With Dragons She Walks

by Darby, Brit

  Ragnald’s gaze moved back to her, swept her up and down. “Look at you, still dressing like a man instead of a woman. What are you thinking?”

  Chastised, Cailin felt her cheeks burning, certain the flush that stained them apparent to all. Yet she raised her chin. “I have learned independence, Ragnald. I have a will of my own and need no one, not father nor husband, to tell me what to do … or what to wear.”

  The jarl’s eyes rounded in good-natured surprise and he gave a sudden bark of laughter. He grinned at Drake. “See what you are in for, young man? Do you think you are up to staying with this wild thing? She might prove a handful.”

  Drake smiled and bowed slightly. “Aye, I’ve discovered that fact already, jarl.”

  “Yes … yes,” Ragnald muttered, eyes twinkling as he tugged at his beard. “I bet you have.”

  He thought on it a moment, all the while his eyes watched Cailin intently. “But, I bet she’s worth it, heh?”

  “Aye,” Drake said with a laugh. “I think she is.”

  Ragnald motioned for the men to stay and enjoy the feast, then for Cailin alone to follow him, his new mood lightening his steps. Once in the adjoining room, the two sat. Again, Cailin waited for Ragnald to speak. His gaze sought hers.

  “Why are you really in Birka, Cailin?”

  “I was told Thorvald is dead. He did not return from his last trip to Miklagard.”

  A genuine sound of sympathy escaped him. “What happened, child?”

  “It is said he was murdered, but no one can tell me more than this.”

  The jarl said nothing, merely stroked his beard. Then he posed the question. “You do not believe it?”

  “No,” Cailin said without hesitation. “I believe Fadir is alive and I travel to Miklagard to find him.”

  “Why did Thorvald’s men not come with you? Surely Gunnar would not begrudge you this journey?”

  “Gunnar is the one who insists Thorvald is dead.” Cailin drew a deep breath. “My father’s men now follow him.”

  “Why would Gunnar lie about such a thing, Cailin? Perhaps you are mistaken.”

  Challenged, Cailin became defensive. “I am not mistaken. Let us just say Gunnar has his own selfish reasons for wanting Thorvald dead. I no longer trust him.”

  Ragnald stood with a growl. “You think Gunnar murdered your father?”

  “Not necessarily … but I know he betrayed him in some way. I will discover the whole truth, and no one will stop me.”

  Pride filled Ragnald’s eyes. “You do your father proud, Cailin. If your visions have shown you the way, I shall not say nay to your quest.”

  Cailin felt relieved he believed in her power of Sight, the art of prophecy considered a blessing from the goddess Freyja. But the hardest test of his faith in her was yet to come.

  “I have not disturbed your time of mourning to ask for your help finding Thorvald. I came for another, more urgent reason.”

  “Then tell me. What is this urgent matter?”

  Her task proved more difficult than she thought it would, the words now seemingly stuck in her throat. Cailin fought for the strength to reveal the truth; a truth that would surely break his heart.

  “I have come about your son’s death, Ragnald.”

  He slowly subsided to his seat again and waited, though she saw him tense, the cords of muscle in his neck protruding from the grief he held at bay. “Axell’s death was sudden, unexpected.”

  “Your son was murdered,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye any longer.

  Ragnald was silent a long, agonizing moment. “Do you realize what you are saying, child?”

  “As I stood and watched the funeral ship burn, I saw what happened.” Cailin forced herself to look at Ragnald so he might see the sincerity in her eyes. “I could not leave Birka without telling you. Axell deserved better in life, but at least in death I can reveal the truth.”

  Ragnald slumped back into his chair. The anger Cailin expected was not present in the man who sat, shoulders slumped, before her. She reached out and placed a comforting hand upon his arm. “You say you believe what I see of my father’s fate, can you trust in me enough to bear what I must tell you of your son’s murder?”

  It was another long while before he managed to answer. “It must be a dark vision indeed you have seen, my child, for you tremble like a leaf thrown into the wind. Whose evil hand would slay my son deliberately?”

  Cailin heard her pounding heart in her ears. Was this fear that coursed through her veins so fast she could not count the beats? Drake’s words haunted her … I’ve never been as afraid as I am now, to think I might lose you.

  Was she condemning them all to death? Cailin realized it wasn’t her own life she worried about, but the lives of the two men who stood at her side. Men she had known only a short time, men who had no reason to be here if not for her.

  “Bjorn poisoned Axell.”

  Silence. It fell upon the room like death itself.

  “LEAVE ME.” RAGNALD ROSE and turned away from Cailin. “I wish to be alone.”

  He heard her leave, the sounds of celebration drifting past the meager barrier of carved panels dividing the room from the great hall. Ragnald fought the urge to rush out and yell at them all, to demand they leave him to grieve alone. Not only for the son he had already lost, but for the other he had lost long ago.

  Axell was a son to be proud of. Bjorn had always been the one he did not understand, the son to try his tolerance again and again. His two sons were like day and night, good and evil.

  Ragnald wanted to refute Cailin’s accusation, to say Bjorn was not capable of such a foul deed. But, the words would not come and the thought ate at his mind like a disease. In his heart, Ragnald knew the truth: Bjorn had killed his brother in cold blood and might not stop there.

  Yet, his mind wanted to have faith, to stand by his last son, his sole remaining heir. How could he lose both sons? It was enough to make a strong man weep like a babe from the sorrow of it.

  Slowly, Ragnald moved to a chest and opened the lid. It took him a moment to dig down to the bottom and retrieve a heavy, woven tapestry. He placed it on the table and rolled it out, revealing the beautifully crafted piece to his tired, burning eyes.

  He studied the scene unfolded before him. It began with a young man, shown strong and brave, fighting in battle. He is crowned the leader of his people, maturing into a chieftain of great wisdom and wealth. His loving wife bears him a son, good and kind, who grows to be the mirror of his father’s soul.

  The son comforts his father as age bends his back and steals his strength. Yet, an evil is cast unto their lives, shown in the tapestry as a turbulent blue wind, ripping and tearing at them in a constant storm. It seems the wind is determined to take everything the old man has spent his lifetime building.

  Bravely, he stands fast against the storm, prepared to fight the wind with the last of his strength and will. In the background, just beyond the raging storm, lurks a hooded figure, something Ragnald had not noticed before. Shadowed and faceless, it looks to be a woman, her blue cloak fluttering in the wind.

  Something pricked Ragnald’s mind, just as danger emerged in the story, so did it pierce his heart. Returning to the tapestry’s tale, he sees defeat is imminent as the storm howls about the lone figure. Suddenly, a Dragon swoops down from the sky and places itself between the chieftain and the wind, protecting him from the destruction. Defeated by the Dragon, the blue torrent is driven from the land, never to be seen again.

  Ragnald touched the delicate threads depicting the last scene of the tale, the chieftain standing alone. It had been many years since he had looked at the story it told, and for the first time realized the chieftain’s son was not in the last scene. Nor was the hooded figure.

  He knew what he must do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  RAGNALD STOOD BEFORE HIS people and raised his hand to silence them. As all grew quiet, he wondered how he would approach such treachery — especially when i
t was his own flesh and blood he must accuse.

  Again, doubt rained over him, stealing his breath, his words lying mute in his dry mouth. How dare he believe Cailin over his own son? What kind of father was he to so easily play into her hands, to trust that her visions held truth?

  His thoughts warred inside his mind, wearing at his grief-stricken reserve. Ragnald had known Cailin’s father for many years, practically his whole life. He respected Thorvald and never had a reason to distrust or doubt his daughter either. Until now.

  The story of the tapestry floated across his mind. Could he judge his son by the musings of a young woman, her fanciful words woven into a fantastical tale? Perhaps caution was in order. If Cailin believed her visions to be true, she must be able to prove it.

  Bjorn crossed the hall to stand beside his father, a curious look on his face. Ragnald gazed at his last son with mixed pride and sorrow. Bjorn was tall, even taller than most Swedes, standing like an oak amongst seedlings. He was handsome and looked more like his mother, with bright blue eyes and blond hair. Women loved Bjorn, until they came to know his cruelty.

  “What is it, Father?”

  Bjorn’s deep voice broke into Ragnald’s thoughts. All eyes rested upon him, waiting. “You remember Thorvald’s daughter, Cailin?”

  Bjorn’s intense blue eyes moved from Ragnald to Cailin. Bjorn nodded curtly in her direction, and she moved forward to reveal her presence to all who watched. Out of respect, she too remained silent and waited for Ragnald to continue.

  While tense silence prevailed, Cailin looked at Ragnald with pity. He opened his mouth to speak, yet no words of explanation came forth. She understood his anguish as he turned away from her, unable to utter such an accusation at his own son.

  “Why have you disturbed my father’s grieving?”

  Bjorn’s accusation lashed out at her. Cailin understood what she must do, and stepped forward to face the man she knew had murdered his own brother. His hard, cold blue eyes struck her inner being like a sword against a shield, but she refused to tremble. Instead, she leveled her gaze back at Bjorn.

  He seemed taken aback by her fierce look and snarled, “Speak, woman, or I shall have you forcibly removed from this hall.”

  Behind her, Cailin sensed Drake move closer in a protective gesture, and she did not need to see him to know he stood ready to fight. Bjorn’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the bold gesture. She put up her hand to still further movement on Drake’s part, but she never faltered in her stare. “I have come to reveal the truth I have seen.”

  “What truth?” Bjorn sneered.

  “The truth of your brother’s death.”

  Only the clenching of his fists and the twitch of an eyelid showed Bjorn’s worry. “What would you know of Axell’s death, woman? You were not even here when he died.”

  “No, I was not,” Cailin agreed. Bjorn’s fists relaxed, but she saw he remained wary. “But I know that he did not die from sickness, as claimed.”

  Again, his left eyelid twitched. “What are you saying, Cailin, daughter of Thorvald?”

  “Axell was murdered.”

  A gasp rose in unison, people around them mumbling in shock at such a blatant claim, but they soon fell silent again, anxious to hear every word spoken.

  Bjorn shuffled his feet and looked at his father. Ragnald did not meet his questioning gaze. “Why should we lend ear to such filthy lies, Father? Throw her and her companions out!”

  “Why would I lie?” Cailin asked. “Why would I risk Ragnald’s anger if I didn’t speak the truth?”

  Bjorn seemed not to hear her or pretended not to. “Throw the witch out.” He motioned for his men to seize her. Then he directed his next threat directly at her. “Say any more, daughter of Thorvald, and I will not be so merciful. I will have your tongue cut from your mouth.”

  “I cannot stay silent when I know what you have done.”

  Bjorn’s anger was like a storm gathering strength, its fury near breaking. “You’ve been warned once; I’ll not say it again.”

  “Was it jealousy that made you poison Axell? Or was it greed, Bjorn? Will your father be your next victim?”

  Rage twisted Bjorn’s features into a mask of hatred. He lunged at Cailin, but Drake pulled his sword and stepped between them, prepared to protect her. Ragnald finally broke his agonized silence and interceded.

  “Stop!”

  His deep voice penetrated the noise, stilling Bjorn’s outburst and his men’s actions. “The girl has a right to speak.”

  At first, surprise kept Bjorn from objecting, then dismay prompted him to be rash. “How can you believe her accusations, Father? Do you think me capable of killing my own beloved brother? Do you dare take her side over your own flesh and blood?”

  Cailin saw the hurt each of these angry questions caused the older man, like points of a dagger prodding home. She knew Ragnald wanted to stand by his only living son; his heart demanded it, even if his mind knew the truth.

  “Ragnald agreed to hear me out,” Cailin said. “I have seen your treachery, Bjorn.”

  “You saw nothing.” He dismissed her claim confidently. “You admitted you were not here when Axell died. How could you have seen anything?”

  “My visions show me … the Dragons whisper to me of your deception.”

  Bjorn laughed, long and loud, the sound echoing in the large hall. “Oh yes, I remember now. You are a seer. Or so you claim.”

  His tone mocked the word seer, his look showed he did not believe it. His mood flipped from mirth to rage again as he sneered at her, “What proof do you have that I murdered Axell?”

  He tried to belittle her with mockery, Cailin knew, but she remained firm in her resolve. “I have no physical proof. Only what I see, what I hear, what I feel.”

  “What the Dragons tell you?” Bjorn ridiculed her openly. “Why should anyone believe you have the power of Sight?”

  “Perhaps it is enough that I believe her.”

  Ragnald’s quiet words drew Bjorn’s astonished gaze. The initial shock of his blunt statement gave way to wrath once again and Bjorn’s face grew dangerously red as he fought for control.

  “I say she is a liar,” he spat.

  “And a fraud.”

  Another voice carried over the crowd, a woman’s. Cailin looked in the throng for her accuser. From the depths of the crowd a figure emerged, clad in the traditional blue cape of a sage.

  With deliberate and graceful movements, a dark-haired woman parted the crowd and made her way to stand beside Bjorn. Cailin watched this new player enter the game and felt intense emotions strike her. Strong, unyielding. A power to be reckoned with.

  The woman pointed her finger at Cailin. “She lies. Therefore, she insults you and your house, Ragnald. She must be punished.”

  “If I take Cailin’s word over that of my own son’s, why would you think I shall give credence to what you say, Thyra?”

  “Why?” the woman called Thyra shrilled, then laughed at the jarl, haughty in both manner and tone. “Because I am a true prophetess, Ragnald; the seer of your people, an honor I have held for many years. Have you forgotten what that means?”

  Suddenly, Cailin knew this was the woman in her vision — the woman who conspired with Bjorn to kill his brother.

  “Have you forgotten that I am jarl?” Ragnald thundered.

  It was clear Thyra wanted to dispute his greater claim; her defiant stance and dark, angry eyes told the story. She tossed her head. “Let Freyja, the great dis, determine whether this woman is of her sect. Let Freyja send the disir to exact justice.”

  Confused, Drake leaned over and whispered in Cailin’s ear, “She wants your raven to decide if you have power of Sight?”

  Quietly, Cailin explained. “No. Disir refers to supernatural beings. I think of the raven as a sort of supernatural guardian, more a hamingjur, but named him Disir. Thyra is speaking of Freyja’s disir, nine goddesses dressed in black and carrying swords, who are merciless in exacting justice.”
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br />   “How—”

  Drake was cut off as Thyra spoke again. “Tomorrow night we will bear witness to the þrettándi, the thirteenth day of the moon’s cycle, where its full bloom shall cast a revealing light upon this imposter. Let her endure a Trial by Ordeal … let the disir come forth and judge her guilt or innocence.”

  The room stirred in unison, excitement rising into a clamor of voices around the hall. Cailin looked to Ragnald, then nodded that she accepted the challenge Thyra issued.

  Ragnald raised his arm, quieting the mob. “What is your choice of ordeal, Cailin?”

  Drake pulled her around by the elbow, his look thunderous. “What does this mean?”

  Cailin saw his tortured eyes, understood the agony he felt. She gently touched his cheek, felt the growth of beard rough beneath her fingertips. She smoothed away the frown on his lips. “You must trust me, my Dragon.”

  Flames of anger lit Drake’s golden gaze and Cailin felt it singe her heart, encompass her soul. She turned and addressed Ragnald. “I wish to be tried by fire … I shall walk twelve, no,” she paused, reconsidering the number, “thirteen paces on red-hot iron.”

  Drake gasped, his hand that still held her tightening. “Are you insane?” he hissed.

  “The ploughshares shall be readied,” Ragnald agreed. The seriousness of what she must endure was clear on his sober face, as it was on all those who watched the drama unfold.

  Cailin allowed Drake to pull her from the room, his anger apparent in his rough movements. How could she make him understand what had taken her a lifetime to believe herself? The Dragons would not abandon her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  DRAKE WAS ANGRY.

  Angrier than he’d ever been in his life. Was Cailin mad? Over and over, each and every agonizing moment he’d just endured replayed in his mind. The helplessness he felt being unable to stop the scene that transpired, like a foggy dream he could only watch and not participate in.