by Quinn Loftis
Ignoring the voice, I returned to my new friend and continued to tell her about myself. Occasionally, Gisele would say something that wasn’t helpful, and I simply ignored her.
“You are a very good listener,” I told Assy an hour later. “Although, I do wish you would share a little about yourself. Like where did you come from? Do you have any siblings?”
“Do you have any diseases?” Gisele chimed in.
“As insensitive as that sounds, Assy, I have to admit it’s a valid question. You are a rat, after all. Your kind isn’t exactly known for being clean and pure,” I pointed out.
“As entertaining as this has been, I have something useful you can actually do, Dayna, now that I know our experiment has worked. Bring your asinine friend here, then stick it in this cage.” When she held up the cage, I stood and did as I was told. For some reason, this act of obedience felt rather odd. I couldn’t ever remember doing as I was told before.
I watched as Gisele hung the cage on a hook. “She can rest there, and you can play with her later.”
I nodded. “Yes, I can play with her later.” Why am I repeating her?
“I want you to go outside to gather mushrooms like this.” She held up an example. It had a fat stem and a rather egg-shaped top that hung down over the stalk. “Do not go so far that you can no longer see the cottage. When you have gathered enough to fill the basket,” she held out a brown wicker basket to me, “then you may return.”
“And what if I run out of mushrooms that are within sight of the cottage before the basket is full?”
“Then wait until more grow.”
“What if I die before more grow?”
“If you feel like you’re going to die, dig yourself a grave first and then lay down in it. You will make perfect mushroom fertilizer.”
I titled my head slightly, feeling like something about that statement should bother me. But Gisele said to do it, and I felt like I wanted to. And it seemed rational.
Really, the voice screamed, filling my head with a shrill noise. Digging your own grave and laying down in it to die seems rational? it asked.
Well, who else is going to dig my grave? I challenged.
How about not waiting around to die and trying to escape instead of gathering the bloody mushrooms?
I rolled my eyes. You obviously weren’t listening. She doesn’t want bloody mushrooms. Regular mushrooms will suffice. Now, hush, I have work to do.
I headed out the door, instantly spotting the mushrooms Gisele had been talking about. They were everywhere. That was great. It shouldn’t be too hard to fill up the basket before I died. For some reason, it felt important that I not die.
Yeah, great plan you got there, Princess, the voice grumbled.
“When you are beginning to feel dumber than an inanimate object, it’s time to take a step back and remember you are a sentient being and the object in question is nothing more than a collection of materials pieced together to make something useful. And though you should be above such things, and the object certainly won’t hear or feel you, I won’t blame you if you give the damn thing a good cursing and pounding. If no other reason than to simply to make yourself feel better.”
* * *
~Diary of Allete Auvray
“Open, damn it!” I pounded my hand down on the table, making Hilda’s book of prophecies bounce.
“We’ve tried yelling at it. It doesn’t seem to be effective,” Myra said.
Whirling on the old woman, I glared before saying, “It’s been two days since we found this gods-forsaken book! Why won’t it open?” It wasn’t terribly fair of me to yell at Myra. It wasn’t her fault we couldn’t separate the blasted book’s covers. Why on earth would Hilda want me to find the book, but then not give me any way to open it? Because she’s Hilda, that’s why.
“I know you’re frustrated,” Myra said. “But we’ll crack this tricky nut. We just need to think outside of the box. In life, Hilda tended to be a bit unconventional. It’s no surprise her idiosyncrasies still torment us after she’s gone.”
“You say unconventional—I say bat-wing crazy,” I said dryly. Myra and I had already tried everything I could think of to open the book. She knew plenty of un-binding spells, none of which had the slightest effect. We even tried the blood magic stuff again. After another nasty cut to my hand, the book was still closed. Blood to bind, but apparently not to open. It almost felt as though Hilda’s spirit lived in the book, and the old woman was having a great time cackling at our feeble efforts. You won’t be laughing if I chunk your bloody book in the ocean, will you, Oracle?
Myra tapped her chin as she hummed an unknown tune. I noticed the witch seemed to hum unconsciously when she was thinking. Making no noise apart from the occasional muttered curse, I simply glared at the useless object and resisted the urge to stomp on it. Mature, I know. Everyone was entitled to two-year-old moments occasionally, especially when they needed a vitally important magical book to open and it stubbornly refused to do so. And the two-year-old moment was doubly appropriate when the knowledge within the book was likely the only thing that could defeat my powerful enemies. I pounded the table again.
Myra suddenly sat up straight, her eyes widening.
“What? Have you thought of something?” I asked.
Myra’s lips turned up slowly into a grin that gave me the chills. “I think I might.” It seemed the woman was channeling her inner-Hilda. Everyone should have an inner-Hilda, by the way. Or at least an inner-Dayna.
“You look like a woman not right in the head,” I said to Myra.
“Spit,” she replied.
“Pardon me?” I frowned.
“Spit,” she repeated.
“At the risk of sounding like an uppity twit, let me assure you that queens—or princesses for that matter—do not spit. Though my sister is certainly an exception to the rule. I’ve seen her challenge members of the palace guard to distance competitions. Disgusting.”
Myra rolled her eyes. “You’d best get over your inhibitions,” she said. “You’re not just a queen. You’re an oracle and a shieldmaiden. And I’m quite certain Freya and Babs don’t mind hocking the occasional loogie.”
I shuddered. “So gross.”
Myra waved her hand in front of her face. “When you fight in dusty conditions, you see, all the particles get caught up in the nasal passages and… Never mind, it’s not important now. It’s not a warrior’s spit I need—it’s an oracle’s.” She grabbed the book and flipped it, spine side down so I was looking at the closed outer edge of the gilded pages. “Spit here,” she commanded, pointing to the gilding.
I leaned away, my face scrunching up as I stared at her like she’d grown two heads. “You want me to spit on the book?”
“Must I always repeat myself?”
“When it comes to spitting on magical books, yes,” I replied. “I don’t think taking a moment to ensure a certain amount of clarity is unreasonable.”
“Do you think spitting on a magical book is ridiculous?” she asked.
“Obviously.”
“And do you think your old mentor would find that hilarious?”
“She would.”
Shrugging, Myra raised her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. Of course. Hilda tended toward the ridiculous, or, rather, making someone else do something ridiculous so they felt like a completely incompetent moron. It was exactly the sort of thing Hilda would do—make her princess daughter-in-law have to spit against her will. Thanks, Hilda. Raising my head as if I could see her in the heavens, I glared. “I will not forget this when I die and see you again, old woman. Making me spit on a book like a drunken sailor who’s been chewing on mushrooms,” I muttered as I took the book from Myra.
I held it as she’d instructed, then grimaced as I gathered moisture in my mouth. Ugh.
“What’s wrong, Allete? Are you sick?” Torben’s voice rumbled in my mind.
“No, I’m fine. Just being reminded of how wicked your mother could be. And I mean that
with complete affection.”
He laughed. “No, you don’t. But I know you still miss her.”
“That I do. I will speak with you later about how your travels are going if that is okay?”
“Yes. I love you.”
“And I you.”
“Done talking to your Viking?” Myra smirked.
“He felt my disgust,” I said, then just got it over with. I expelled my spittle on the edges of the closed pages, then cocked an eyebrow at Myra as if she should be able to tell me what to do next. She giggled.
“Look,” the witch said, pointing at the book.
“That little she-devil,” I whispered, watching in disbelief as the saliva absorbed into the book. The gilded edges of the pages began to glow. Suddenly, the book fell open as if it hadn’t just been shut as tightly as a clam protecting its pearl.
I frowned. The book was open, but the pages were blank. I frantically started flipping through the rough pages, expecting something—a drawing, a paragraph, a sentence, a word, a scribble, a recipe for crab pickled trout, anything, by the gods—on the next page or the next. Nothing. “No way,” I growled. “No bloody way.”
Myra started laughing. Raising an eyebrow, I wondered if maybe she was going a bit mad. Perhaps puzzling out this book had been a little too hard on her ancient brain.
“Nothing could be simple with her,” Myra said, continuing to cackle like a damn witch. Yes, I realized she was a witch but geez, did she have to carry on like one?
“Please tell me she didn’t leave an empty book as a joke and now we have to go find the real one,” I said. “I will warn you if that’s the case, I’m going to throw some things. You might even want to remove yourself from the hut. I’m not responsible for bodily injuries.”
Myra finally quit laughing to shake her head. “No, nothing like that. This is the correct book, I’m sure. But it appears to be under yet another protection spell. We have to figure out how to get the writing to appear.”
“Have I mentioned I don’t really like puzzles?”
“I’ve sort of figured that out on my own,” Myra said.
“So now what?”
“I think we need to take a break.” She stood and moved stiffly, stretching her back as she pressed her hands against it and leaned back. “You should get some rest, and I would like some as well.”
“You know we could make you up a bed here so you won’t have to walk back to the shieldmaiden hut every evening.”
She waved me off. “Walking is good for the spirit. And the night air clears the lungs. And who knows when your husband might return? I don’t want to be around for that reunion. Far be it for me to stand between a newly wedded Norseman and his bride. I’m old, but I haven’t forgotten everything that goes on in the marriage bed.”
After she let herself out, I continued to stare down at the book. I understood the need to protect the information inside, but why couldn’t Hilda have passed on the key to unlocking the book when she zapped me with all of her memories? I supposed, in her eyes, that would have been much too easy and not nearly as fun for her to plan.
I tucked the book under the piles of fur out of which Torben had constructed our bed, not wanting the tome out of reach for even a second. I’d felt a connection to it from the moment I’d first held it, but now that it had been opened, the tether was even stronger.
By the time I crawled into bed, my body felt as heavy as lead and my mind as slow as molasses. I was simply worn out. But not too tired to reach out to my anchor, my husband.
“My love?” I said through the bond.
“You sound weary, Princess,” Torben answered, his voice full of the tenderness he only ever showed to me.
“Working out your mother’s puzzles is tiring. I’ve no doubt she is looking down at me and laughing her oracle arse off.”
When he chuckled, I took comfort in the familiar sound. I imagined my head laying against his chest as I felt the warmth of him. “I miss you,” I said honestly. “I know it’s only been two days, but it’s two days too many.”
“I agree. Life seems too short to spend any of it apart from one another. When this is all over and peace reigns in our clan, we will spend many days simply wrapped up in one another.”
“Best idea ever, Viking,” I teased. “Have you made it to the first clan yet?”
“We will arrive in the next hour. It’s late so we will not approach until the light of day. Approaching at night might make them feel as though we are a threat. We’ll send a signal of peace before we approach,” he explained.
“What are we going to do if they will not help?”
“Honestly, Allete, I haven’t worked that out yet.”
I loved it when he shared his vulnerabilities with me. Loved he could admit he didn’t have all the answers. Not because it made me feel better about myself, but because a man who could acknowledge those things was a man who was willing to learn and listen to others instead of letting his pride ruin him. “I guess, at this point, there is no point in worrying about what might not even happen. Although I have found that is one of my strong suits,” I said.
“Your worry isn’t necessarily a negative quality, though I don’t want you to drown in it. But it oftentimes gives insight to something that others haven’t thought of.”
“One day, you won’t see my eccentricities with silver linings,” I chided.
“And one day, you won’t enjoy that I can’t keep my hands off you,” Torben countered.
“Whatever shall we do then?”
“I will choose to be blind to your eccentricities so it won’t matter if there are silver linings or not, and you will get a horse whip to swat at me with when I won’t stop touching you. But I warn you now I will simply turn it into a game, and it will probably just make me more amorous.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I asked.
“Because I am a man who loves his wife’s body?”
“I think you can just stop at ‘because I am a man’. That should be explanation enough.”
“Wicked-tongued woman,” he said in the sultry voice he knew I loved.
“None of that,” I warned, knowing he would be able to feel my attraction toward him. “Save it for when you get home. I will be waiting for you.”
“In our bed? Unclothed and drunk with desire for me?”
“Maybe there’s something wrong with you, and it’s more than the fact you are a man.”
“No, Princess. Every man wants their woman waiting for them in bed and naked.”
“Every day?”
“Every. Day. All day if work and time permit.”
“Maybe I am the one who wants my husband in bed and waiting on me, instead,” I said.
“Really?” he asked, his voice rising a notch.
“No, but for a brief moment, you got excited, didn’t you?” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Go to sleep, you evil, teasing woman,” he grumbled, though I could feel his own humor at my teasing.
“Maybe I’ll see you in my dreams?”
“And reward you for your jesting? I think not, my sweet. I love you.”
“I love you as well.” His presence faded, but I could still feel him in my soul. Regardless of his words, I knew I would see him in my dreams. The man wouldn’t miss an opportunity to hold me, even if it were only in our sleep. “See you soon,” I whispered into the night, knowing Torben would feel my intent.
“What causes a man to become loyal to something or someone? What causes him to be willing to die for his beliefs? What motivates his courage to run into battle and be willing to take the life of another? I want to be a man of deep conviction. I want to be a man of such loyalty. But I want to be those things for the right reasons. Otherwise, I’m not a man. I am simply a fool.”
* * *
~Torben
I wished I would have time to get in a little sleep after speaking with the Akefor jarl. I wanted to see my bride in her dreams. To see her soul and know she was okay. But I h
ad to take care of the clan before I could rest, which meant ensuring we had allies. My love would just have to wait.
“This first stop will be Clan Akefor. I do not know the name of the jarl there,” I said to Rush. We began slowing as our boat pushed closer to the land.
“I hope we’re doing the right thing, Torben. What if they hold us responsible for what happened to them?” he replied.
I shared my clanmate’s concerns. But Myra and I had spoken about the issue, and she seemed confident they wouldn’t blame us. So I pushed the worry aside, and we rowed on.
After I had helped Brant get on his way, I immediately readied my own vessel. I couldn’t let fear and doubt keep me from at least trying to get more allies. Time was of the essence. I hoped by the time I returned to Clan Hakon, King Albric would be there waiting for me. Then we would be ready…but for what? I still wasn’t sure how the attack against Cathal would happen. And there was the issue of Dayna’s rescue hanging over me like a storm cloud. Clan Thornag, unfortunately, was in the opposite direction of Cathal’s kingdom. I doubted the other aggrieved clans would be interested in waiting around for their revenge while I rescued my sister-in-law. Still, I hated leaving Dayna in the clutches of Clan Thornag while we waged war against Tara.
“It appears Cathal simply went north along the coastline of Norway attacking northern clans as he came to them,” Rush asked.
“Looks that way. Clan Akefore, Clan Bjornvik, and Clan Brending, all three in Norway and a couple of days’ ride in between one another.”
Rush shook his head. “Who knows how many innocent people he killed?”
“I dread having to tell Allete when we find out,” I said. I knew she would feel responsible, even though she had no control over Cathal’s actions.
Once we had the ship on course, there hadn’t been much discussion amongst my crew and me. There was a sense of urgency about us, and I could see all the men shared it. It was a small crew, just enough to man the boat. I’d brought Rush and Siv out of my top six, and I’d left Kjell and Amund behind with the clan.
