Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  After the gods had dwelt in Asgard for a time, it came to them that there was no wall around their home to protect them. Despite their might, the gods remembered the fierceness of their enemies, the glants, and they wondered if they could truly be safe from them without a wall. As they were debating this, a stranger appeared in Asgard. He offered to build a mighty wall around the entire realm and promised he would have it done to their satisfaction within a single year. The gods were tempted to agree but first Odin, wisest among them, asked his price. The stranger faced great Odin boldly and said, “When I have built your wall, give me Frigg, fairest of all the goddesses. Oh, and I also want the sun and the moon.” Odin was outraged for not only would he never consider giving any goddess to a stranger but most especially he would not give his own wife. Truth be told, there were many times when Odin and Frigg argued, yet was she his and did he mean to keep her. Great Odin was about to dismiss the stranger from Asgard, when Loki, the trickster god, spoke up. He said they should agree to the stranger's terms but on condition that he build the wall in only half a year. Surely he would not be able to do this, so he would be paid nothing and at the least, the gods would have half a wall for free. Reluctantly, Odin and the others agreed, although Frigg still was not happy and wept tears of gold. Almost half a year passed and to the shock of the gods, the wall was almost complete. The stranger was about to win his bet and take fair Frigg from them, not to mention the sun and the moon. Fortunately, Loki had an idea. “The stranger needs his powerful black horse to haul the stone to the wall,” Loki said. “I will lure the horse away and the wall will not be completed.” Loki changed his shape into that of a lovely white mare and as expected, the stranger's black stallion followed her into the woods. Realizing his horse was gone and he could not complete the job, the stranger was enraged. So angry did he become that he dropped his disguise, revealing himself to be a giant, enemy of the gods. At this, Odin summoned the strongest of the gods, mighty Thor, who struck the giant on the head with his immense hammer, making thunder ring throughout the heavens. Thus did the giant depart Asgard, the gods finished the wall for themselves, and eventually Frigg forgave Odin for almost losing her. Even Loki was welcomed back. When he returned, he brought with him a wondrous black horse with eight legs, named Sleipnir, which he gave to Odin. And that is how the gods of Asgard acquired their wall and how Odin acquired Sleipnir.

  “Let's see now,” Hawk said when the applause had died away. “Loki went into the woods disguised as a white mare intent on luring away a black stallion, and returned sometime later with an eight-legged black stallion. Did anyone ever ask Loki just how Sleipnir came to be?”

  Dragon grinned. “I don't believe anyone ever did, or leastways Loki never said. But we all know a trick may turn around and trick the trickster.” He gazed pointedly at Krysta. “Although sometimes a lucky trickster will escape unharmed.”

  Although he looked at her in a friendly fashion, Krysta understood full well what he was saying. She was most fortunate to have escaped unharmed from the trick she had played on Hawk. Only the most foolish of women would tempt fate—and the patience of her lord—again.

  “Loki never seems to learn his lesson,” Krysta said softly. She turned her eyes to Hawk. “Humans are wiser in that regard.”

  Her response pleased him but before he could reply, Edvard broke in. The young steward had imbibed a little more than usual, perhaps encouraged by pretty Aelfgyth's frequent smiles, and his usual reserve had fallen away. “What about what Odin did?” he challenged. “Agreeing to barter his wife for a wall, even if he didn't believe he'd end up having to pay, was very foolish.”

  “That's true,” Dragon agreed. “But Odin never seems to know how to handle Frigg. He's always doing things that anger her and embolden her to defy him.”

  “If Odin stayed at his own hearth more,” Krysta said, “not to mention in his own bed, he wouldn't need to worry about handling Frigg and she wouldn't be so inclined to oppose him.”

  Barely had she spoken than Krysta blushed. She realized in an instant how everyone would construe her words and wished desperately that she could snatch them back. It was one thing to tell Hawk when they were alone that the path to peace did not lie through other women's beds. To announce the same to all and sundry was more than a man was likely to tolerate.

  “What I meant—” she began.

  “I think we all know what you meant,” Hawk said. To her amazement, he smiled. Leaning closer, he said for her ears alone, “It takes a very confident woman to stake such a claim. Are you sure you're equal to it?”

  Krysta's flush deepened. He knew perfectly well she couldn't be sure, just as he knew she had never been with a man and thus had no way of knowing how adept she would prove. But not for the world would she admit any of that to him. With a light shrug of her shoulders, she said, “I rather think that depends on you, my lord. Wouldn't you agree?”

  She watched, fascinated, as passion flared in his eyes. He was half out of his chair, looking for all the world as though he intended to take her away right then and there, when Dragon said, “All this talk of marriage brings to mind another story. I had this from an Irishman I met in Byzantium. He swore it was true and claimed even to know the poor fellow involved:”

  The mighty lord of an Irish clan was out one day in his curragh. He had gone out alone, away from the bustle of his court, because he needed to think over a problem he faced. You see, this lord knew that he should marry but he could not decide which young woman he wanted to take to wife. There were so many to choose among that he found himself drawn first to one, then to another. Yet he knew his duty, and as he rowed across the bay near his holding, he was resolving how he might do what was right. Just as he was thinking about the daughters of the neighboring clan chieftains, he saw a strange shape moving through the water near him. So startled was he that he rose up in the curragh, seized the net he was carrying, and threw it out into the water. His aim was sure and the net engulfed the creature even as it tried to flee. The lord pulled in the net and to his utter amazement found himself gazing upon a young woman of extraordinary beauty. With no adornment save her own milky white skin and ebony hair, she was by far the most desirable woman he had ever seen. Straightaway, he made up his mind to marry her. The lord took his bride home and presented her to his people. Although they were surprised, to be sure, none would gainsay him. The lord and his lady from the sea were wed, and in due time they had strong sons and daughters. All seemed as it should be save for one strange habit of the lord's. Regularly, every few days or so, he would go off by himself to a place only he knew. He only stayed a short time but he never failed to go, and whenever he went, he ordered his wife locked in her chamber so that she could not follow him. This went on for years until finally one day the lady asked her eldest daughter to follow her father. The girl did as she was bid and reported back to her mother that the lord's destination was a small cave not far from their holding. The girl had not dared to follow him inside, but this did not seem to trouble her mother. She thanked the girl, then kissed her gently and told her how very much she loved her and all her other children. The next day, the lady vanished. She was never seen again, although the gown she had been wearing was found in front of the cave to which the father had gone these many years. As her children wept for her, their father confessed the truth. When he drew their mother from the sea, he found something else in the same net that held her, the skin of a skelkie. Right away, he knew it for what it was and recognized that the beautiful maiden he had captured was an enchanted creature who could only stay with him so long as she could not repossess her skelkie skin. Faithfully, he cared for it, going to the cave every few days to make sure it remained wet as it must and in good condition, for if it did not, he knew she would die. But never did he want her to leave him, so he kept the whereabouts of the skin a secret. Once a skelkie rediscovers her skin, she can do naught but return to it and to the sea, as his wife had finally done. As long as he lived after that, the lord went
to the sea every day and looked out over it, as though searching for his lost wife and beseeching her to return to him. From time to time, a shape could be seen far out in the water looking back at him, but she never came near again.

  “A strange story,” Hawk said thoughtfully. He had heard more than a few odd tales but never one odder than that. Offhand, he wasn't inclined to believe it, yet he had to admit that some of the strangest tales turned out to be the truest. For instance, there was the one about an island to the west with mountains that spewed rivers of fiery mud. What sane man would believe that? Yet he knew men of impeccable sense who swore to have seen it with their own eyes.

  Dragon seemed to feel the same way. “I admit it sounds unlikely but who knows? Besides, if any place harbors such creatures, it would be Eire. Have you ever been there?”

  Hawk had not and didn't expect he would ever make the journey. He had his hands full trying to help Alfred put England to rights.

  “The Norse have established a holding at a place called Dubh Linn,” Dragon went on. “Unless the Irish manage to unite their many clans, it is likely that far more of their fair isle will be lost before long.”

  “What is it that compels you Norse to prefer the lands of others to your own?” Hawk meant no offense by the question, he was genuinely curious. The Danes he thought he understood well enough for they were driven by the same lust for wealth and power as seemed to strike many Saxon men. But the Norse, who were cousins to those very same people, seemed to seek both less and more, preferring land above all else.

  “Mayhap there is not enough of our own,” Dragon said good-naturedly. “Our lands are beautiful but harsh. Little can be grown save in the scant months of summer. In deepest winter, not even the sea can be harvested. We tend toward large families, so some of us must seek our livelihoods elsewhere.”

  This seemed a reasonable enough answer and Hawk was mulling it over when he noticed that Krysta suddenly appeared paler. So bright was the moon as to make the torches all but unnecessary. In the glow of silvery light, the flush that had stained her cheeks scant minutes before seemed to have disappeared. Even as he watched, she pressed her lips tightly together and stared down at her hands twisting in her lap.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked quickly, wondering what could have upset her so.

  She stared at him with wide, dilated eyes. He was shocked to realize that she seemed genuinely afraid.

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said, and managed a wan smile. “I'm merely tired.”

  Not for a moment did he believe her. Something had distressed her deeply but he had no idea what it could possibly be. Swiftly, he glanced around the table. Daria and the priest had their heads together and were scowling; he saw nothing unusual in their behavior. Edvard had settled a pretty maid on his lap and was chatting with her happily. Hawk's lieutenants were drinking and laughing with their Norse guests—nothing out of place there. He glanced further down along the tables and saw Krysta's odd servants, Thorgold and the Raven woman, both apparently content. What, then … ? He ran over in his mind what had happened in the past few minutes but could find nothing to account for Krysta's strange behavior. Granted, Dragon had teased her about her trick in coming to Hawkforte disguised, but she'd taken that perfectly well and had seemed to recover from her own boldness in declaring her sympathy for Frigg. But was that it? Had his so-obvious desire for her caused this distress? Yet had she seemed unafraid of passion when they kissed in the stable.

  He told himself that he had to remember she was but a young and untried girl, newly arrived in a far land and confronted by a stranger to whom she had been given with no thought to her own feelings, a stranger who would henceforth have complete control over her life. Granted, the same fate befell most women, but he supposed that did not make it any easier or pleasant.

  Reluctantly, he thought of his first wife. They had been wed so short a time and so many years had passed since then that he could not recall her features with any clarity. Yet could he remember her reluctance in the marriage bed and the habit she had of shirking from him whenever he came near. In all modesty, he knew he had not lacked for gentleness or skill, but that had not mattered. The thought of enduring such a marriage again filled him with dread. He was willing to do virtually anything to avoid it.

  Even to restrain the desire he had felt since the first moment he saw his Norse bride-to-be until he could be certain that she shared his passion.

  He sighed inwardly, knowing he set himself a task from which most men would shirk. But he was a warrior and a leader. He would damn well find as much patience as was needed. On such grim thought, he drained his ale and did not object when the servant filled his goblet again.

  Chapter EIGHT

  YOU REMAKING TOO MUCH OF IT, RAVEN scolded. “It was only a story, nothing more. Why take it so to heart?” Krysta looked away from her grim study of the sea. Dragon was gone on the morning tide but his words still echoed in her mind. She had slept poorly, if at all, and now her head throbbed so much that even the sound of her voice was painful. “You heard the tale. Do you honestly believe he told it just by chance?”

  “Why, yes, that's just what I think. It was a story, nothing more.”

  “Before he told it, he spoke of tricksters and looked right at me.”

  Raven sighed and fluttered her thin arms. She settled on the window seat beside Krysta. “One has naught to do with the other. He has no idea—”

  “He could have heard something. Indeed, how could he not? Once Father died, Sven was eager enough to tell all and sundry before he discovered I had value to the jarl of Sciringesheal. Only then did he still his tongue, but how am I to know the damage was not done?”

  Raven reached out a thin hand and laid it over Krysta's. Gently, she said, “You are here, are you not? Think you the jarl of Sciringesheal would send a tainted woman to bind up peace?”

  “I think he would send the Norns themselves, if he thought it would suit his purpose.”

  Raven cackled. “Fierce Harpies of the battlefield who decide who lives or dies probably would not serve well in this case.” She looked at Krysta fondly. “Better to send a lovely young maiden to gentle a warrior's heart.”

  “Well and good, but I tell you, Lord Dragon knows. Or at least he suspects. Why then would he not tell the Hawk?”

  “Tell him what? A tale whispered by your dullard of a half-brother? If Lord Sven declares the sky to be blue, a wise man sticks his head out of his lodge to check. Everyone knows this. The Dragon is no fool, far from it.”

  “He would not have to know Sven said it, only that it was said. You know how tales spread.”

  “I know you have become a worrier where you were never one before.” Raven peered at her closely. “What accounts for that?”

  “I know not what I have become or why,” Krysta murmured. “I only know I am not myself any longer. Something is happening to me. I would stop it if I could but I seem to have no power over it.”

  Raven clucked in distress but sought to reassure. “How not yourself? You are the same person you were when you left Vestfold, the same you have always been.”

  “No, I am not. I feel a stranger in my own skin. I scarcely recognize myself.” Outside, beyond the window, tiny wavelets lapped against the beach. The air was still and heavy with hardly a breath of wind. Like the stillness within her … the waiting.

  “You are in a strange place,” Raven said. “Of course you feel different.”

  Krysta hesitated. “It's not the place. Whatever I'm doing, waking up, eating, listening to Edvard, whatever, Hawk is always in my mind.”

  “He is?” Raven looked surprised. “Why?”

  “He is to be my husband, surely that is reason enough to think of him?”

  “I suppose so, but how much is there to think about? After all, he is only a man.”

  “Only?” Krysta laughed faintly. “I wish I could see him that way.”

  Raven clucked and busied herself smoothing her gown. Finally, she sa
id, “I should have been prepared for this. It was so with your mother.”

  “It was?” Krysta was surprised. Her mother was spoken of so rarely that she had little sense of her. “I know she wanted Father to love her and he could not. …”

  “He was a good man but his heart was given to duty. There was no room left for love.”

  “Yet she loved him.”

  “She could not help herself. I don't pretend to understand it. Some say love is a weakness, some call it a fever in the blood. Don't ask me, I have no experience with it. But I do know your mother had great strength, as do you, yet she could not resist love when it came to her.”

  “But I am not in love,” Krysta protested. “I scarcely know the man.”

  Yet even as she spoke she remembered the kiss they had shared in the stable and her instant, irresistible sense that she recognized him in some way she could not understand. Perhaps knowing did not take so very long, not really. Perhaps it happened in the spirit and the heart while the mind remained all unawares.

  “I am not in love.” It was a wishful claim, nothing more.

  “Did you not expect this?” Raven countered. “Did you think to make him love you without loving him in turn?”

  “I thought he would love me first, then would I be safe to love him.”

  “There is no safety in love. You want to be safe? Go find a cave and hide in it. But to live, truly live, you must not conceal yourself. Every flight—whether of wing or of heart—is risk.”

  “Risk that killed my mother.”

  Raven stiffened. “Never say that! Never have I said she died.”

  “She walked into the sea.” The words nearly choked her yet Krysta was compelled to say them for they were as stones that had weighed her down far too long.

  “She was called into the sea,” Raven protested. “That is entirely different.”