Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  In calling them back from the dead I’d no doubt damned my clansmen and father, but there was a part of me that took great satisfaction in the revenge they’d given me. And if they were necessary to destroy the jötnar, then there was an even greater part of me that didn’t regret dragging them back from the dead. I shivered at my thoughts. Where was this growing sense of ambition coming from? Had it always been there, lurking in my subconscious?

  Gently, Leif turned my face toward his. “What troubles you?”

  Many things, I thought, but didn’t say. I didn’t want to air my memories of my parents’ belief I was unsuitable as a wife—not to Leif. Besides, there were more pressing issues. My gaze shifted to my army of undead clansmen.

  “No war was won without sacrifice,” Leif said. “This army has gifted you with revenge upon Sigtrygg—who not only murdered your father and clansmen, but was in league with the jötnar—and the kingdom of Dubhlinn. Your army is a weapon; we will use them to crush the jötnar. When our lands are safe, you’ll release them, and perhaps they will sleep in the peace you Christians always talk of.”

  A hint of a smile touched my lips. The Northmen’s concept of an afterlife was anything but peaceful. “And what if our roles were reversed? What if you were the one to call forth your father and friends? For every trace of who they were to be gone, and for only walking corpses to be left? To watch them tear apart their enemies in mere minutes?”

  “My father would accept such a fate with great zeal. Any of us would be proud to be einherjar, to be called upon to fight after death.”

  I sighed, exasperated with the forever blood-hungry Northmen. “But if my father still retained his sense of self, he’d be filled with nothing but shame.”

  Leif gestured toward the silent men in the dark. “He stands as motionlessly as all the others. Your father as you knew him is gone. What is left will save us all.”

  I touched his hand for a moment, but then the echoes of my parents’ conversation reverberated through my mind. A warrior, not a maiden. I withdrew my hand. “You give me sound advice and more than a little comfort.”

  He held my eyes. “I’m not your enemy, Ciara. I may have been . . . once. But that changed the moment I met you on the battlefield.”

  I tried to laugh him off. “Because I defeated you so soundly?”

  “Because you spared my brother. Because something about you made it impossible for me to look away.”

  He was melting my resolve, yet still I fought it. We had allied ourselves together, and I had overcome the sense that he was my enemy, but I couldn’t shake the long-held belief I had that I wasn’t fit to be loved as other maidens were. I barely knew myself; how could I in good faith give myself to another? But Leif’s face blocked it all out. There were only the two of us in the darkness—alone.

  “Your sister,” he said suddenly, and I froze. “Was it one of my own who killed her?”

  Pain for me showed on his face—and regret. “It was a Northman, yes,” I answered, “but certainly none of the men who accompany you.” Very quietly I added, “She was only a child when I watched her be killed.”

  “She was murdered . . . in front of you?”

  “I’ve watched my sister being murdered in my dreams so often I know every detail,” I said, almost to myself, “down to the stray eyelash that had fallen on her cheek.”

  He looked ill for a moment, and then angry, his jaw flexing. “I see my sister, too, in my dreams, and I can’t imagine how I would be now if I’d seen it all happen.” His eyes flicked to mine. “If I could take your memories from you and spare you that pain, I would.”

  Almost against my will, I leaned toward him. “The proposal you made last night,” I said quietly, “will you hold to it again tonight?” My craving for closeness was a siren call I couldn’t resist; and indeed he was the only one who could understand me now.

  He laughed under his breath. “You’ll kill me yet,” he said. But in answer, he pulled me down beside him and wrapped us in his fur mantle.

  This man who had once been my enemy—with his strong arms around me—made me feel safer than I had in weeks, but still I did not succumb to sleep. “I still fear for Mide . . . and for my sisters,” I whispered into the darkness. Leif was silent, but I could tell from the slight shift of his body toward mine that he was listening. “We’ve killed King Sigtrygg, but soon others will come. They will see my father’s death as an open invitation to seize the throne—through marriage or by force.”

  “Then you must take the throne for yourself,” Leif said. His words resonated through me like the vibrating strings of a lute.

  Yes, whispered the voice inside me, and for once, I wasn’t sure if it was my own or the Morrigan’s. By law, I was my father’s heir, but I wasn’t sure if Máthair would contest it. Would she reveal the truth of my birth—that I was a bastard not even entirely human—or was my exile binding? Mide was a valuable kingdom, rich in resources. Without a powerful force to rule it, it would always be susceptible to other strong and ambitious kings.

  “I’ll need help if I am to take Mide from my mother,” I said.

  “I am your ally, princess,” he said. “One day you’ll see that.”

  As I drifted off to sleep, I thought, Maybe I already have.

  The dream stole upon me with such vivid imagery I knew it was more than just a dream.

  I stood in the hall of the ruins of a great castle. Stars shone clearly overhead through a massive hole in the ceiling; roots pushed their way up through the stones of the floor, leaving cracks in their wake; hundreds of vines wrapped around the stone staircase before me.

  Dark mist poured in, flowing around me like silk. If I stared long enough, I could just make out the form of a woman. Suddenly, the destroyed room was filled with crows. Their black feathers fell to the floor, solidifying into the figure of a woman who remained hidden in the shadows of the great hall. “You know the truth of your birth now,” the Morrigan said.

  “Yes,” I said, my hands curling into fists at my side. “Though I’m still not sure why you went to such an effort.”

  “We are not without our own seers, and we knew of the giants’ plans long before they stirred from their realm. I refused to stand aside and watch them destroy the land that was once mine. I may be too weak to battle with these monsters, but I could create someone who could. Your father’s bloodline gave me the perfect warrior. You.”

  Confusion slowed my reaction. “His bloodline?”

  The dark mist swirled until a vision of a woman in gauzy white robes stretched her arms out to the sun as it rose, the pale yellow rays bathing her in its light. The moment it touched her, the gorge behind her was illuminated, and other priestesses in white robes moved toward the light.

  “Your ancestors the druids once lived and worshipped alongside the Tuatha Dé Danann, harnessing the power of nature to give them abilities beyond that of mere mortals: the gift of healing, the gift of sight, and the ability to travel between realms.” Her eerie gaze, dark and fathomless, fell upon me. “The druids have died out just as the Tuatha have been driven out of the mortal realm, but traces of their bloodlines, though rare, remain. Your father carried one of their oldest bloodlines, and it gave him the potential for great power. Power that was lying dormant, waiting for immortal blood to awaken it. Together, we made a powerful weapon.”

  One born for it, the Morrigan had said when she’d first appeared to me.

  “Why? Why would you create me? You knew the monster you’d send to the world.”

  She smiled, but the gesture was one of cunning rather than benevolence. “I needed a warrior with the power of the ancients. I cared nothing for the price.”

  My head ached with the dissonance of the faith I had always believed in, and the truth that I could no longer deny.

  “The new god’s influence is spreading, but the old gods live on,” she said. “I would do anything to protect this land. Seduce a pitiful king, bear a child and allow her to be raised by foolish m
ortals who know nothing of the old ways, even join forces with gods from the north.”

  I thought of the way the Morrigan had appeared alongside the ravens in the Faerie Tunnel—the ravens who had turned out to be the Valkyrie. My eyes widened. “Do you mean the Valkyrie? You joined—”

  “The Valkyrie are but messengers for the more powerful gods of the north. They chose their own warrior to right the mistakes made by their gods, and it was I who led him to your doorstep.”

  She looked completely unrepentant that in leading Leif to me, many of my clansmen had died in the ensuing battle with Leif’s men. It made me feel sick, like I was partly to blame, even if I hadn’t been consciously aware of my part in bringing them to our shores.

  But it also brought me Leif. The thought whispered through my mind, and I couldn’t deny how thankful I was for it.

  “So you came to me in a dream to gloat about how you manipulated my father and bent others to your will?”

  “I came to warn you,” she said, bringing forth a vision of Leif battling jötnar with all his strength. “Unlike your power, which you were born with, the Northman’s was bestowed upon him as a gift from the gods, but it doesn’t make him invincible. You will soon sail north, and once you arrive on the Northmen’s shores, you will lose all access to the realm of the Tuatha Dé Danann. There are other ancient beings who guard those shores, and I cannot cross them. You may find yourself without allies in the end. You have to be strong enough.

  “Your only hope will be to master your abilities before you arrive. Become the warrior queen you were meant to be.” The mist transformed into rippling ink-black feathers. “Do not fail.” With a caw, she completed her transformation into a crow and took flight.

  The march to Dubhlinn wasn’t long, but it was long enough to torture me with thoughts of the Morrigan’s words. It seemed especially ominous that she’d said Leif wasn’t invincible. I kept sending him worried glances, but he was lost in his own thoughts, no doubt anxious to return to Arin and his men. The apprehension seemed to spread through Leif and me, until we became almost desperate to arrive. I was queen now, yet there was no time to formally take the city, nor to decide what would be done with Sigtrygg’s wife and family. His wife was a Celt, I knew, so she might have fled to her father, the High King. I thought of my own mother, refusing to leave, refusing to even bury the remains of her husband. I doubted Sigtrygg’s wife would be as devoted—not many in arranged marriages were. Still, with the High King behind her, Sigtrygg’s wife could pose a problem I wasn’t prepared to handle.

  I didn’t anticipate anyone in the city protesting my claim to the throne, not with my nightmarish army at my back, the king’s crown in my hand, and my own intimidating reputation, but I knew if I had any hope at all of retaining the kingdom of Dubhlinn for myself, then I’d have to leave behind someone to hold the city.

  I stole a glance at Leif, noting again the lines of tension there. He feared for Arinbjorn, I knew. We’d been delayed for so long now, anything could have happened while we were away. His men had been told to prepare the ships, but that was weeks ago. Did they even believe us to be alive?

  If they had waited for us, and if the ships had been made ready, then we would set sail tomorrow. I shuddered as I thought of the dragon-headed prows, the square sails. How I had always loathed that sight. Now, all too soon, I would be on board them as we sailed north, at the mercy of the sea and sky.

  I felt completely unprepared, and though Leif had eased my concerns over sailing in general, I still questioned how comfortable the journey would be.

  “What do you do if it rains?” I’d asked Leif the night before, when my anxiety over sailing had reached the point that I could silently think on it no longer.

  He had grinned and said, “We get wet.”

  I’d imagined just how miserable this journey could be and decided not to ask any further questions.

  But I couldn’t keep all my concerns at bay as we marched toward the city. I glanced at my undead warriors. They followed in our wake, showing no sign of fatigue though they hadn’t slept. It wasn’t until we reached the bridge into Dubhlinn that I realized we’d be leading them into the city. The boys with no shoes I’d seen the first time we rode through came to mind. Was I bringing monsters I knew very little about to the doors of innocent people?

  “I think the army should wait here—at the gates,” I said to Leif.

  “Why? We must travel to the city to get to the ships, and it’d be foolish to leave them here only to return for them later. I’d rather you have the extra protection; we can’t know what awaits us in the city. Sigtrygg’s men might challenge you for the throne.”

  I glanced back at my morbid army, their faces gray and their march tireless. Leif did have a point. We might need them. “I’d rather not turn them against my own subjects, but I suppose I will if I have to if the people of Dubhlinn challenge us.”

  Leif nodded his approval.

  “And what of Sleipnir?” I asked. “Can I trust him in a stable with other horses?”

  “You fear he’ll devour the other poor beasts in the stable? He’s been beside Abrax this entire time and hasn’t so much as licked him.”

  “He knows Abrax, though. The others . . .” I trailed off when Sleipnir’s ears suddenly pricked forward. Sensing the other horse’s alertness, Abrax did the same.

  A band of men on horseback was riding toward us. Leif and I warily drew our swords and waited on the bridge.

  As soon as they were close enough to identify, Leif sheathed his sword. I smiled when I saw who was in the lead. “Arin,” Leif said with relief clear in the smile on his face, “it’s good of you to come to meet us. Saves me the trouble of tearing the city apart to find you.”

  “Find me?” his brother said, shaking his head. “You’re the ones who’ve been missing for ages.” He smiled as he met my gaze, but then as he noticed the undead at our back, the expression rapidly turned to apprehension. “Who are those men?”

  “My army,” I said, unable and unwilling to explain further.

  “The army we used to destroy King Sigtrygg after he killed Ciara’s father and burned two hundred of her clansmen,” Leif said grimly.

  “That’s terrible, Ciara,” Arin said, his whole face drawn in sympathy.

  “The whole damn city turned on us while you were gone,” one of the men riding with Arin said. “Sigtrygg’s men tried to round us up and hold us prisoner, so we were forced to kill them all and burn the castle.”

  “Sigtrygg never did know how to pick the winning side,” Leif said. He turned to me with an ironic smile. “It would seem your castle has been burned, my queen.”

  Arin and the Northman shared a look of confusion. “Queen?” Arin asked.

  “I’ll explain everything later,” Leif said. “What I need to know now is: Have the ships been made ready?”

  Arin’s face lit up. “They have, brother. Not only our ship, but four others.”

  Leif nodded with approval. “Enough for two hundred men.” He glanced at the army at my back. “Living men, anyway.”

  “Men and horses,” the other Northman said. “The ships are filled with weapons and food stores—enough to replace those we lost. We raided the city after we beat Sigtrygg’s men back.”

  “Did you leave any alive?” Leif asked.

  “Some yielded,” Arin said, and I could see from the brightness in his eyes that he had relished his first battle. “Though not many remain alive. Sigtrygg thought his army of fifty men would be enough to take us, but they were wrong.”

  I was surprised by how few men Sigtrygg had left behind to defend his city. We’d defeated the small battalion Sigtrygg had brought with him, but surely his army consisted of more than eighty men. “Where are the rest of Sigtrygg’s men?”

  “Raiding,” Arin said matter-of-factly.

  “The ones remaining will be given a choice, then,” Leif said. “Join us in battle as was originally promised by King Sigtrygg, or be executed by their n
ew queen.”

  I thought of my clansmen who’d been burned alive by Sigtrygg’s men. The men who now stood behind me, fueled by the blood of the fallen. “What use do I have for traitorous men?” My hands tightened on the reins, and Sleipnir tossed his head. “What use are men who steal into my church on the Lord’s day and burn it and my clansmen to ashes?”

  “More bodies to block the blows of the jötnar,” Leif said. His tone was calm, but the fire inside me burned still brighter. “Not all of the men were guilty of attacking your clansmen, Ciara.”

  “Those who had nothing to do with it may come to battle. Those who did . . . will die.”

  19

  We entered Dubhlinn with much more fanfare than I would have liked. Leif and I rode side by side, followed by my army of fallen warriors. Leif’s men rode ahead and called out to the people as we rode by, “People of Dyflin, King Sigtrygg is dead. Behold your new queen, Queen Ciara!”

  A loud clamor of surprise went through the crowd, which drew even more people from their houses. They lined both sides of the road and stared at me as I rode past. With most of Sigtrygg’s men defeated or captured by Leif’s, there was no one to contest my claim, and the people of Dubhlinn didn’t seem to mourn the loss of Sigtrygg. The peasants who were originally from the north disliked him for being half Celt, and the Celts who lived in Dubhlinn disliked him for his raids on Éirinn.

  I overheard murmurs in the crowd. “Her horse’s eyes are red,” a man said, and his observation rippled through the crowd.

  “Who are the men who follow her?” another asked, clutching her son to her side.

  I glanced back at my army, but they didn’t break formation. Leif and the others rode along as though they were used to such scrutiny from a loud crowd, but I found the attention unsettling. It wasn’t until I noticed one of the small, dirty boys I had seen the first time we rode through the city that I was able to smile.

  He waved vigorously as I drew nearer, his cheeks spattered with mud. “Queen Ciara!” he called, and I responded to his wave with one of my own.