Tonight anger boiled beneath her surface. Galinn had been gone longer than the amount of time she’d known him. Longing for someone for so long was a senseless waste of time. Time that was better spent doing something productive. She had people to lead and she needed a clear head to do it. Thora resented herself for being unable to let him go. She gripped her axe and made her way to the practice field, determined to work through her anger and grief with some good old-fashioned fighting. Even if that “fighting” involved the posts Bjorn and Beri installed weeks before when Bjorn decided it was time to start training everyone on the use of their weapons.
She allowed herself to view Galinn standing before her instead of the thick wooden post as she let her hurt and anger take over. She swung and struck the post time and again, hacking away at her imaginary Galinn as tears blurred her vision. Alone in the darkness, she didn’t care if the tears fell like rain, so she let them go. Soon, sobs wracked her body as she swung her axe until her arm was weak. She gradually became aware she’d been screaming “why?” repeatedly.
“Why what?” Thora spun around at the feminine voice. Rúna stood with her arms folded over her chest. The raven-haired woman barely stood out against the darkness of night. If not for the subtle shift of the pre-dawn light outlining her, she’d be invisible. Thora suppressed annoyance over being so deep in her grief over Galinn that she didn’t hear Rúna sneaking up on her.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” Thora pulled her axe from the post and slipped the haft through her belt. Now that she was no longer alone, she wrestled to control the emotions she’d given free rein to only moments before, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk about what was bothering her.
Rúna dropped her arms and moved to the post. She ran her hand over the gouges left by Thora’s axe and whistled. “If that’s what you do over ‘nothing’, I’d hate to see what you do when angered.”
Thora rolled her eyes at the sarcastic comment and reminded herself that Rúna used sarcasm as skillfully as Bjorn used a sword. Besides, she liked Rúna and Thora’s current agitated mood had nothing to do with her.
“It’s Galinn, isn’t it?”
Thora’s eyes snapped to Rúna’s face. Uncertain of how Rúna knew the source of her upset. “What do you know about Galinn?” She snapped the question out before she had a chance to think. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that harshly as it came out,” she muttered.
Rúna leaned against the post, unfazed. “I know he played a large role in you getting to where you are now, and I know that he disappeared without a single word not long after the outpost was raided. It’s not difficult to figure out you two care for each other, and that you may be having a tough time adjusting.”
Thora made a dismissive noise. “If he cared he’d be here.”
Rúna shrugged. “Does that change anything I’ve said?”
Thora considered Rúna’s assessment of the situation. Aside from not knowing why Galinn left, she had to admit Rúna wasn’t far off the mark. She shook her head. “I suppose not. I did care about Galinn, and he left. Now, I’m angry with myself for not letting him go.”
“Didn’t his friend die? Maybe he just needs some time to get himself together, and maybe you can’t let go because some part of you knows that. Whenever I’ve lost someone, I was better off on my own until I could get myself together enough to be around others. Remember when my grandfather died and I went to Limerick?”
Thora nodded, vaguely recalling the gossip in town that claimed she ran away because she had a hand in her grandfather’s death.
“I know what people said about me for that, but none of it was true. I was drowning in the agony of his loss and I needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t have constant reminders of him. When the loss got a little easier to handle, I came back.”
“So, you think Galinn left to grieve the loss of Rónán?”
Rúna spread her hands wide. “I can’t say for sure, because I’ve never met the man. I’m saying it’s a possibility based on my own experiences.”
Thora nodded slowly. “I appreciate the insight, but there’s more to the situation with Galinn than only grief.”
Rúna shrugged one shoulder. “I’m here if you’d like to talk about it. No one should be out here battling ghosts alone.”
“I appreciate that.” Thora smiled and then looked at the sky. The first rays of dawn began to chase away the darkness and held the promise of a clear summer day. “Why are you out here so early?”
“Who? Me?” Rúna pushed away from the post and ran a hand through her dark tresses. “I’m always up early, and I come out here to practice so I can be warmed up before everyone else gets here. Sometimes, Katla and Ásta come out with me, but it’s rare.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’ve progressed as quickly as you have. I think it’s great that you put in the extra work.” Thora reminded herself that she and Rúna were the same age. Having a two-year head start in her training, and being jarl, sometimes tricked Thora into thinking she was older than her nineteen years. Rúna didn’t have the advantage of close family friends to take up for her like Thora did, and Thora wondered where Rúna would be in her life if she had. When Rúna’s parents died several years ago, she moved in with her grandparents. Shortly after she moved in, her grandmother died, and then her grandfather. Rúna couldn’t have been fifteen or sixteen when she was left all alone in the world. When she returned from Limerick some time later, she lived alone in her grandparent’s house. She kept to herself and tended the small farm to keep herself in food.
Rúna’s losses forced her inward on herself where Thora’s forced her into a more outgoing position. What was the difference between the two women? It had to be Bjorn and Skathi. Having had people to lean on during those hard times put Thora in the position of not being alone. Bjorn and Skathi helped to prevent the weight of Thora’s grief from caving in on her. Skathi kept her busy in the kitchen and gardens when Bjorn didn’t have her training and practicing. Neither would allow Thora to fall too deep into sadness, and both worked tirelessly to keep her moving forward.
Rúna picked at a splintered piece of wood on the post. “I put in the extra work because I have to if I want to succeed. I didn’t grow up around warriors. My parents and grandparents were farmers that never picked up a sword or axe, so this is all new to me. I know that makes me the odd one in the group, so I work harder in order to keep up. The last thing I want to do is slow down the training.”
“In doing the extra work, you’re further ahead.” Thora didn’t miss the sly smile that fluttered across Rúna’s lips. “And that’s your goal, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “It is. I know how people look at me, as if I need their pity because all of my family is gone, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m fine with how my life is, because now I get to choose my own family and my path in this life. Much like you’ve done.”
Thora was thankful the sun hadn’t come up enough for Rúna to see her blush over the admiration in Rúna’s voice. She didn’t know what initially prompted Rúna to come for training, but she was glad she did. She’d shown the most promise and Thora knew Rúna would make a formidable opponent in no time.
Rúna pulled her axe from its place on her belt and tossed it between her hands. “If you’re done crying over a man, how about we spar for a bit?”
Thora chuckled and was happy to take the bait. “You know how to hit with the flat side so you don’t kill me?”
Rúna demonstrated by coming in to strike and connecting with Thora’s midsection using the flat side of her axe. Thora was expecting the touch, but Rúna still impressed Thora with her speed and agility.
“The last time I sparred with someone who came up on me while I was working out my anger, I hit him with the flat side of my axe when I should have just killed him.” Thora lunged in to strike Rúna, but Rúna deflected the blow.
Rúna stepped to the side and swung her axe, catching Thora on her back. “I hope that’s no
t your way of saying you should kill me.”
Thora laughed and shook her head as she stepped up her fighting, no longer taking it easy because Rúna wasn’t as far along in her training. She raised her axe over her head, feigning a blow from overhead, but at the last moment, she bent down and used her axe to sweep the leg Rúna stood with her weight on. Rúna landed on her back with a whoosh as the landing forced the air from her lungs. Thora hung her axe from her belt and stuck her hand out to help Rúna up. Instead of taking her hand. Rúna grabbed Thora’s legs out from under her. Thora fell to the ground with a similar whoosh and tried to catch her breath, but her laughter made it difficult.
The two women slowly made it to their feet, leaning against each other as their laughter kept them bent over.
When Thora finally caught her breath, she wrapped Rúna in a hug. “That was fun! I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”
Rúna returned the hug. “We should do this more often… Only, next time without the anger and tears over a man.”
CHAPTER 9
Galinn jumped to the side to avoid being splashed with water by the passing cart. He nearly lost his footing when his boot slipped on the wet planks used to provide traction in the mud whether for people on foot, horseback, or driving carts. He muttered a curse to the dull gray skies above, wishing the rain would stop long enough to give the roadways through Dublin a chance to dry.
When he finally reached the dryness of his single room home, he paused at the door before closing it and scanned the bustling road. Dublin wasn’t what he expected it to be. He came here hoping to find a place to belong within the busy city. A place where he could lose himself. He imagined all of the sights to see, things to do, and people to meet as being something to look forward to. What he found when he arrived here two months ago were streets swimming in mud made from both rain that rarely stopped and the excrement of people and animals. People came and went, solely focused on getting what they came for and leaving as quickly as possible. Other than the stable owner and the tavern keeper, he rarely saw the same face twice. Forget trying to start a conversation with anyone. Either they were in a hurry or they didn’t speak a recognizable language. The sights were only different from what he’d experienced in Kincora by scale. Where Kincora had a small chapel, Dublin had larger churches, with ground being cleared to build a grand cathedral. Taverns were larger in size and in number. Travelers could find one on nearly every single one of the narrow roads in the city, whereas Kincora had one.
And sounds? Was this city ever quiet? Single room houses lined cramped, muddy streets, packed in so tightly he could hear the neighbors fart five houses down. Many of the homes had small families living under the same roof, which led to frequent arguments at any given moment. Blacksmiths’ hammers rang out against the metals they worked with day and night, and the livestock sometimes made more noises than anything else did. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept through the night without having his sleep interrupted by some noise. Or the last time he breathed fresh air. Between the chimneys of the larger buildings, fire heated homes that vented the smoke by opening the door, and the livestock sharing living space with people, he couldn’t remember what clean air smelled like. What Kincora lacked in scale, it made up for in having cleaner air. He hoped the air would stink less under the chill of winter, because the summer stench was becoming unbearable.
Once the leader of High King Donnchadh mac Briain’s army and a trusted man to Bishop Travers, Galinn now found himself eking out a living as a groom at the stable down the street. It wasn’t much of a living, but it afforded him enough coin to rent a place to live, food to eat, and a place to keep Brandr comfortable and well cared for. Galinn spent every minute of every day convincing himself it was enough. For the most part, he was able to distract himself easily enough while working. Keeping the body busy helped keep the mind off other things. Or so he told himself. However, when he was home, those “other things” came blasting to the foreground, demanding his attention.
He closed the door and moved to light the candle on the table. His small rectangular single room home was sparse to say the least. He had only what he needed to get by in his home. With only a pallet bed in the corner, and a small round table with its single chair opposite the fireplace that had a few utensils for cooking, there wasn’t much to keep him busy in there besides cooking and sleeping. He tried to spend as little time as possible in there to avoid the ghosts that haunted him.
He fell into bed. He needed to sleep so he could be up before dawn to tend to the horses in the stable. But would his ghosts let him rest? Doubtful.
Rónán’s death was always the first thing to push through whenever Galinn allowed himself to slow down. The nightmares were the worst. Having to see him die over and over, night after night was a burden Galinn forced himself to carry. He couldn’t rest until he found a way to avenge his friend—and that meant killing Travers. Though he had killed the man who killed Rónán, the satisfaction was short-lived. Ultimately, Travers was the one responsible for Rónán’s death, and Galinn couldn’t rest until Travers paid with his life. His need for revenge rode him hard, coloring everything around him. He couldn’t see the good things Dublin had to offer through the haze of guilt and the burning desire for vengeance. He looked for the responsible party in every passing face, hoping he’d see Travers. The hardest part was how Galinn blamed himself for what happened to Rónán. Had it not been for his betrayal of Donnchadh and Travers, Rónán would still be alive. He couldn’t forgive himself for that.
Then there were thoughts of Thora. His heart ached at having to leave her, and as he fell asleep every night, he always saw the devastation on her face as he rode out of the fort. She tried to hide it by pretending to busy herself with gathering her people to leave the outpost, but he saw her pain. Of course he’d doubted his decision every second since that moment, but he couldn’t be the reason her people came to doubt her. If they found out about his past, they would, at the very least, doubt her commitment to them if she could allow the man responsible for the deaths of some of their loved ones to live among them. They would see that act as her choosing to be with him over doing what was right for them, and no leader stays in power long with that perceived attitude. Thora wouldn’t do the right thing, so he made the choice for her. He missed her terribly, but she was jarl now. She belonged to her people, and no longer had the luxury of making decisions without considering others. Setting aside his desire to be with her and leaving was the most selfless thing he could do for her, because she was no longer caught between him and her people.
She was safer without him around too. Look at what being close to Galinn did to Rónán. Travers wouldn’t leave her village alone if he knew Galinn was still there. He still thanks the gods every day no one was in the outpost when Travers turned up with his army. Having the resourceful spies he has, Galinn had little doubt Travers was well aware of his current location. Even if Travers didn’t make a move on Galinn in Dublin, at least he wasn’t moving against Thora’s struggling village to get to him.
A commotion outside his door made him jump up and jerk the door open. Two scrawny men were wrestling in the mud a short distance from his door.
“Take it down the road you two.” Galinn gritted his teeth and balled his fists as his annoyance rose to dangerous levels. Where he used to be calm even when in battle, he was now quick to anger over the slightest thing. When the men paid him no mind, he stepped outside and slammed his door behind him. If they didn’t want to take their fight somewhere else, he’d take himself to the tavern. A few drinks and a good fight were just the things to soothe the savage beast.
Galinn left the brawling men to their disagreement and picked his footing carefully to avoid slipping in the mud. If he fell in another puddle of excrement, he’d kill someone.
CHAPTER 10
Thora sat at the table staring at the last slice of oat bread wondering if anyone else wanted it. Bjorn was busy with his porridge and didn’t s
eem the least bit concerned with the bread. Skathi was already clearing her bowl from the table.
“I guess I’ll eat the last piece of bread. Be a shame to waste it.”
Skathi chuckled. “As if we ever had to worry about any of that bread going to waste with you around.”
Thora smiled as she slathered butter on the slice and then bit into it as if she hadn’t had food in weeks. “Mmmm… This is so good!”
“We’ve had more new arrivals come in this morning.” Bjorn shoveled another spoonful of porridge into his mouth and smiled as he chewed.
Thora swallowed the last bit of the bread. “Where are we going to house all these people? We’ve almost doubled our population in the last two months. If we keep going at this rate, we’ll outgrow the fort and have to move into the surrounding areas.”
Bjorn nodded. “I agree the rate is fast, but I can’t say it’s a bad thing. We’ve also doubled the number of people in training. We’ll have a decent fighting force when I’m finished with the people I have. Fifty people won’t make an army capable of attacking Kincora on its own, but it’s a start.”
At the reminder of her plan that she’d been unable to move forward on, Thora groaned. “I thought we’d be closer to that goal by now.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. What would give me the idea we’d be able to attack soon?”
“Nothing I can think of, not if you plan on using only our people.”
She stared at the top of Bjorn’s blond head as he finished his food. “What do you mean?”
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