Reasons to do more mountain hiking:

“1. I am, apparently, woefully out of shape.

“2. Mountains are beautiful. Even the ones that look like hills from a carpark.”

Daisy paused, inhaling deeply, bending at the waist. The crisp air hit the back of her throat, and she was sorry she didn’t bring her water bottle. She knew that the best whisky made in the Highlands used water from local streams. So, if she ever got to it, she could drink from the slower water moving under the bridge with little risk to her health. That was the theory, anyway.

Daisy took a deep breath, savoring the pine and moss scent and the feel and intense greenness of the woods around her. She started back up the hill and continued with her list.

“3. The forest smells fantastic and I love the way the sunlight dapples through the trees.

“4. Did I mention the need for more aerobic activity in my life?”

A red squirrel jumped from tree to tree in front of her, startling a group of blue-winged birds from their perch. A small fox passed between the trees behind the bridge, which Daisy thought was odd for midday. There must not be many people who ventured this far into its domain.

“5. The wild creatures are inquisitive and they come out to see the crazy humans who climb up hills that turn into mountains. It’s nice to spend some time in their world, even when it painfully expands one’s lung capacity.”

Daisy concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other on her makeshift path toward the bridge. Every time she focused on the bridge instead of the ground, it seemed to get farther away. “Time to up your vitamin intake, woman. You’re definitely slipping.”

When Daisy looked up
again, she was less than thirty yards from the bridge. She threw her head back and howled like a wild animal, proud of her progress. Looking back at the bridge, she saw a man in the mist, a very tall man with long white hair and a white beard, wearing robes and a tall, conical hat. He pointed toward the water with a staff, about two feet taller than he was, where the water pooled into a tiny pond. There was something familiar about him, but when she squinted to get a better look, he was gone. All she saw was fog radiating up from the surface of the pond.

She must have been more oxygen-deprived than she thought.

Shaking the cobwebs from her head, Daisy made her way across the bridge toward the side of the stream where the water pooled. She stumbled over a small rock, but caught her balance. The bank was quite treacherous, she thought.

She carefully worked her way to the water’s edge, squatted down over her knees, cupped her hands, and brought some of the cool, clear water to her mouth. She drank three times before the sweetness of the water registered. There was no filtered taste or plastic bottle residue, just pure, almost effervescent wonderfulness. If she could only have three things to drink for the rest of her life, they’d be water—preferably
this
water—iced tea made with this water, and French champagne. The Scots would not agree, especially her Scot. For them, whisky was the water of life.

Satiated, Daisy sat back on her heels and took in the beauty around her. The bridge crossed the stream, but didn’t seem to lead anywhere. She couldn’t see the road or the carpark anymore. They might as well have been a world away. There was a flutter of movement and she spotted a large white owl in a crevice of a tree about twenty feet away. It blinked at her and again she felt the stirring of recognition, then it turned its beautiful head toward the loch far below. The feeling that something was about to happen flowed into and through her. It was as real and as clear as the air she was breathing.

Something jumped in the water, capturing Daisy’s attention. She leaned forward to get a better look. A beam of sunlight penetrated the tree canopy, illuminating the shallows of the pond. Small pebbles, silt, and sand were clearly visible, and among the stones something glistened. Intrigued, Daisy stuck her hand back into the water. A salmon swam past, tickling her palm before commencing its journey. Again a feeling that this was important washed over Daisy.

The water was deeper than it appeared from the surface and the farther she reached, the colder it became. She stood, took off her leather jacket and her t-shirt, tossing them aside before she bent and stuck her hand in again. She reached as far as she could, shoulder deep now in the cold water before she reached the bottom. Moving the small pebbles aside, she reached the shiny object. She pulled, but it held firm.

Inhaling deeply and then holding her breath, Daisy tried again, pulling with all her strength. The stream bed gave way and she found herself flat on her back with a long length of pitted steel in her hand. She eyed it disbelievingly as she held its still considerable weight high.

I found a sword. A Viking sword.

Daisy sat up and cradled her prize in her lap, not caring that she was probably ruining her leather pants. The hilt was in remarkably good shape, done with bits of bronze and gold twisted into knotwork. The blade itself had some form of runic script on it. Some runes she recognized, most she did not. One word, barely visible, stopped Daisy’s heart:
Gleipnir.

An image of her favorite charm on her sister Taryn’s charm bracelet map flashed through her head. A wolf restrained by a thin, finely woven chain which got tighter the more the beast struggled. The chain was held to the ground by a small daisy. She’d always loved that charm, although Daisy didn’t know why. Taryn told her the name of the chain when she’d first admired it as a child:
Gleipnir.

Daisy stood, far too quickly. Her head swam with the movement. Just as she reached full height, her legs buckled. Her world dimmed then narrowed, her periphery blackening first as she collapsed to the ground.

The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the white owl followed by two ravens swooping toward her. The owl turned into the old man she’d seen from across the bridge. He looked even more familiar to her as he bent over her and placed something into the zippered pocket on the side of her workout tank top. He whispered something to her before everything went black, but try as she might, she couldn’t hold onto what he was saying. Her world disappeared.

…

When she woke, the sun was well past the horizon. She sat up and instantly a pain made her cradle the back of her head. Gingerly exploring her scalp, she felt a lump just to the right of center, but there was no blood. She couldn’t tell if she’d been hit or if the injury happened as the result of her fall. All she remembered was feeling lightheaded and falling.

Then it all came back to her. The man,
Wizard…
the owl…the water…the…salmon…the owl turning into the Wizard…the whispering…the sword…

Ignoring the pain in her head, Daisy stood quickly and whipped around, searching.

Gleipnir was gone.

Howling in frustration and a groggy kind of pain, Daisy bent and threw on her t-shirt and leather jacket. She made her way down the mountain much more quickly than she made her way up. She was at the carpark and on her bike in record time. She opted to keep her helmet secured to the back of the bike, something she normally would never do. Her head still hurt and the thought of pulling a tight-fitting full-faced helmet down over her swollen lump made her nauseous. She was still a long way from her bed and dusk had fallen. Daisy was cold, damp and angry. She concentrated all of her efforts on the road and a new list.

Top Ten Reasons NEVER to Hike up Hill-Mountains:

1.
Odd creatures live there.

2.
Creatures who should only come out at night turn into Wizards.

3.
Bridges get farther away the closer you get.

4.
There is no “Lost and Found” for ancient swords you recover in mountain streams then proceed to promptly lose.

5.
Even though the water is fantastic, odds are you’ll wind up swordless with a lump on the back of your head, imagining you saw birds turn into Gandalf before you passed out…

Daisy thought of half a dozen more items to add to her new list before she pulled into the drive at Kilmartin House. She parked the bike and went straight to her room. Still fully dressed in her leathers and boots, she passed out on her bed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Defy not the heart~from it all strength flows

“Daisy found one of the original five Ulfberht swords. Gleipnir, in fact,” Merry said as she walked into Magnus’ temporary metal shop. She helped him set it up in a remodeled barn behind the museum. It was well lit, well ventilated, and clean. It also had everything Magnus needed to create jewelry, weapons, and his own form of metallurgic magic.

Merry tended to arrive and leave without ceremony, which Magnus found odd in such a personable woman. When they were alone, she was his teacher, not his friend. Having the High Druidess as his teacher was not something he questioned, nor did he take the honor lightly. He’d wandered onto this path seeking knowledge. He wound up finding much more than he bargained for—more, quite frankly, than he felt he deserved.

Magnus didn’t need to ask what Merry was referring to. The five original swords were the stuff of legend. He’d always thought them more fairytale than real. They were said to belong to five of Somerled’s children, each imbued with a characteristic to make that child stronger in battle. Somerled, the half Viking, half Scottish warrior, who ruled most of the western isles of Scotland, was the progenitor of the mighty Clan Donald. He was the first, and is considered by some the greatest Lord of the Isles.

Magnus wasn’t sure he believed half of the history written about Somerled, much less the bits about the magical swords he bestowed upon his children, one of them to a daughter. She was the one said to have wielded Gleipnir. It was hard to believe written history when things like the names of swords remained and the names of daughters did not. Magnus thought that was reason enough to be skeptical.

If the sword Daisy found truly was Gleipnir, or even of fragment of it, that alone would be a miraculous find.

Daisy finding such an artifact made absolute sense to him. Daisy’s ability as a Finder was as close to magical as he’d ever seen. The sword didn’t need to be Gleipnir to have power. The power would come from the
belief
that Gleipnir actually existed. If Daisy believed in it, then the power would be there for her to access. If she didn’t believe in it, then the sword was simply an interesting piece of history to admire from behind glass and write theses about. That choice rested with Daisy.