Pagan Fire (20 page)

He bowed his head and clasped his hands together to still their shaking. “I meant no disrespect. I only spoke from my limited knowledge of the Vikings.” He dared a quick look at her face. “If you say there is a problem, then there must be a problem.” Eugis motioned toward the sky. “Just as surely as the stars shine.”

Morrigu’s glare melted into a smile, her lips red and glistening. “Jorvik has indeed turned against you. He rides away from here, away from this meeting place.”

Eugis cursed.

Morrigu allowed a small smile to cross her face. “I am pleased, then, that you will listen to me where the Norseman is concerned.”

“Of course,” Eugis said quietly. “I’d be a fool not to.”

“A fool indeed.” Morrigu approached him where he sat and lowered herself to his lap. She ran her hands through his thick graying hair, soothing him. When his eyes half closed, she grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back, hard. She leaned over him, her breath hot on his face, pleased to see fear in his eyes.

“Now that we have this little matter settled, perhaps you should prepare yourself to worship me again.” She relaxed her grip and urged him forward as she eased backward. “Worship me. And afterward you may seek the girl and your revenge against the tall Northman.” Morrigu smiled. She kissed Eugis, biting his lip and drawing blood. “And perhaps your revenge against Dylan mac Connall as well.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Norsemen rode steadily along in the early morning light. The heavy plop of the horses’ hooves scattered sand and flattened water grass as the men neared the coast. In the distance, a horn sounded, its tone long and low. Two short blasts followed by one longer one. And again. Two short blasts, one long one. A second horn joined the monotonous chorus.

The Vikings pulled up their horses and stopped. Jorvik held up one hand to silence his companions.

“What is it?” Maere asked.

“Quiet,” Jorvik hissed. He cocked his head ever so slightly, turning his ear toward the soulful sound.

The horses skittered when the horns sounded once more. Two short. One long.

Jorvik raised his eyes to the luminous sky. “What have you done, goddess?” he shouted. He raised his fist, shaking it in fury. “What have you done to my father?”

* * * *

“Will the trees really tell you where the Vikings took Maere?” Seelie asked as she lifted her brown nun’s habit and stepped high over a fallen log.

Dylan smiled, more to himself than to the young woman. He answered over his shoulder, “Aye. They’ll tell me.” So full of questions, this one was. She reminded him of someone he knew once, a fey child with copper hair and freckles across her nose. He clutched a hand to his heart and whispered, “I will find you, Maere.” He looked up to the sky, which was just beginning to lighten. “I swear it.”

“Did you say something?” Seelie called. “Were you talking to me?”

“Just to the gods.”

“To the gods?” Seelie stopped walking. “Don’t you mean ‘to God’ as in the one true God in heaven?”

Dylan turned around and laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran his fingers through his hair and lifted his face to the warmth of the early sun.

“Tell me, Seelie. What did you do – what did your family do – before you entered the abbey?”

Seelie looked at him, confused. “My family farmed the land.” She stabbed at the forest floor with her foot. “But they were poor and I was one of their youngest children. They could only afford a marriage dowry for my eldest sister, the rest of us were sent off to different abbeys where the dowries were much less.” She took a deep breath. “I was given away when I was nine.”

Dylan closed his eyes, his face still turned toward the sun. “Do you recall your mother and father burning fruits and vegetables in the hope it would give them a better crop?”

She thought for a moment, digging into the recesses of her mind. “Aye. That I do.” Her eyes lit up with memory. “Mama made honey cakes for us to eat.”

“That was the feast of Beltane you remember, Seelie.” Dylan opened his eyes and looked into hers. “The day is reserved for paying homage to Beltos so he’ll look favorably on the people in the coming crop year.”

The light in Seelie’s eyes quickly faded. “You mean we were worshiping a pagan god?”

“Not pagan or Christian,” Dylan said, his voice softening. “Just one of the spirits with whom we share the land.”

Stunned, Seelie stood still for a moment. “You are telling me these beings exist?” She looked up at Dylan. “You expect me to believe this?”

Dylan shrugged. “It matters not to me what you think to be true. But you’ve come to understand I can communicate with trees. And you’ve witnessed Maere’s powers, have you not?”

Seelie nodded.

“Why should this be different? I was there when Maere was born. She was blessed with her abilities by the goddess of the lake.”
The same who haunts me now.

“How can you know this? Even if you were there when she was born, how can you know anything about this supposed goddess’ blessing?”

Dylan looked away. The images of Maere’s birth night were as fresh as if they’d just happened. He, a small boy with wild hair, standing near the stream when he heard his name called out. And there she was—the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She had talked to him and her voice was like a song. There was no indication then of the trouble he’d find in Morrigu’s embrace all these years later.

“I know because the goddess told me this.”

“You have spoken to such beings?” Seelie asked, her eyes wide.

“I have.” He hoisted his brown leather pack and slung it over his shoulder. “And you have seen only the tip of things in Maere’s ability to heal and the sleeping spell cast.” Dylan frowned as his thoughts moved again to Morrigu. “There is much evil still to be dealt with, that much I can tell you.” He turned and continued down the trail.

Seelie hung back for a moment, considering the man and his words. Something stirred the bush beside her. In the span of a heartbeat, she leapt forward and ran to catch up with him.

* * * *

“Would you have me chase the Vikings down?” Eugis asked. “I hope that is not your plan.” He picked at his nails. “It would seem foolhardy to me. Dylan is a more amenable prey.”

Morrigu rolled onto her stomach. “Put another log on the fire. I grow cold this fall morn.”

“You? Cold?” Eugis shook his head in disbelief as he reached for the wood. “The way you go around here without a bit of clothing, I thought the weather never bothered you.”

Morrigu pushed herself up like a cat, crouching on all fours, and leveled her gaze at Eugis. “What do you know of it?” she hissed. “I am whatever I choose to be and, at this moment, I choose to enjoy the warmth of the fire.”

Eugis raised his eyebrows, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Morrigu rose slowly into a long, languid stretch. She shook her head and her black hair slowly lengthened and swept around her body in long tendrils, forming a cloak. “As for Jorvik, I do not suggest you chase him down.” Her smile dripped with sweetness. “Unless, of course, you seek to end your life now.”

Eugis grunted. “Very odd sense of humor you have.”

She smiled wider, displaying an even row of sharp white teeth. “It is one of my assets, don’t you think?”

He turned away from her gaze. She was playing with him and it wasn’t sitting well this morning, this talk of death. Did she know something he didn’t?
Idiot. Of course she does. She is a goddess, after all
.

Eugis looked back at Morrigu and found her now lying down beside him. Oh, she was ripe for the picking all right. Tightness grabbed his belly and worked its way down to his loins. He savored the pressure of his growing erection, the thought of forcing her legs apart and plundering her wet prize filling him.

Morrigu glanced at his crotch. “I see I’ve distracted you from the matters at hand.”

Eugis leaned down on one elbow. “You are a distraction unto yourself, goddess.” He ran his hand lightly over her belly. “Tell me, did Jorvik realize his task? Does he possess Maere? Or is she still with Dylan? What should I do?”

“Am I now a fortune teller?” She brushed his hand away. “Have you debased my station so?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Eugis protested. “I only seek your counsel. Does he have my niece?” Morrigu didn’t respond. He stared at her but her face was completely void of any thought or emotion.

Yes. Morrigu definitely knows something
. “You say the Vikings have turned from here. I will venture to guess they do not have Maere then, that Dylan still has her.” He watched the goddess, but her expression gave no clue as to whether he was on the right track. “I’ll send two men to intercept them and bring her to me. Is that what you would have me do?”

Morrigu raised her arms and stretched. She quietly said, “Do not push me too far, man. There are things you must discover on your own.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Where is my father?” Jorvik demanded as he rode into his people’s camp. He swung a leg over his horse and dismounted in one quick motion, moving so fast Maere fell forward on the horse’s neck. She grabbed a handful of mane before sliding off sideways. She steadied herself and found she was alone except for the one called Grimnir standing nearby.

A man walked past – looking her over – his disdain obvious. Maere pulled her cloak tighter around her as another man ventured near. This one stopped for a moment, grinned slyly, and moved on when Grimnir gave him a playful shove.

“Jorvik’s done well this time, eh?” The men shared a laugh.

Maere moved sideways along the horse, away from the pair who spoke a mixture of her language and theirs. Every so often they would gesture toward her. Nervous, she fidgeted with the ties of her wrap and forced her attention away from the men. A colorfully dressed woman came near, her arm outstretched, offering a cup. Maere smiled gratefully as she accepted the water and drank it down. The women were about the same age, but the Viking was taller and wore her hair in many braids tied with copper ornaments. Maere gestured toward the shiny discs. “Beautiful,” she said with a smile.

The Northwoman touched her hair quizzically for a moment, then nodded in understanding. She removed one of the ties and handed it to Maere. “Are you certain?” Maere asked. The woman continued to hold the item out. Maere took it, turning it over in her hand. The warm copper glowed with the morning sun. She bowed her head in thanks as the woman walked away.

Maere watched as she entered a long wood structure covered with thatch, one of many in the camp. Blankets, serving as doors, were pulled back, allowing a view inside. A small cook fire smoldered in the center of the building. Off to one side were two or three cots, on the other, a loom and stacks of wooden bowls and utensils.
Not so different from us.
But if that were true, if they were so similar, why so much fighting and distrust? Why did these Vikings insist on overrunning their lands and taking from them what they so obviously already possessed?
Perhaps it wasn’t about things as much as it was about the land?

“Come,” Grimnir said, startling her out of thoughts. When Maere didn’t immediately respond, he grabbed her arm and dragged her along behind him.

Jorvik was at the center of the camp and his people were gathering about him. There was something in their demeanor, she sensed.
Fear? Of Jorvik?
She couldn’t be certain, but they were definitely holding something back from him.

“Where is my father?” Jorvik asked the crowd. There were no answers, only silent stares and heartfelt expressions of grief. He stopped and scanned their faces, one by one, each man, woman, and child.

A gray-haired woman cried, dabbing at her eyes with a thin, supple scrap of suede. Jorvik approached her. Taking one gnarled hand into his own strong one, he knelt before her on one knee. “Tell me, old one. Are my fears founded?”

The woman stared into Jorvik’s eyes for a moment, then turned her head in the direction of the rocky bank. Jorvik looked down, fighting to steady his emotions as he followed the woman’s gaze. Slowly, he rose and began walking toward the water. Toward where the lifeless body of his father now rested.

Those who weren’t following Jorvik quickly surrounded Maere. Hands reached out – seemingly bodiless – there were so many. Touching her all over—her hair, her arms, the green wedding tunic she still wore. They even dared touch the freckled skin of her fair face. Maere jerked her head this way and that. Still, the hands reached for her. “Make them stop, Grimnir.” She received no response so added, “please.”

Grimnir stood for a moment before stepping between his charge and the curious northerners. He said something in their native tongue, an order by the sound of it. They turned and filed away, until only a small child remained, a girl with blonde braids and a red woolen apron.

Maere smiled at the girl and crouched down. She held out her hand, palm up, in greeting. The girl looked from the hand to Maere’s face and back to her hand. She smiled back, dug in her apron pocket, and pulled out a small flat stone drilled through the center. She held it high for Maere to see, peering through the hole, and placed it on the older woman’s palm. Horrified, Maere dropped it like a burning coal.
Another cursed charm!

“Why did you give that to me?” Maere demanded, gripping the child’s shoulders. The girl’s eyes widened. She yanked free, turned on her heels, and ran away. Maere looked at the stone where it lay in the dirt. She picked it up and turned it over and over.
Charms. Fays. It was all nonsense and she’d had enough of it.

Someone called out. Others were heading toward the water’s edge. “What’s going on?” Maere asked.

Grimnir grunted. “It’s not your concern.”

“But—”

“Nothing you need to know,” he said. “You will attend with me and keep your mouth closed.” He grabbed her arm again and started walking in the direction of the others. This time, Maere stood her ground, refusing to move. Grimnir turned around, his eyes narrowed.