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Two Ravens

Page 15

by Cecelia Holland


  She seemed much older, and as beautiful as a Norn who kept the world young. He put out his hand to her, where she stood beside his chair.

  “Come sit beside me.”

  “No,” she said, loudly.

  “You made a bargain with me. I have taken the High Seat, and now you must give me what I desire.”

  “It was a bargain made in Hell,” she said. “I will not honor it, now or ever.”

  “You are talking out of fear,” he said. “If Gudrun did not poison Gifu, certainly she knew.”

  She took the silver cross in her hand. “My choice is between you and God. After what I have done, only God can save me.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “I am giving you no choice,” he said. “I will have what I want, no matter what the cost.”

  “Damn you,” she said, “and damn the devil in you.”

  She looked at him like an enemy. He rubbed his hand over the arm of the serpent chair. That made it easy: he could master enemies.

  He said, “Is there any left of that poison?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He stretched out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  Her face tightened.

  “Give it to me!”

  She took the vial from her apron and put it into his hand. He sat back in the High Seat, and she walked out of the hall.

  KRISTJAN DID NOT COME BACK the following day, either, but on the day after that, he appeared on the road to Hrafnfell. Two men were riding with him, the priest and Eirik Arnarson himself.

  Bjarni saw them from the yard. Going into the hall, he found his brothers sitting in a pack beside the hearth. He stood looking down on them, and none of them would meet his look.

  “Kristjan is bringing Eirik Arnarson,” he said. “He clearly has been this long telling him what has been happening here and convincing him to interfere. You must all do as I say, or we will be in great trouble.”

  “You are the cause of it,” said Ulf, in a ragged voice.

  “I will cause enough for us all if you do not do as I say. You must tell Eirik that you have considered and you are giving up your claim to Hrafnfell to me.”

  Ulf swiveled his head away. At the far end of the hall the steps creaked.

  Hiyke called, “Here is Kristjan.”

  Bjarni nudged Ulf with his foot. “We will meet them in the yard.”

  None of his brothers moved. Their shoulders stooped, their heads bowed, they sat like stones on the hearth. Bjarni kicked Ulf, and all three of them sprang up. They went hastily toward the yard.

  Hiyke stood on the threshold. She stepped aside to let them pass. Ulf and Jon and Andres went by her. Bjarni took her arm and held her still.

  “What will you say to Eirik Arnarson?” he asked.

  She swept him with a look as blank as if she were blind. He saw she meant to escape from him if she could.

  He tightened his grip on her arm. Low, he said into her ear, “If you are tempted to betray me again, just remember, it was you who poisoned Gudrun Sigurdsdottir.”

  She gave a violent start. He went away from her, across the yard, to meet Eirik Arnarson.

  The chieftain wore a strained smile. He did not offer Bjarni his hand. He said, “Kristjan here speaks of bad feeling among you, he says you are all fighting.”

  Kristjan watched from the back of his horse, his face impassive.

  “No longer,” Bjarni said. “Ulf will tell you.”

  Ulf raised his head. He pushed back his shaggy fair hair. Flatly he said, “Bjarni is master here. I have given my place in the inheritance to him.”

  “This is interesting news,” Eirik said. He looked from one to the next of the Hoskuldssons. “Is it of your own will?”

  Ulf muttered, “Yes.”

  Now Eirik was staring at Bjarni. “Yet Kristjan here would have it there was force used.”

  “He is set against me,” Bjarni said. “He hates me because I am to marry his mother.”

  Eirik rubbed his jaw. His eyes glided back toward Kristjan.

  “He is lying,” the boy said.

  The chieftain said, “Hiyke, what is the truth?”

  She did not respond.

  Kristjan said, “Mother, tell them the truth.”

  Still she was silent. Her face was like bone, her eyes like two holes burned into bone.

  “Mother,” Kristjan said. “He will send me away.”

  Bjarni went to stand by Kristjan’s horse. He said, “Answer them, Hiyke.”

  She raised her glittering eyes. “It is as Bjarni says.” She went down into the hall, and the door shut behind her.

  Eirik’s pent breath exploded from him in a grunt. He said, “I see there is no work for me here.” He lifted his reins to go.

  Bjarni said to Kristjan, “Get out. If you ever come back, I will give you to the ravens.”

  Kristjan turned his horse and trotted away after Eirik Arnarson.

  LATE IN THE DAY Bjarni went out to the cliff above the sea, where he had carved runes before. In the soft volcanic rock he cut Gifu’s name in letters as large as his hand.

  Ringbearer-no-wife

  Thief of my peace

  He could not finish the poem.

  In the stone he found runes of Hoskuld’s, charms for fishing, charms against ghosts. He found a love-charm with Hiyke’s name inside it. He touched the edge of her name. Since she had broken faith with him, he could not think of her without anger.

  He sat remembering his father, who had loved no one and trusted no one.

  He walked back toward Hrafnfell with the light of the setting sun streaming at his back. His shadow stretched a hundred feet ahead of him over the grass. The grass rippled in waves all across the hillside. Two ravens circled in the sky above the hall of Hrafnfell. He foresaw his doom there, as his father had been doomed. Yet he would not turn aside. Already his shadow had reached the hall. He went into the hall and sat down in the High Seat.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1977 by Cecelia Holland

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-2964-6

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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