Loveweaver (32 page)

Llyrica thought once more of her mother, and saw her years of hiding and of carrying a deathbed promise burn away and drift farther out to sea. Only time would show what this funeral had accomplished for Broder. His brow was now even, where in the last days it had been furrowed in confusion and grief.
This bids well
. Llyrica felt renewed hope that her brother would now find his way to manhood, especially when he caught her eye, then gave her a nod. Together they watched the last of the distant fire die, and what remained dispersed until no further evidence could be seen.

With dawn arrived the time to start the journey back, with haste. They were all spent, though and would need words of firm command to see it done. Llyrica turned to urge Broder and the others to the task. There, behind them, approaching fast from the estuary, was a large dark ship. At once she recognized the pig snout figurehead at the prow. The BoarsJaw! Xanthus’ slave trader ship!

“Broder, look!” She pointed. “But, you burned his ship!”  All the fear and horror of once being in his possession rushed back. “He is after us, for sure!”

“He has built another! And they are hard upon us! Quickly!” Broder took up his oars as did they all, and began rowing.

“How shall we out run him?” Llyrica shouted as she rowed. “And surely not out to sea in this small vessel!”

Thunderous yelling sounded from the BoarsJaw, the ship now close enough to see members of the crew. Indeed, Llyrica could make out TwistedBeard and Xanthus himself, in his green boots.

“Songweaver and her brother! London is full of your news!” Xanthus bellowed. “I was a fool thrice! But will not be again!”

They would tire soon, but for now Llyrica and her crew maintained the distance.

“The first time was for letting you escape!” Xanthus called out. “The second was allowing StoneHeart to buy you from me!” He turned briefly to shout a command to his crew to row faster. His ship surged closer. Llyrica’s heart pounded wildly, imagined the others would not be able to keep this pace much longer.

Xanthus again leaned over the strake of his ship to press forth his triage. “But to know I searched all those years for Haesten’s children, yet had his daughter in my hands! His reward should have been mine!”

The BoarsJaw closed in, and Llyrica heard Xanthus shout again to his crewmen. They began throwing out rope loops which would snag Llyrica’s vessel. One missed its mark and was pulled back to try again. The second caught the craft, but Broder leapt to the prow to severe it with his sword. His oars, now idle, though, cost them speed and the BoarsJaw bumped up against them. Llyrica and the others rocked as their ship took in water and nearly overturned. 

Xanthus looked down from the strake of his ship, and threw out a rope ladder. “Haesten’s reward
will
be mine!”

Broder balanced on his feet with sword raised. His comrades kneeled on the wet deck, knives drawn, ready to join him in combat. Lorna shrunk in fear, her eyes wide. The crew of the BoarsJaw would soon drop down into Llyrica’s ship and snatch them all.

Panicked, Llyrica eyed the ocean, considered drowning a preference to capture. 
Mother! Father! What a disastrous end!
She thought of Slayde and of their life together that would not grow to fruition.
I love you, Slayde. May my lovespell not haunt you all your years, like mother’s did my father.

The BoarsJaw rammed them again, this time successfully throwing Llyrica and her small crew in the waters. As she hit the cold waves, she heard a strange whistling sound shriek through the chaos. Perhaps the valkyries had come for her, as well.

Slayde saw Llyrica disappear beneath the overturned ship, resisted the choking urge to blindly dive in after her. Instead, he gave himself over to the stoic precision of the StoneHeart. His whistling signal arrow shot strong and true, shreiked eerily to distract Xanthus and his ship for the extra moment he needed. His OnyxFox slid effortlessly through the water, closer, close enough for Slayde to fire a more menacing arrow. He nocked it deliberately in his bow, heard Byrnstan pray for a swift meeting with its target. Slayde drew back and let go, watched Xanthus topple with an arrow through his thigh. Quickly then, Slayde fired another, letting it arc near, but over the ship. Xanthus’ men now ran ducking, scrambling for their weapons. But spears, swords and knives would be worth little.  With a nod of his head, Slayde signaled his men to begin hailing the BoarsJaw with arrows.

Not built for battle, but for running, the slaver ship turned, its oars moving in fast rhythm, their sail raised. There would be a chase, but StoneHeart’s OnyxFox would not be the pursuer. Deorlof's  three well-armed ships now followed in the wake of the BoarsJaw, would see to it that this time, the slaver crew would be disbanded. 

Slayde turned his full attention toward Llyrica, could not see her among the bobbing heads in the water.
I pray she clings to the far side of the overturned ship!
Agonizing patience dictated he wait a few more strokes of the OnyxFox oars before he made the dive in after her.  He instructed several of his crew to join him in the jump.

Pain struck the injury in his rib as he swam toward Llyrica's ship, felt the weight of his clothing pulling against his progress.  As he neared where he hoped she would be, the ship dipped, then sank. In a flash of panic, Slayde was engulfed in darkness and swallowed a mouthful of salt water. He reemerged from under a wave to see Broder with one arm around Llyrica, struggling to keep them both afloat.  An unknown indication, her eyes were half lidded, her body slack.

Slayde knew his voice might fail when he gave a command.  "Hang on tight to her, Broder! We will both carry her to safety!"  With that, he grabbed the scruff of Broder's tunica with one hand and began paddling with the other. Their combined effort brought Llyrica quickly to the OnyxFox where Byrnstan pulled her aboard.

Close behind,  Slayde and Broder toppled over the strake onto the ship, both floundering, out of breath. They were among the rest of Broder's crew, drenched and frightened all, but blessedly not drowned.

Scarcely recovered enough to move again, Slayde arose to crawl to Llyrica where she lay with Byrnstan holding her hand. Welcome, stunning, her eyes opened, were bright and asking him a thousand questions. Slayde answered by pulling her onto his lap and holding her against his heart. To have Llyrica again safely in his arms, his vixen in wet silk, meant he could now surely trust the urgings of her songs.  She was his, and nothing else mattered.

She drew a breath, and then another, raised her face to his. With trembling lips, she stammered the beginnings of words,  seemed uncertain where to begin. Slayde stilled her with a smile and then a kiss, as tenderly as the sleepwalker could. 

"Your brother is well, helped get you out of the water." Slayde looked up to see Broder slumped against the strake with Norna beside him. No more than a man-child, he seemed drained of his former fury and met Slayde's gaze without blinking, his brow furrowed and mournful. Would that this posture of defeat indicate a truce between Llyrica's husband and brother.

Llyrica's fingers brushed against Slayde's twitching eye, brought relief and promise.  He bowed his head to drink in the sight of her, watched her lips as she spoke.

"If  StoneHeart's work is done, there is a house I want you to build."

Chapter  XIX

The sea has stopped boiling and the clouds no longer race.

Come out from umdercover, let the sun shine on your face.

With troubles too few to count, be free to live in grace.

With hands joined in a circle, may God bless this place.
 

Near London, the Great Isle. Late Fall.

            Llyrica glanced at the road again, then settled on the horizon, judged the sun would set in an hour. Behind her, Slayde's and her new house was just finished, its unseasoned timbers golden in the warm afternoon. She and Byrnstan sat on a bench beside the front door, sharing news and refreshments, while enjoying the view of London below. StoneHeart was there now, commanding troops at the garrison.

"Judith visited yesterday." Llyrica turned to the priest and refilled his cup with mead.  "She brought baskets full of linens and crockery to furnish the house. Elfric came, too, and could not stop talking about how he helped his brother build the house."

Byrnstan's grin stretched between white curtains of hair. "He seems to never tire of pointing out each peg he hammered, stone he carried or beam he climbed."  Byrnstan leaned back, his eyes twinkling with self-satisfaction.

Llyrica laughed. "Slayde kept a list of all the tasks a little boy could do. He was patience with Elfric, as a good captain is with a green soldier." Spurred by other thoughts, she worked to govern her racing heart.  By day's end, the moment she and StoneHeart had envisioned would unfold.  She looked again to the road.

Still avoiding a subject on which so much depended, she ventured toward another. Here, too, there was much at stake. "You say you have had word from Athelswith?"

A good sign, Byrnstan remained in repose, nodded as if all his greatest plans had come to fruition. "Aye. Canute sent a message to her that your recent bundles of braids are bound for the farthest ports of his route. The name Songweaver will further be restored to your family and be known around the world."

She cared less for this report than for the next. Holding her breath without blinking surely told Byrnstan to continue.

He chuckled, squeezed her hand. "Canute assures us he will deliver your message to Solvieg in Hedeby, and on his return journey will see if she will come." Byrnstan smiled elfishly, turned his attention to the sloping hills into the shallow valley. Pastoral, bucolic: farmland spread its harvest colors on each side of the road that led to London. The aroma of ripening grain filled the skies as much as did the busy birds of the approaching twilight.

Llyrica's gaze lingered on the road once more, the road that would bring Slayde home at last. She pressed her palms to her heart. "I have missed her, and hope she agrees to travel here with Canute. She has lived hidden from sight her entire life and may be too afraid."

"Canute will convince her. She will feel safe with him." Byrnstan took a long draw from his cup of mead, seemed as if he had nothing else to say. 

She could wait no longer. "You toy with my patience, father! You know what I need to hear from you!"

With gnarled hands, the old priest pulled her into an embrace, laughing. He set her back at arm's length, now gave her his full attention. "All is well with your Broder. Apparently, life at sea agrees with him, keeps him too busy to get into trouble."

A exhale of relief: "I am vastly pleased he has gone with Canute and not run up north with rest of Haesten's people. As a merchant, perhaps he will find adventure and purpose. And when he returns, he and I can begin again." Llyrica sipped from her cup. "Norna is quite content to wait for him living at Judith's. She is quiet and sweet."

"Now you may be at ease knowing all is well."

Llyrica scarcely heard him as she rose to her feet. Over Byrnstan's shoulder she saw at last, a lone figure on the road far below.

Byrnstan stood and turned to see, threw his arms in the air. "I am daft not to have known why you have looked past me since I have arrived."

Nearly as faint as the first time StoneHeart kissed her, Llyrica could barely respond or contain her anticipation. "He and I have been quite happy and comfortable at his round house, but now that we have our own ..."

"Say no more, lass. I shall depart. Far be it from an old priest to meddle in the lives of you two, especially today, the first in your new home. I will meet him on the road and wish him merry!" After a wink and one last gulp from his cup, he trotted off.

"You will come to supper day after next!" Llyrica called after him before she rushed into the house.

Yet a new bride, she wondered at this breathless love that seemed to carry her up the stairs to the loft. This place was not a bedchamber, but a room filled with soft light, and yarns of all colors and weight. Tablet looms stretched along the walls, warped with cunning hues that sang of harmony and conflict, boldness and subtlety. Each bundle and skein of soft wool waited for its chance to become a woven song. This room was the Loveweaver's room where she would watch for Slayde come each eventide.

Violet, black, sea green and gray, the thick blanket Llyrica had woven for him was spread over a pad filled with clean rushes. Both a homecoming gift and tonight's bed, the blanket held her songspell, an ancient blessing that Mother had sung.

A scan of the room assured Llyrica that all was ready, and she moved to the window. Now in clear view, Slayde looked up and saw her, a great smile spreading across his face.

He waved and broke into a run. Within moments she would fall with him, enclosed in his arms, upon the softest place in the house.

"Dearheart, come see how beautiful this is." Llyrica, her gold hair in a loose braid down her back, sat on the window bench, awed by something in her view.

The room still held the hazy light of dusk, allowed Slayde to appreciate Llyrica's lovely curves through her sheer cemes. " 'Tis nothing compared to what I see from here. Entreat me not to move." He yet lie on his back on the makeshift pallet in the weaver's loft, hands clasped behind his head. This kind of bliss, the warm flush that remained after making love with Llyrica was a sensation and pleasure he had never known.

"You must, lest you miss it." She smiled and reached out her hand to him.

A sweet reluctance bade him obey. The chill air that came through the open window insisted he bring the new blanket with him from the pallet. Sitting beside Llyrica, he swept it in an arc behind them. It unfurled, floated, and then came to rest on their shoulders, a cloak for two.

There it was again, that strange rippling sensation along his skin. He hadn't asked what words Llyrica had sung into the soft, colorful weaving, and he was yet to surrender fully to the belief in song spells. But, what else would account for the euphoric certainty of love when he and Llyrica shared the blanket, or the knowing that he was forever joined with his missing half?

She kissed him as he settled in beside her, then pressed her forehead to his. "I feel it, too," she whispered.

They huddled closer as a current of night breeze swirled in, drew their attention out to the dark sky. Above the black velvet horizon hung the narrowest sliver of a moon.  A single star hovered in its arc.

As if on the wind, a melody resounded, low but distinct. The tune was at once heartbreaking and uplifting, delving into the unresolved chambers of the soul.

Llyrica was singing. Slayde felt the reverberation of her voice deep in his chest, as he had the first time he heard her speak. She now wove words among the haunting notes:

Each star is an answered prayer to ease the fear of night,

To soothe the lonely heart, a grief, a hunger or lost fight.

Find a balm in that vast heaven among the pins of light

To heal the void with love, compassion, and with tender might.

Each star shows faith rewarded and redemption within sight.

And even the journey's blackest path is marked clear and bright

So take my hand, my love, and be brave and hold on tight.

For now we plot our course and into the world take flight.