The Island House (57 page)

Bear feinted from the carl’s blade; the man was better than he’d thought. He sneered. “Envy will kill you, Fiachna, or Solwaer.”

“No.” The death smile. “And you won’t have her.”

It was then Bear saw Signy and understood. “She was promised to me.”

Huddled with Gunnhilde by Anselm’s corpse, his life ended by Fiachna’s ax, Signy lifted her head. Bear meant her.

Solwaer’s lieutenant howled, plunged forward. “That pledge is broken.”

Sword sliced on sword and clashed and slid, Bear’s blade against Fiachna’s hilt. It broke in a blood fountain, Fiachna’s sword wrist, his fingers, shorn like wool.

Bear pressed hard. The knife in his other hand plunged deep in his opponent’s guts.

Fiachna screamed, a pig at year-end slaughter. He fell.

A fourth man, foolishly, had his back to Bear. He’d hacked at Gunnhilde trying to get to the girl. The nun’s arm flew away, but
Signy had the great book of the end of the world, of the Apocalypse, as a shield. She screamed to Mary. A curse or a prayer.

Bear slashed out, a great unbalanced lurch. In the whirl and confusion, the half-light, the blade connected with the man’s face, slicing an eye and into a shoulder. The man dropped, blinded. He died with an arm slung across the nun’s body. Bear ran to Signy, grabbed her wrist, wrenched her up.

He took her from the noise and the death. There was one safe place they both knew. Chest heaving, he dragged her to the edge of the stones. “I’ll come back.” And turned to go.

Signy was staring, wide-eyed. “You won’t come back.”

Bear leaned on his sword, trying to breathe. “Of course I will.” Flames shot gold in his eyes.

Signy sank to her knees. “I cannot hide. The altar stone. They took it.”

Bear plunged his sword in the turf and knelt. “Hush. This will be over very soon. And then . . .”

“Then?” She was shaking, dazed.

Bear cupped Signy’s face in his hands. The skin was hard, but his touch was gentle. “Then, we have the future. Life. If you forgive me.” He kissed her.

Signy twined her hands in his hair; she sobbed as she tasted his mouth, breathed him into her heart. “I forgive you. I love you, I always have.”

“Very touching.” A sword hilt thumped the boss of a shield—ironic applause.

In the drifting smoke, making leisurely way toward them came Solwaer. He’d observed the carnage at the Abbey dispassionately and decided to keep away from the fury. To find Bear was just pure, blind luck. Or not.

Bear rose. He glared at Solwaer—the red stare. He pulled his sword from the earth. “In search of carrion, oath breaker?”

The Chieftain smiled. He held out an open hand. “We are your
friends.” Men were running toward them, Portsol men. They carried axes and howled like animals.

From the dark side of the stones, a man ran from shadow to shadow.

“Bear!” Signy shouted a warning.

For a moment—only a moment—Bear thought Edor had brought aid.

“Run!” Bear pushed Signy away, his sword held high. Solwaer hung back, watching.

But Signy darted forward, a rock in her hands. Edor dodged as she hurled it. He howled; she’d winged the side of his face. Blood dripped, and he stumbled as Bear pressed forward and the blades engaged.

Men ran toward the fight. Solwaer bellowed, “Hold!” They faltered.

Edor was on his feet but off-balance. Bear drove at him, his sword a blur. The onslaught was vicious, and Edor backed, and backed again. Death came close, closer in that whirling blade. Bear howled victory and lunged, but Edor’s sword flashed and slashed Bear’s chest. Deep and wide.

Signy saw Bear fall.

“Christ!” In the clamor of the sack, her scream was a knife through smoke. Kneeling, she tried to raise Bear from the ground; blood turned her kirtle black.

Shaken, Edor scrambled up. He wiped his blade and watched the girl cradle the demon he’d murdered, Grimor’s brother.

“Magni!” A distant bellow.

Through her tears, Signy saw him first. Fate. She stood.

Bear, eyes turning toward the shadows, reached out, trying to hold Signy at his side. His strength was nearly lost.

Edor swallowed. He rebalanced the sword in his hand as Grimor ran from the burning Abbey.

And stopped. “Magni!” He knelt beside the dying man, half-lifted him from the grass.

“I tried to save him, Grimor. But your brother was betrayed.” Edor turned toward Solwaer.

If Solwaer answered, none heard him.

An angel of destruction, the girl reared up, screaming, “Liar!” A knife flashed in her hand. Bear’s knife.

Edor’s sword sliced at the air as the girl dodged beneath his arm. Her bright, small blade flickered in the light from the fires.

Grimor, defending his lieutenant, surged from the grass. His fist caught Signy in the side. Gasping, the girl fell back against Bear.

With the last flicker of his life, his breath, Bear flung his arm across Signy’s body. The arm would not do his bidding, but his fingers found hers, and grasped.

Signy saw the light leave Bear’s eyes.

She took his face in her hands, tried to give her breath to that massive chest.
Bear, come back. Come back to me.

He had brought her from death once, long ago.

The girl pressed her lips against Bear’s, but Grimor’s brother lay open-eyed in those frail arms. Never again would he breathe in this life.

As Signy keened, rocking Bear in her arms, the war leader knelt again beside the warm body of his brother.

“Grimor.”

He waved Edor away, blear-eyed.

“Pick up your sword, Grimor.”

The war leader was confused. Then he saw the truth, saw why the girl had tried to strike Edor, his brother’s killer.

Grimor stood, death incarnate, the sword in his fingers an extension of his hand.

Edor swallowed; he’d wanted this.

Behind them, Solwaer drew closer.

Grimor taunted, “Foolish man, dead man. Soon you will be crow food. No Walhal for you.”

Was Edor superstitious? “You would have replaced me.” He waved his sword at Bear. “But now . . .” He feinted forward, trying for the first strike—a slash, and blood flowed from beneath Grimor’s right eye. “I will take the hulls.”

“No!” Signy saw Grimor’s death arrive.

Solwaer thrust his sword into Grimor’s back. The unsullied blade severed spine, pierced lungs, cut heart.

With deep surprise, the Norse leader watched the cold stars slide away as he died.

Edor rallied. Enraged, he rushed to split Solwaer’s skull.

“Stop.
Stop!
”

The Lord of Portsol snatched up Grimor’s sword and pivoted. “Edor! Think! This was the plan.”

Edor shook blood from his eyes. He roared forward.

Solwaer knelt in his path. The raider tripped and fell heavily; winded, he lay gasping.

Solwaer, a foot on Edor’s throat, sword poised over his belly, shouted, “Listen!”

The man flexed and struggled, but Solwaer leaned his weight behind the foot. He pushed the sword point through Edor’s tunic. It was close, very close to the man’s balls. Edor froze.

“Sensible, finally.” The Chieftain glanced toward Grimor and Bear. Beyond, the Abbey was almost consumed. Solwaer shook his head. “You did this. Let them loose.” He glared at Edor. “Get rope. The Christians who live must be kept together. Leave her.” His glance flicked to Signy. “Go—stop the killing.” He removed his sword.

Edor rose. He stumbled off, sullen. As war blood ebbed, he stared at the corpses of the brothers.

Something must be saved from Solwaer’s betrayal; blood price, at least, must be paid.

Signy, oblivious, knelt beside the body of the man she had so loved. She stared, unseeing, at the comet in the red night sky.

CHAPTER 41

A
T DAWN
it rained, and the ashes of the monastery leached bitter lye. After the tumult of the night, the day that followed was still and windless, no sound but the calm sea, the shift of insects in the grass. And it was warm, the morning benign, as it had been the first time. That was cruel.

The Abbey was reduced, again, to roofless walls, and there were mounds in the grass. Unrecognizable as men or women, they were lumps among the verdant green—inconsequential. But blackened stone, floorless rooms—these had shocking substance. Bodies are fragile, but stone is presumed to endure.

Signy, in her filthy kirtle, stared out across the strait. Seven nuns and two girls, novices, had survived the sack, and the group were all roped together—hands and necks—beside the rowan at the top of the cliff path. She had been similarly bound but was forced to sit apart from the others. Behind them, the gates within the palisade had been pulled down and lay abandoned. So passed Cuillin’s ability to control his world.

Numb and stunned, Signy saw nothing except the gulls as they wheeled and dipped above her head, calling. She would not feel, she would not think, she would not . . . But Bear’s phantom hand still lay in hers. There was pressure from his fingers until she sensed the strength begin to fade. “No! Do not go.”

One of the nuns bent closer. “Signy, this is our time of trial, we must think on Christ’s suffering and—”

Signy jerked the woman’s face to hers by the rope at her neck. “Listen to me, Alberga. You are not my sister. Your God has
failed us all. He must hate this place to let it burn twice. He must hate you.”

The girl drew back, tears in her eyes. The other nuns stared at Signy reproachfully. Cuillin had said she was possessed; this proved it.

Signy turned away, willing herself not to cry. In the east, as she stared into the sun, the circle of stones stood as it always had. They would stand when this agony was long gone.

“That one.” She knew the voice. Solwaer. She would not look at the man, but her heart hammered.

Bending down, a stranger blanked out the light of the sun. There was a knife in his hand. As his face loomed into hers, Signy saw the world in hectic color, heard the man’s breathing louder than a bellows. Her senses rioted. She welcomed oblivion. She would join Bear, and there would be peace—no more terror, no more suffering.
Please, please, let him be there to receive me.
There was a flash of that other time: she a child, hoping to die quickly as Cuillin tried to lift her up.

But Signy would not close her eyes in submission. Let her killer see she was not afraid. As the knife descended, she stared into his eyes and stretched her throat, exposing its length to that bright edge. The blade was cold as it touched her skin. It sawed, back and forth, back and forth. That was hard to bear.

The rope at her neck dropped away. Her flesh was not touched, and the bonds on her wrists were cut. She was free, but this was a fearful thing—she did not know what it meant.

Solwaer stared at Signy. He took an inventory of her body, piece by piece, and she remembered, ah yes, she remembered when Bear had been taken by this man.

“Sister Signy. Or should I just call you Signy?” Solwaer held out a hand as if today were a cheerful festival and she a bashful village girl. “Come. You have been distressed enough. I will protect you.”

She caught his odor. Smoke, sweat, and wet wool. Yet there was a softness in his eyes, as if he truly understood what she was feeling.

Signy almost laughed. She had seen him, she had seen this man stab Grimor with dispassionate accuracy. Protect her?

Solwaer’s dirty hand cupped Signy’s chin. “I want only the best for you.” He turned her head gently, so that she was forced to stare into his eyes.

She flinched from what she saw there.

“Do you understand me?” He spoke loudly, saying the words with extra care. His other hand now grasped her waist. He might speak like a thoughtful lover, but that hand was hard and possessive.

Signy frowned as if confused.

Disappointed, he yelled. “Idorn!”

“Here I am, Lord.” The translator hurried forward, sheathing the knife that had freed the girl.

The last day and night had shifted Idorn’s world. After these anxious days standing between Grimor, Bear, and Solwaer, his allegiances had been sorely tested, especially when it seemed the brothers had the upper hand. But this was the moment to demonstrate loyalty to Solwaer; in times of chaos, great opportunities existed. “What do you need of me, Lord?”