“Yes,” Ravenshield hissed, clenching his teeth, “I know that.”
“To visit the Woodland Witch is forbidden,” Magnus grinned, “The Althing had banished her years ago.”
“I’m aware of the edict.” Heat flushed Ravenshield’s face.
“Has this slave been to see her?” he asked, giving her arm a hard yank.
She shrieked as pain shot up her shoulder.
“No, she hasn’t,” Ravenshield lied.
“If she has, the punishment is death,” he growled.
Shannon’s heart skipped a beat, watching Magnus unsheathe his dagger. Ravenshield countered by drawing his longsword. She swallowed hard watching them stare each other down. Her knees grew wobbly as tension filled the air.
“Magnus, I advise you to walk away before you get more than you bargain for,” Ravenshield warned.
An icy numbness spread throughout Shannon’s body as the two men prepared for battle. Her vision became blurry. It was difficult to breathe.
“Let’s not get hasty,” Magnus smiled, lowering the knife.
“You should go now.” Ravenshield kept a firm grip on his sword.
“As you wish,” Magnus said, mockingly, “But take heed, Ravenshield. You should keep an eye on your property. It would be a terrible waste to lose such a prize.”
Ravenshield glared at him as he drifted into the shadows. He sheathed his sword and looked over to Shannon. She looked like a ghost.
“Shannon?” He ran over to her. “Shannon, are you alright?”
Her eyes glazed over, her skin faded to grey. He reached out and caught her just before she collapsed. She was so cold, so deathly cold. Something had gone wrong, and it was his fault. Guilt overwhelmed him.
“Shannon,” he whispered, sweeping her off of her feet, “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”
Ravenshield took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her body was as limp as a rag. He could barely feel her breath against his chest. With fear driving him, he dashed down the dark trail heading toward Dublin.
Chapter 9
“Gunnar,” Gerta gasped, ushering him to the room, “What were ye thinkin’ when ye took this poor girl to the witch?”
“I wanted to know more about the prophecy.” Ravenshield laid Shannon on the bed.
“Prophecy,” she scoffed, “I’m sick to death of all that nonsense. Look at her, Gunnar. She’s hardly breathin’.”
“I know,” he said, looking down at the floor.
“She’s soaked to the bone, and it’s not even rainin’ outside.”
“I don’t understand what happened.”
“Her flesh is as cold as ice.”
“What can I do?” he asked helplessly.
“Get some blankets out of the chest while I get these clothes off her,” she ordered, sliding one of Shannon’s arms out of the sleeve.
“Here,” Gunnar whispered as he placed them on the end of the bed.
“Help me,” she said, pushing on Shannon’s back.
“Alright.” He reached over and rolled her to the side as Gerta slid the garment off.
“When’re ye goin’ to learn that this prophecy ye keep talkin’ about is nothin’ but the ramblin’s of a mad woman?” Gerta asked, “Ursa was banished for a reason, y’know.”
Suddenly, Gerta caught a glimpse of the birthmark—her eyes were fixed on it. The outline seemed to glow in the firelight. It resembled the head of a dragon.
“Can’t you see?” Ravenshield asked quietly, hearing her suck in a deep breath.
Gerta turned to him and swallowed hard. She had heard of the prophecy but saw no clout in stories told by a mad hag that was cast out of their village. The old beliefs were fading as quickly as the new religion was spreading. Christianity spoke of hope and peace whereas the Norse gods thrived on war and conquest.
“Dear God,” she whispered, staring at the birthmark, “This cannae be.”
“She is the one. The Valkyrie of Fire,” Ravenshield said, “Now do you believe?”
“We must work quickly,” she said, “Whatever happened has drained her. We need to help her before she is lost forever.”
“I had no idea that this could happen,” he murmured.
“It’s no use lookin’ back now,” Gerta sighed, stripping the rest of Shannon’s clothes off, “Stoke the fire. I need to brew tea. Where are my herbs?”
“I pray it’s not too late,” he whispered, staring at Shannon’s lifeless body.
Gerta turned to him and saw that he was genuinely concerned. She could see it in his eyes. There was something different about Ravenshield—something that she hadn’t noticed before. “Gather more firewood. We’ll do all that we can for her.”
Ravenshield nodded his head and headed outside. As the door shut behind him, he hoped that it was not too late to save her. How could he live with himself knowing he had sentenced Shannon to an early death? After all, she did not ask for this. It was all because of his selfishness. Stop, he thought. There is no turning back. What is done, is done.
Gunnar turned the corner, trotting off to gather kindling for the fire. The night sky had cleared, and stars twinkled brightly. The chill in the air pricked at his skin. He could see his breath hover in the air like a veil of ice. As he rounded the longhouse, a powdery mist slowly blanketed the ground. Frost glittered like diamonds shimmering in the moonlight.
He walked down the path and saw a white cat dart out of the shadows. It cautiously meandered closer to him, slinking from side to side, weaving in between his ankles.
“Hello, little friend,” he said, “I don’t have time for you right now.”
It cried out a meow and pushed against Ravenshield’s leg. This was no ordinary cat, he thought. Its fur was as white as snowflakes and soft like down feathers. A faint grey streak ran from its head to the tip of its fluffy tail.
Ravenshield reached down and picked it up. He stared into the cat’s blue eyes, hypnotized by how they shimmered. The powder pink nose twitched curiously as it sniffed the air. “I do not remember seeing you around here before. What is your name, little one?”
Loki.
He looked around cautiously. Did someone say something? Or was it his imagination? It had been a stressful day, and the mind could do strange things when weary. With Magnus running around in the woods, he had to remain vigilant and alert. He ran a forefinger down the center of the cat’s back and listened to it purr.
Loki.
His furry friend leapt out of his arms and scampered across the path. It stopped and looked at Ravenshield, inviting him to follow. He rounded the bend and wondered where the cat was leading him. The silvery moonlight that streamed through the trees guided his way.
Shadows danced in the darkness as Ravenshield traipsed through the woods. He heard the faint meow of his furry friend and saw it disappear under a heap of something that resembled feathers. Suddenly, the mound glittered like gold as it grew, rising from the ground.
Ravenshield drew his sword and backed away. Something supernatural was happening, and he had to be prepared for anything. His heart pounded harder as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He swallowed hard, watching the shadow turn around slowly.
“Loki,” the woman smiled, cradling the cat in her arms, “You’ve been playing tricks on me again.”
Ravenshield’s mouth gaped open as he stared at a half-naked woman who was standing in front of him. The cloak draped around her shoulders was the only clothing she wore. Her strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, covering her breasts. Her skin was as white as milk, her eyes were the purest of blue. She wore a necklace made of amber and moonstone surrounded by silver forged of fire—Brisingamen.
“Freya,” he whispered, lowering his weapon.
“Yes.” Her voice sounded like delicate bells tinkling in the breeze. “I am here to speak with you, Ravenshield.”
Gunnar dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I am honored by your presence, Lady.”
“You are about to embar
k on a dangerous quest, and I am here to warn you,” she said.
“I pray for your guidance. I know victory will be mine if you fight by my side,” he declared, raising his head.
“No.” Freya tilted her head and sighed. “My powers are fading, Ravenshield. The new religion is spreading rapidly, and it has weakened us. All of us.”
“But this cannot be,” Ravenshield said, “I will fight it. Just as you have saved me in battle, I will save you.”
“No, Ravenshield.” She waved her hand. “This is my destiny, and I have accepted it. You, however, is yet to be revealed.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, rising from the ground.
Freya scratched Loki under his chin. “The decisions you make will alter the path you choose. Be warned. There will be many twists and turns. Things are not always what they appear to be.”
“I do not understand,” he said, peering at the goddess.
“Watch and learn.” Freya whispered in Loki’s ear, and the cat started to change. Its fur slowly darkened until it was the color of night. Its eyes grew closer together until they formed one, changing from a crystal blue to green. The goddess smiled sorrowfully as a single golden tear slid down her cheek. “Sometimes, Ravenshield, one must look deeper to find the truth. Only then can you find what you’re truly looking for.”
“Freya,” Ravenshield whispered.
“I must go,” she said as Loki bolted out of her arms, “but first I must give you something.”
“I need your guidance, Lady,” he said, watching her pluck several stones from her necklace.
“Take these,” Freya said as she handed them to Ravenshield, “They will protect you. Remember, magic is more potent in times of sacrifice.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Give this to your Chosen. The one you call The Valkyrie of Fire,” she instructed, pulling a vial from underneath her cloak, “It will heal her. Remember, Shannon is the key to power as well as destruction. But love can conquer all. She can either lift you up or tear you down. Take heed, Ravenshield. You can find great power in weakness. Beware. There are many who are out to destroy you. Seek the truth no matter what the cost.”
She pulled the hood over her head and spun around. A powerful wind engulfed the forest as golden feathers flashed in the darkness. The garment glittered brightly as the Queen of the Valkyries twirled faster and faster like a whirlwind. Suddenly, the feathers burst into a flock ravens. Ravenshield watched them fly into the night until the last one disappeared. Silence blanketed the forest as the sweet smell of mint and roses lingered in the air.
Ravenshield had to get to the longhouse as soon as possible. Shannon needed this elixir in order to survive. With any luck, she would snap out of the trance and return to normal. He would undertake any task facing him, but his priority was to cure her. With a spin of his boots, he tore off through the trail and raced toward the longhouse.
Gravels crunched under Ravenshield’s feet. His breath hung in the air. He rounded the bend and bolted for the door. With a twist of the handle, he flung it open and darted inside.
“Where have ye been, Gunnar?” Gerta asked, removing a wet cloth from Shannon’s forehead. “She’s almost gone.”
“Stand back,” he said breathlessly.
Gerta scuttled across the room and watched him uncork a small vial. He quietly approached the bed and kneeled down beside Shannon. Lifting her head by one hand, he placed the vial on her lips with the other. Little by little, he poured the liquid into her mouth.
A pinkish hue returned to her cheeks. Her grey lips turned bright red. With a sudden jerk, she sat up in bed and gasped for air. Ravenshield watched life return in her eyes, changing them from black to blue again.
“Lie back, child,” Gerta whispered, running to Shannon’s side, “You need to rest.”
Ravenshield walked outside and peered up into the heavens watching a kaleidoscope of colors dance across the sky. A wide curtain of lights rippled above him as stars twinkled in the darkness. It was a sign, he thought. One last gift granted by the Lady, herself.
“Thank you, Freya.”
Chapter 10
Several days had gone by before Shannon felt like her old self again. Memories of what happened in the forest were nothing but a blur. Perhaps it’s for the best, she thought, sprinkling flour on the table.
Thank goodness for Gerta. If it had not been for her, then things could have been worse. Much worse. Not only did the old woman nurse her back to health, but she also helped Shannon ease into Viking life. Gerta taught her how to prepare meals and introduced her to Viking customs. She smiled, thinking of their friendship—a bond that grew stronger each day.
Too bad it would be short-lived, Shannon said to herself as she kneaded a mound of dough. She had a lot in common with Gerta—both were Irish and from a small clan. Both were taken from their villages by a raid. There was, however, one difference that set them apart. Gerta had accepted her role in Viking society, whereas Shannon refused to submit. She just couldn’t do it. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
She molded the dough on the cooking stone and placed it over the fire. After sitting down for a brief rest, Shannon wondered if she could sneak out of Dublin undetected. It was going to be difficult, nearly impossible. Her days were filled with household duties under watchful eyes, while her nights were spent in Ravenshield’s private quarters.
Ravenshield.
No matter how much she tried to resist, Shannon would always fall under his spell. His touch, his passionate kisses were intoxicating. She tried to ward off his advances but surrendered to his caresses instead. Though her body yielded to his touch, her heart remained unforgiving, stoic.
She peered out the window and wondered what her future held. Would she ever see her homeland again? Bennetraige had been burned to the ground, but her uncle had escaped. Perhaps he was seeking help from other clans, trying to form an army of warriors to wage war against the Vikings. They could ambush Dublin and rescue her. Her uncle would lead them to victory, and she could return home. Shannon smiled, thinking that Braelin would have loved to have heard this tale.
Braelin. Her heart sank into darkness, wondering what had become of him. Did he sail East with the others? She could still feel his soft hand in hers, see the worry in his eyes.
“What are ye dreamin’ about today?” Gerta barged into the room and waddled into the kitchen with an armful of vegetables.
“Nothin’ really,” she answered softly.
“I thought ye would be thinkin’ of the handsome warrior that carries ye off at night,” Gerta grinned.
“Och!” Shannon exclaimed, shooting the old woman a wary glance. “He sees me as nothin’ but a slave. I care nae for him.”
“Listen, Shannon,” Gerta started, gently cupping Shannon’s face with a chubby hand, “Gunnar Ravenshield is a good mon. I’ve seen him look at ye when he comes in from the fields. He fancies ye.”
“Yer wrong, Gerta.” Shannon paused, turning away to hide her feelings, “He wants me because I bear the mark of a pagan goddess. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Quiet, child, lest someone hears ye,” Gerta whispered, peeking out of the window, “Besides, the prophecy has nothin’ to do with him sleepin’ with ye.”
“After I serve my purpose, then he’ll grow weary of me and turn to another,” she said.
“That’s nonsense, lassie.” Gerta bustled around the kitchen, “I’ve been in this village a long time, and I believe that he’s quite smitten with ye.”
“Well, the feelin’ isnae mutual,” Shannon said sharply, blushing while staring at the ground.
“Ye don’ sound verra convincin’ to me, child,” Gerta shot back.
“I don’ belong here, Gerta,” Shannon sighed, turning toward her, “I’ll do anythin’ to get home. I’d leave tonight if given the chance.”
“Hush,” Gerta said forcefully, “Ye don’ know what yer sayin’. If ye try to leave Dublin, prophecy or no prophecy, ye
will be put to death. Vikings willnae tolerate a rebellious slave.”
“Slave,” Shannon spat, fighting the tears that welled in her eyes, “That’s what I am, right? That’s what we all are. We are nothin’ but slaves.”
“Come now, child, I didnae mean to upset ye. Let’s put this matter behind us,” Gerta said, changing the subject. “We’ll take a walk to the other side of the bay. Traders have come to port. Perhaps that will lift yer spirits a wee bit.”
“Fine,” Shannon said softly, “I could use some fresh air.”
“That’s better,” Gerta smiled, “The kitchen is in good order, and the morning chores are done. We’ll leave as soon as the bread is ready.”
After setting the loaf on the table, Shannon grabbed her shawl and followed Gerta outside. She walked down the rocky trail toward port feeling the wind at her back. While strolling down the dusty path, Gerta explained that she had mixed feelings about the Viking invasion in Ireland, trying to ease Shannon’s mind.
“Rumors of the Lindisfarne raid spread throughout Ireland like wildfire,” Gerta explained, “Hearin’ about the attack had terrified everyone in my village. Vikings never show mercy. Not even a monk was spared.”
“Vikings are nothin’ but bloodthirsty barbarians,” Shannon stated, kicking a pebble into the tall grasses.
“Aye, I thought the same thing,” Gerta agreed, “I can remember seein’ the devil ships on the Liffey, drawing closer to Baile Átha Cliath. Oh, what a frightful sight it was!”
Shannon shivered, remembering the drakkar that had approached the Irish shoreline, “It was as if the world had ended.”
“Indeed,” Gerta added. “My clan fought long and hard to save our village, but the Norse army was too strong. Many a brave mon lost their lives that day. Soon after, Baile Átha Cliath was no more. Dublin rose out of its ashes and became the Viking trading port.”
“Why didnae yer clan reunite and revolt against them?” Shannon questioned.
“And be slaughtered?” Gerta asked. “Why fight a losin’ battle, lassie? It would’ve been foolish to try. My clan had to do whatever it took to survive. It was far from easy. Believe me. It took awhile to settle our differences, but we intermingled with them.”
Conquered Shores Page 7
