Garth

by Sassa Daniels

  “We are by the sea. Many strangers have landed on these shores.”

  “Hmm.” Garth suspected they were not the first Norsemen to arrive in these parts. It was only a short journey from the Orkney Isles where their people had a well-established base, after all. “And who was it who told you about our gods?”

  “Nessa told me a few things,” Ytha confirmed, “but I would like to know more about your homeland.”

  Garth was more pleased than he would ever have imagined to hear of her interest. He wanted their children to know of his culture, to take pride in their father’s heritage. He blinked as he realised what thoughts were going through his head. Where had the idea of children come from? Only hours ago, he had not been certain he wanted to claim this woman as his wife. It had been mere minutes since he had fucked her for the first time, yet already he was imagining the offspring they might have. It seemed hard to believe.

  “What would you like to know of my homeland?”

  “Tell me what it looks like.”

  “Well,” Garth said, putting down his plate and going to sit on the bed where he might be more comfortable. “It is not so different from here. We have mountains and forests and fjords. Of course, our trees stand a little taller, and our mountains are much higher.”

  “Of course.” Ytha giggled at his obvious attempt at one-upmanship.

  “The land there is fertile, but we always have need of more.”

  “And so you came here.”

  Ytha lifted the lid on the cooking pot, gave the contents a quick stir, and then came to sit on the bed beside him.

  “Yes, and it seems fortunate for you that we did.”

  “We are not so helpless, you know. If need be, we can fight. Rhiannon is a match for any of your men.”

  Garth tried not to scoff at her words. He admired her pride and loyalty to a people who had not always done the right thing by her. The truth of it was, though, that he and the other men were needed here, to keep the enemy from their door.

  “Perhaps, but why should a woman fight if she has no need?” Garth said. “It is man’s work.”

  The tight pursing of her lips told him she hadn’t liked that statement, but she didn’t argue with him. Instead, she shook off her anger with a curt nod and moved into a cross-legged position.

  “Tell me a story of your homeland.”

  Garth tried to think what she might like. He was no bard, but he had listened to stories of the gods since he was a small boy—both in the jarl’s hall and in his own home where his father had regaled him with tales of Odin’s wisdom and Thor’s might. Most of the tales he could recall involved some sort of battle, and he was not sure she would enjoy hearing of such things.

  “Well,” he said eventually, “there is the story of Thor and the Jormungandr.”

  “The Jornmundgun?” Ytha asked.

  Her attempt to repeat the word was a slightly off, and Garth couldn’t help but smile.

  “Jormungandr,” he repeated, “the Midgard serpent.”

  He began to recite the tale of Thor’s attempt to obtain a cauldron from the giant, Hymir, in order that Aegir and Ran might throw a lavish banquet for the gods.

  “In Thor’s honour, Hymir slaughtered three fine bulls for dinner and was dismayed when Thor ate two of them.”

  “Two whole bulls?” Ytha asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, Thor has an enormous appetite. All great warriors have insatiable appetites,” Garth told her. He saw from the blush in her cheeks that she had caught the hidden meaning in his words. “Anyway, because he had eaten so much, Hymir insisted that they go fishing the next day, so they set out into the sea where a monstrous serpent, the Jormungandr, lived.”

  “Did Thor try to vanquish it?” Ytha’s whole body seemed to have come alive with excitement.

  “He did. He cast a line into the water to see what he could catch and hooked the serpent. It came to the surface with a mighty roar. Thor reached for his hammer, but the foolish giant, Hymir, panicked and cut the serpent of Midgard free.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment was etched across Ytha’s face. “It got away?”

  “It did. Thor was so enraged, he threw Hymir overboard. Then he caught two whales and returned to land where he collected Hymir’s cauldron, so the feast could be held.”

  “So, he triumphed after all?”

  “Yes,” Garth said. “He accomplished what he set out to do. Now, tell me a story of your homeland.”

  Ytha smiled and nodded. She had a thousand different tales to share with him, but the story he’d told brought a particular one to mind.

  “Many generations ago, a great man came to our shores from across the Irish Sea, a monk who wished to spread the Christian message.”

  “I do not much care for stories of monks.”

  “You will like this one,” Ytha insisted. “The monk was Colum Cille, and he travelled these lands, winning great respect from peasants and kings alike. He came to the banks of Loch Nis, where a terrible monster had long struck fear into the hearts of the people.”

  “What did it look like, this monster?”

  Ytha wracked her brains. In every version of the tale she’d heard, the details of the monster’s appearance had varied.

  “It had a long, serpent-like neck, but its body was fat. It was bigger than the greatest of your ships and as fierce as a dragon. Nowhere else does such a creature exist.”

  Garth nodded as though satisfied with her description, so she continued with her tale.

  “As Colum Cille stood by the loch, the monster reared its head and tried to take one of the men who stood nearby. Colum Cille raised his arms and banished the creature to the depths of the loch, admonishing it to do no more harm. People say it has not been seen since.”

  “He defeated it with words alone?” Garth sounded impressed.

  Ytha smiled. “He was a great man.”

  “But not successful. He did not convert all your people to his faith.”

  That was true. He had not persuaded everyone he met to become Christian, and still there were people who held to the old beliefs, just as she did privately. She knew better than to let the likes of Father Godfrey see that she was not one hundred percent committed to his religion. He was a horrible man and might be dangerous if he smelled heresy in the air. Still, the arrival of the Vikings with their pantheon of gods should put paid to his scheming for now. She would not hear a word against Colum Cille, though.

  “He was a great man,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

  “He was indeed,” Garth agreed, as though he had not been trying to provoke her mere moments ago. “Tell me, where is this Loch Nis?”

  “Far to the south, at least six days’ travel,” Ytha guessed. “I have never been that far from here.”

  “But you have travelled?”

  Ytha nodded. When she was a child, Nessa had taken her to many places, and they had encountered a lot of different people, including the Nechtain, who were not all as bad as the people of Achnaryrie believed.

  “I have never crossed the sea, though.”

  “Would you like to sail to far-off places?”

  Ytha shook her head. There was a time, perhaps, when she would gladly have left the land of her birth, but not now. Nessa was growing older and more vulnerable with every winter that passed, yet she refused to move closer to the village. Ytha needed to be here to ensure she stayed safe. Then there was Ailsa to consider. She could not leave her sister. To do so would be like tearing off a limb. Besides, she was finally beginning to feel as though she had a home in Achnaryrie, and it made no sense to uproot herself now.

  “Perhaps one day you will change your mind.”

  An alarm sounded in Ytha’s mind.

  “Why? Will you want to move on from here?”

  “I might,” Garth admitted. “Travel is in my blood, but we shall see if there is enough to hold me here.”

  If she was enough to hold him here, was what he actually meant.

  “I will
be a good wife to you,” Ytha pledged.

  “And what is it you consider to be a good wife?”

  “One who will see to your comfort, tend you when you are ill, warm your bed each night.”

  “And what of children? Will you give me those?”

  Children? She had not even considered that possibility, but of course he would want sons to carry on his name, daughters whose marriages would strengthen their family’s position.

  “Yes,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “I will give you six fine sons and as many beautiful daughters.”

  “Twelve children?” Garth spluttered. “You intend to keep me occupied.”

  Ytha gave a shy smile. “I do, my Viking husband. I intend to keep you very busy.”

  Leaning in close, she kissed him. His lips were warm and soft. As he put his hand behind her neck and tried to deepen this kiss, she pulled away and, with a girlish giggle, leapt from the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Garth demanded.

  “To check on the stew,” Ytha replied. “I have plans for you, husband. You will need to keep up your strength.”

  “In that case, give yourself a double helping, for I will go easy on you no more,” Garth said with a wicked grin. “I will show you what real fucking is, and I expect you to keep up.”

  Mouth agape, Ytha turned and went to tend to the stew. Her words had clearly fired him up. She just hoped she wouldn’t live to regret it.

  4

  Ytha woke with a scream and found herself alone in the bed. The room was light around her, and she knew she had slept later than she usually did. Before the nightmare that had jolted her from her slumber, she must have been enjoying a very deep sleep. The dream had been extremely vivid. It was so bloody and terrible her heart was still pounding. It had been too loud, too bright, too intense. Yet now she was awake, the details of it were hazy. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. There had been blood, so much she could hardly bear to think about it. Bodies were strewn about a forest clearing. She had heard the low, keening sound of women weeping. A man whose face she could not see lay wounded, dying perhaps. She searched her memory, and a woman drifted into view. It was Eithne, and she was running. For a fleeting moment, she saw her face ashen with fear, and then the image was gone. She was left with nothing but a strange, coppery smell in her nostrils when the pictures faded.

  “What is the point in sending me these visions,” she complained, although there was nobody there to hear her, “if I cannot recall them properly?”

  She knew what she had experienced in the depths of her slumber was no mere dream. It had been prophetic. Her visions left her body tingling with an intense, nervous energy, so she knew the difference. Getting up from her bed, she put on her linen tunic and then pulled a drab, woollen pinafore over it. This was the same outfit she wore day in and day out, but she had no interest in clothing. She didn’t bother with stockings as the sun was shining and she rarely wore shoes at this time of year, even though her sister, Ailsa, had recently gifted her a pair crafted from the finest leather.

  She hadn’t heard Garth leaving but knew he’d set out in the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t shared his plans with her and had seemed suspicious when she’d asked what he and his countrymen intended to do. His apparent lack of trust in her was hurtful, considering the great passion they’d shared. Perhaps it was just the way of his people to feel uneasy about placing their faith in others. There was no faulting these Norsemen when it came to honouring a vow, though. They had agreed to settle here on the understanding that they would provide the people of Achnaryrie with protection. It seemed they were taking that role seriously. Ytha was not sure which of their enemies they had gone out to confront, but the Vikings were intent on ensuring that nobody dared attack Achnaryrie again.

  Standing at the centre of the room, she sighed. She was not accustomed to waiting at home for her man to return and she had no idea what she was meant to do. Get on with life as normal, she supposed. There was a little bread left over from yesterday, and some honey, but she wasn’t hungry. It was often that way when she’d caught a glimpse of the future. She was too agitated after her dream to stomach food. She needed to find something to do.

  The thought occurred to her that she could spend the day hunting in the forest. It was a source of great pride to her that she never missed a target. She still had some cured venison in her larder from her last hunt, but it was a long time since she’d had a boar. The challenge of taking down such a wild beast was one she would usually relish, but she didn’t particularly feel like doing that either. For her, hunting was a solitary pursuit, and she found that being alone held less appeal for her than it once had.

  Ytha stepped out into the morning sunshine and considered what she should do. Something told her to head for the waterfall, and it was best not to ignore such a strong feeling. As she made her way along the well-trodden path towards one of her favourite spots, Ailsa was coming up another path from the village, carrying a large wicker basket.

  “Ytha, it is good to see you,” Ailsa greeted her. “I was coming to find you.”

  The other woman reached out and pulled her into a hug. As always, Ytha offered a little resistance at first. Before she’d come to know Ailsa, Ytha had not experienced much in the way of affection. Nessa had been good to her, but she’d never been one to hug. Ailsa was, however, so Ytha gave in and wrapped her arms around the other woman, patting her gently on the back. Tension was coming off her sister in waves. Ytha stepped back from their embrace and studied her face carefully.

  “Ailsa, is all well with you?” she asked.

  “I’d thought to ask you the same question.”

  “My new husband behaves like a boy inhabiting a man’s body with his silly sulks and suspicions,” Ytha said, venting her frustration that Garth seemed not to trust her. “Bah!”

  “These Norse are very different to our Pictish men. I’m not sure what to make of them.” Ytha was somewhat relieved to hear she was not the only one confused by the Vikings. “Do you trust them?”

  Apprehension was apparent in the tight pursing of her sister’s lips.

  “Do not fear your husband.”

  Ailsa sighed in apparent relief. “You’ve seen that all will be well?”

  The question did not surprise Ytha. Ailsa was the only person with whom she’d ever felt comfortable sharing her visions, and she had confided in her that she usually experienced some premonition when something serious was happening in the village. Her sister also had a sort of sixth sense, but she had never experienced Ytha’s powerful premonitions. She wished she could tell her that everything would be fine, but that was not what she’d seen.

  “No, I meant that I trust Eithne’s judgement and…”

  “But how do we know they will not attack us in our sleep?”

  Ytha studied her the other woman’s face carefully. “Did your wedding night not go well?”

  If that brute had taken Ailsa against her will, Ytha would kill him. At least, she would try to.

  Spots of red tinged Ailsa’s cheeks. “It was, um, surprisingly good.”

  “Do not look for worry.” Ytha grinned, relieved that all was well. She wondered, though, how Ailsa and her new husband spoke to one another. “Would you like me to teach you Norse? It might help if you could communicate.”

  Ailsa shook her head. “Thorolf wishes for us to learn together…at least, I believe that is what he inferred.”

  That was probably just as well. Ytha knew from bitter experience of rows with Nessa when she was growing up that it was not always easy to be taught by a loved one. She could tell there was something more than language bothering Ailsa.

  “So, you fear for Thorolf in the coming raid?”

  “I’m worried for my husband and for the others, too. Tell me what you’ve seen.”

  “I have seen a warrior struck down, wounded, but I couldn’t see his face. Eithne is running forward, her face stricken.” She decided she didn’t want to wor
ry her sister with vivid descriptions of bloodshed. “I woke from the trance. There was nothing more.”

  “Perhaps it is Brandr,” Ailsa suggested, “since you have seen Eithne looking stricken?”

  Ailsa appeared both concerned and hopeful at the same time. It was understandable that she should wish for it to be anyone but her own husband who was hurt. Ytha thought about it. As it was Eithne she’d seen, Ailsa was more than likely right. Brandr was the one who would fall.

  “I can’t be certain but I am sure it isn’t Garth.”

  When it came to her visions, she did not like to deal in absolutes. What she saw often lacked clarity, and she might well be wrong about what she’d seen. Although they barely knew each other, she felt enough of a connection with her husband that she was sure she would sense if he was in danger. Ailsa anxiously chewed her bottom lip and then seemed to shrug off her cares.

  “Will you join me?” she asked. “I need to keep busy today. We could forage for mushrooms before going to the falls to bathe.”

  Well, that explained why Ytha had felt a sudden urge to head in this direction. The invitation was too good to refuse. Nodding, she fell into step beside her sister, and together they walked along the forest path. For a long time, neither of them spoke, but there was nothing uncomfortable about the silence. It was often that way—words were not necessary when they enjoyed each other’s company. They headed towards the field they would have to cross to get to the freshwater pool where they would enjoy a refreshing bath, and Ailsa scanned the undergrowth for herbs. She gathered wild garlic and thyme as she went. Tradition held that the herb only grew where someone was buried, so Ytha uttered a quick blessing each time her sister picked a few sprigs.

  “We can make the soup together,” she suggested, “enough for both our brave warriors.”

  Ytha nodded in agreement. It would be nice to spend some time with Ailsa.

  The moment they reached the clearing, they split up to gather mushrooms. After a rainy start to the season, they were plentiful here. Ytha picked as many she could hold in the gathered-up skirt of her pinafore and went to add them to those Ailsa had found. She kept the mushrooms separate to the ones her sister had collected and raked though the basket. Picking the various fungi up one by one, she sniffed them cautiously before examining them closely by eye. She hated to appear as though she didn’t trust her sister’s judgement, but some mushrooms contained deadly poisons, and they were not always easy to detect. Sure enough, a quick check of the contents of the basket revealed one that would undoubtedly strike down whoever ate it with a terrible sickness.