Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  Leif and I stood at the bow of the ship, and when the great square sail bearing his insignia was lowered at last, a feeling like joy took flight within me. The ship glided forward on the relatively calm waters of the port, Leif’s ship the point of the V formation they’d all assumed. Still, I couldn’t help but glance back at the coast of Éirinn, fading faster as the wind grabbed hold of the sail.

  Arin held on to the mast and crowed with unchecked delight. Leif’s face split into a grin, and even the most battle-hardened men jostled and spoke with each other as cheerfully as if it were their first voyage as well. Leif pulled me down next to him to sit and reached out to catch the water’s spray. With blue skies above, and the waters relatively calm, it was easy to relax.

  “Will you tell me of your land?” I asked, watching the sunlight dance across the water.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Anything. I want to know what to expect.”

  “There are mountains and lakes, rivers and fjords, but it isn’t as cold as you might think,” he said, and I could hear the faint smile he wore as he spoke of his homeland. “The water is bluer than the sky, and every child is born knowing how to sail a ship. Water is our life source, but we farm, too.”

  “Are you a farmer as well as a sailor?” I asked, a teasing note in my voice.

  “My father owns land, yes, which will one day be mine, but I wouldn’t say I’m a farmer.”

  “Then you’re a sell-sword who owns land?”

  He let out a short laugh. “I’m not a sell-sword either. I owe no one fealty but my father, who is jarl.”

  “Jarl?”

  “Your people call them earls. He is jarl of a village half the size of Skien. It’s how I came to have so many ships and men to sail them.”

  I stared at him in surprise. “How have I not heard talk of this?”

  “Titles are not as important in the north. We judge a man more by his prowess on the battlefield. The men and women of the north are freemen, and freemen can make their own way in life. If you earn enough on raids, you can become a landowner with riches enough to be jarl.”

  His words seemed to strike me in the chest. Monasteries burned and desecrated, holy men slaughtered, piles of stolen treasure. “The earnings from raids,” I said slowly, “you mean . . . all the treasure you have stolen and killed for?”

  His face darkened like a sudden storm. “We do not steal. There are few things worse than a thief.”

  “Forgive me. I fail to see the difference.”

  “The victors of a battle deserve the spoils. You took Sigtrygg’s sword and crown; would you call yourself a thief?”

  Anger flared within me at the accusation, white-hot, but just as quickly, it faded. Was I not equally violent? Had I not killed and destroyed? There were five graves behind us to remind me of my true nature, and countless others that were unmarked from years in battle. There was a darkness within me, and how could there not be? My mother was the Morrigan.

  “I suppose you have a point,” I conceded grudgingly.

  He grinned. “I can only imagine how much of a struggle it was for you to admit that.”

  I nudged my shoulder into his but couldn’t hide my own answering smile. It was little wonder we were so drawn to each other. We weren’t so different.

  Leif put his arm around me, and again I was struck by how relaxed he looked. I turned my attention to the sea, surprised by the beauty of the sky and the water. I’d seen it from the shore all my life, but there was something about the sparkling splendor of the sun on the waves that intensified the natural beauty.

  The throaty croaking of ravens pulled me from my reverie of the water, and I looked up to find the seer watching me.

  “Should I go now to speak with Sigrid?” I asked Leif.

  One of the men seated across from us, Thorin, overheard. “It seems we’re risking the wrath of Njord by having two women on board who practice seidr.”

  Leif gave him a hard look. “We’re lucky to have such powerful abilities on board. No more talk of them as though they’re cursed—not on my ship.”

  Thorin returned his attention to the sea, and I turned to Leif. “What does seidr mean?” I asked.

  “It’s difficult to explain,” he said, and fell into a thoughtful silence. Then he added, “There are many aspects of seidr . . . but I’ve seen you demonstrate most of them.”

  A jolt of surprise ran through me. “There are others who can do the things I’ve done? There is a name for it?”

  He shifted again as if uncomfortable. “Rarely. It’s a . . . dark art. Most are wary of someone who practices it because it’s a magic that affects the mind by illusion, magic, or control.”

  “And my mind control?”

  “Odin is the only one who is capable of something so powerful . . . and you.”

  “Do you know much about it, then?” I asked, desperate to know more. My powers were growing and transforming—from being able to mentally control another, to separating my spirit from my body, and finally to calling upon a shadow army. It was frightening and thrilling at the same time.

  “Not any more than most in my village—the only seidr we’ve experienced is the ability seers have to divine the fate of the gods, but beyond that, you’d have to ask Sigrid.” He turned to me. “You are the most powerful seidr user I’ve ever known, and it’s these abilities that will make the difference in this quest—I have no doubt about that.”

  “If I can master them in time,” I said, worrying my lower lip with my teeth. “I should go speak with Sigrid.”

  I started to stand, but Leif put his hand on my arm. “Tonight would be a better time,” he said. “This may be hard to believe, but watching you and Sigrid performing seidr would make the others nervous, and they’re especially superstitious on the water.”

  With a snort of disbelief, I shifted so I was pressed against the hard muscles of his side. “Who knew you Northmen were so delicate?”

  “We’re as fragile as petals.”

  “I can see that,” I said as I watched the men around me doing various disgusting things: everything from nose-picking to urinating over the side of the ship.

  I just kept my eyes on the waves, the sun beginning its descent, casting its golden-orange rays over the water. It wasn’t long before my sleepless night caught up to me, and my eyelids drooped. I stood unsteadily, not yet used to the water beneath my feet. “I believe I’ll test out that nest of furs you arranged for me,” I said to Leif.

  He tried to pull me back on the bench. “Rest here with me.”

  “Tempting, but I’ve never been able to sleep in the presence of others,” I said, with a nod toward the other men on board. Not only was I often plagued by nightmares, but I never felt comfortable relaxing my guard to the point necessary for sleep.

  “That could become a problem for you,” he said with a grin, “but go. Enjoy your privacy.”

  I smiled back at him as I picked my way carefully to the stern. Forty of my undead men parted for me, and as I passed through them, my shoulders dropped. I couldn’t find my father, but Fergus was among them, his once animated face expressionless.

  I stopped to touch his cheek, sorrow biting into me so strongly my breath hitched. “How I wish I could still talk to you,” I murmured.

  He didn’t respond, and I didn’t expect him to. I passed beyond the tarpaulin, and the undead men wordlessly moved into place before it, a wall of flesh between me and the rest of the men on board.

  I lay down upon the soft furs and covered my eyes with my arm, letting sorrow and regret slam down upon me like waves.

  When I woke next, it was so dark I had to blink several times to assure myself my eyes were open. Beside me came Leif’s soft breathing; sometime in the night he had joined me, and I could only sigh at his audacity . . . even as I was secretly glad for his company.

  Something had woken me, though, and I lay for a moment, listening to see what it was. The sound came again: my name followed by the pungent
smell of sage.

  The seer was calling me.

  I stood carefully but was pleased to see my body had already adjusted to the movement of the waves. I drew aside the tarp and froze in wonder.

  The moon illuminated the ship, falling upon the resting men and joined by countless stars. The light was so beautiful, so pure, and it shimmered silver on the dark waters. I stepped forward, and the men of my army parted again for me.

  The Northmen slept in long bags made of leather and trimmed in fur. Not all were sleeping—Arin and another Northman, one who was not much older than I, sat playing a game near the mast. I found Sigrid beside the cage of ravens, and the birds seemed agitated in the light of the moon. Their feathers were so ruffled they resembled blades, jagged against the night sky.

  “You wish to know more of seidr,” she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard above the waves.

  “I do, but more than that, I want to know how to control it.”

  “There is darkness in you,” she said, and I could feel her eyes on me, “enough to destroy everything you care about. You will be a great and terrible queen.”

  For a moment, her words cast a spell upon me, showing me what could be. With my own abilities and my army of men, I could rule all of Éirinn. Mentally, I pulled myself free from the net of ambition. I would not fall prey to power-hungry visions. “My will is far greater than the darkness within.”

  “Tell me,” the seer said from within the shadows of her robes, “is your mind control strong enough to take over the jötunn’s mind?”

  I stiffened. “How did you—”

  “You have great powers, but you only use them when you’re impatient and desperate during battle. You have practiced them, but you were forced to do so and reluctant. The number of seidr abilities you have is on the same level as a god’s—mind control, sending your spirit from your body, summoning the dead—and yet you have mastered none of them.”

  Then what am I supposed to do? I thought but did not say. My tongue lay limp in my mouth—dumbfounded by the seer’s words.

  You must put your full efforts into mastering them as you never have before, she answered in my mind, and I jerked in surprise. “You wanted to ask me how I know these things about you. I know them because I have mastered the only seidr I have: visions and fate.”

  Then how can you hear my thoughts?

  Because we are connected by the seidr we both practice, she answered in my mind, reminding me eerily of the Morrigan. “You have much to learn,” she added out loud.

  “I don’t have long to train,” I said, my thoughts slow and confused. “How am I to master so many skills?”

  She shook her head as though frustrated with me. “You’ve had the key to doing so all along. Tell me, how is it that you control another’s mind?”

  “Because the Morrigan is my mother,” I said, unsure what answer she wanted.

  “Your immortal blood is what gifted you the ability in the first place, yes, but how do you control another’s mind?”

  I glanced up at the clear night sky as though it held the answer. “It’s hard to put into words. I sink into myself and reach out with my mind. . . .”

  “You are doing it wrong,” the seer said, her tone becoming increasingly emphatic. The ravens beat their wings against the cage in response. “Your power lies not in the recesses of your mind, but in your spirit. Your mind is but a pale echo of what your spirit can do.”

  Her words resonated so strongly within me that I could feel the hum of their truth, along with a twinge of horror. I’d been wielding my powers wrong since they first manifested—could I have saved the Northmen who fell to the jötnar?

  “Yes,” the seer said, and my gaze jumped to hers and narrowed.

  “Get out of my mind,” I said in a growl.

  “Detach your spirit from your body. It’s the only way you’ll be able to control a being as powerful as the jötnar.”

  “And how am I to do that during battle?” I demanded. “My body will be limp, unconscious—unprotected.”

  The seer’s pale white hand shot out and pointed toward my undead clansmen behind me. “Do you not have powerful warriors who can stand guard? If you want to win the battle against the jötnar, your only hope is to stay safely apart and detach yourself from your body—only then will you gain control.”

  “I cannot abandon the others! How am I to remain safely apart while they battle for their lives?”

  “Do not be a fool,” the seer said, her tone sharp now. “Are you so great a warrior, then? You believe yourself to be more skilled at swordplay than the jarl’s son?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then it’s time you learned. Come with me.” She walked to the side of the ship, and I followed, close enough that the spray created a fine mist on my face. “Look into the water.”

  I gripped the ship’s side and leaned over, momentarily mesmerized by the moon sparkling over the water’s surface. The next thing I knew, a dagger was held to my throat.

  I didn’t dare move. “What are you doing?” I asked carefully.

  “Call your warriors—you have an army of undead at your command,” she said.

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” I didn’t think she would kill me—Leif would kill her in retribution, for one thing—but I also didn’t know her well enough to say for sure. Tentatively, I reached out with my mind toward hers.

  “Perhaps,” she whispered just behind me. “You don’t know because you haven’t the strength to breach my mind.”

  Before I could respond, she pushed away my attempt to enter her thoughts as easily as a grown man bats away a curious bee. It was clear her mental prowess was far greater than mine. My heart felt like it would break my ribs it was pounding so hard.

  How do I call them? I wanted to shout at her, but I didn’t want to waste my breath. I had a feeling she wouldn’t answer me.

  I tried to ignore the cold feel of metal against the sensitive skin of my throat and let my eyes fall closed. I reached out with my mind, but this wasn’t like trying to take control of someone else—I wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, for one thing, so I didn’t have a specific target—but I could feel them. I could see them, though my eyes were closed. Shadowy forms wreathed in smoke. I could just make out their skeletal forms beneath.

  Help me, I thought, and when nothing happened, I thought more desperately, Help me!

  I could sense them appear just behind Sigrid, but with surprising speed, she spun us around so that I faced my warriors. Fergus—I’d recognize him anywhere—and Séamus. The two I’d had the most connection to in life? Whatever the reason, they were here now, ghostly and strange and magical.

  Sigrid dropped the dagger from my throat. “Call them off now,” she said.

  “You took a great risk just doing that,” I said, rubbing my throat. “What’s to stop me from having them rip you to pieces?”

  “You’ve learned to summon your warriors to guard over your body when you’re vulnerable,” she said, “but there is still much to learn. You need me.”

  I did need her, and I let out a hiss of frustration. “Did you really have to threaten me with bodily harm? Would it not have been easier simply to explain how to summon them?”

  “I could have, but it would have taken you twice as long to master. As I said before, you only use your power when you’re in a desperate situation. This was the only way to contrive a situation where you felt threatened so that you might finally recognize how to access your power.”

  I shook my head, inwardly cursing the Northmen. Only they would think putting someone’s life in danger was the best teaching method. I hated to think how they taught their children.

  “We will continue tomorrow night,” the seer said, already moving away toward her seat at the bow of the ship.

  “I hope I survive,” I grumbled.

  “I do as well,” she replied, “for I sense a storm is coming that will test us all.”

  21

  We practiced
only at night for the next five days. Hours and hours spent searching for that door in my mind—the one that had saved me from the jötnar twice. Two of my undead clansmen would stand watch over me while I forcefully pushed my spirit from my body. I couldn’t do it fast, and I couldn’t even do it reliably—one night I failed to do it at all, and I think if it hadn’t been for my undead army, Sigrid would have bashed me over the head with her gnarled stick. It wasn’t until the sixth night, though, that I realized what I’d been doing wrong: I’d been thinking about it too hard. The harder I concentrated, the more my conscious mind told me it was impossible, and then I couldn’t do it at all. I had to free my mind and think of the result instead, of my spirit floating high above my body. Only then was I able to release my spirit from my body the moment I closed my eyes.

  Then I entered the furthest recesses of my mind, threw open the door of light, and plunged through it. I knew this time was different from all the other moments I’d attempted to leave my body. Everything was clearer, less hazy, and I felt stronger than I had before.

  Seeing my unconscious form below me was as disconcerting as it ever was. My body lay slumped on the rough wooden bench of the ship, the bright spot of my heart glowing strongly. My undead clansmen were even more astonishing to behold: their bodies were nothing but skeletons surrounded by swirling black smoke. The two bright red hearts that animated them had ethereal silver chains that connected to my own heart. I touched my chest with my ghostly hand but felt nothing but mist. No matter how many times I’d seen it, it was still difficult to believe.

  With my body safely guarded, I was free to soar high above the ship like a bird. Or a ghost. Untethered, I watched the sleeping forms of the Northmen, the water black and fathomless, the ships gliding along. I saw the bright red hearts of everyone on board, including Sigrid’s.

  Then I had only to think of the beat of her heart, and I was there. Standing before her, I reached out and grasped her heart, feeling it beat steadily in my hand as she gasped and clutched her chest. Before the rhythm could be interrupted, I let go.

  In the next instant, I returned to my body.