Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  Leif led him into the light of the fire, and as my gaze settled on the older man’s face, I froze, every muscle in my body going stiff. The blood pounded in my ears.

  The man’s gaze shifted to mine, and so many feelings hit me at one time that I felt as though I would burst. They clamored within me, screaming to be heard.

  A Northman looming above Alana and me, cutting off our escape—

  —the axe in his hand stained red—

  —a deep cut from his eyebrow down to his cheek dripping blood—

  The scar splitting Leif’s father’s face from his eyebrow to his cheek was unmistakable.

  “Father, this is Ciara, Queen of Dyflin and Princess of Mide,” Leif said, holding his hand out to me with a proud smile. Confusion flitted across his face when I did nothing but stare at them both.

  Leif’s father bowed his head to me. “I am Jarl Olafsson, but you may call me Frey.”

  I clenched my hands into fists to hide how badly I was shaking. That voice. My sister’s murderer’s name was Frey Olafsson. Blood for blood, he had said. And then he’d taken the dagger to Alana’s throat.

  Leif grabbed hold of my arm, steadying me. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? Do you need to sit down?”

  I could feel that I had no color in my face. My knees threatened to no longer hold me. So many times I’d thought of this moment—of what I would do if I was able to confront this man again—how I would tear his mind apart and force him to slit his own throat as he once slit my younger sister’s. But the vicious man who had been my sister’s attacker was no longer there. In his stead was a broken-down old man, one who could barely make it out of bed, who could barely stand on his own two feet.

  And he was Leif’s father.

  “You murdered my sister,” I said, the words torn out of me before I could stop and think.

  I couldn’t look at Leif, but I felt him stiffen in shock beside me. His father’s ice-blue eyes—Leif’s ice-blue eyes—stared at me with a slowly dawning realization.

  “You murdered her before my eyes, and I have long hoped my father’s injury to you was fatal. I see that it wasn’t, but I hope your suffering has been unbearable.”

  He flinched before my words, but it wasn’t enough.

  “May you live another ten years in agony,” I said, my voice thick with unshed tears.

  I fled before he could respond, leaving the room full of horrified silence.

  25

  I barred my door. But it wasn’t long before Leif came. He called softly through the door at first. When he got nothing but silence, his cajoling tone turned demanding.

  “Ciara, let me in,” he said. “We have to talk about this. Don’t make me apologize through the door.”

  “Go away, Leif,” I snapped, my shoulders hunched almost to my ears. I didn’t know how I’d face him. Never had I felt so far from home as I did at this moment. I’d risked everything to join him on this quest, even more so when I traveled to the land of my clan’s enemy. And now, despite knowing who his father was, I still wanted Leif.

  It made me sick with confusion and rage.

  “Don’t make me break down this door,” he threatened, and it so incensed me that I strode over to the door and wrenched it open.

  “How dare you—”

  He plunged both hands into my hair and kissed me, his full lips soft against mine. I felt my eyes flutter closed before I finally pushed him away. “No. Why would you think you could kiss me right now?”

  He let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry, Ciara. I don’t know what to do—I can’t stand the thought of us going back to the way we were when we first met . . . not after all we’ve been through.”

  He reached toward me, and I jerked away.

  His nearness was torture. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and bury my face against his chest, but then I would look up at his eyes—Jarl Frey’s eyes—and see Alana dying again.

  “Don’t pull away from me,” he said. “Not now. Not again. I am not my father.”

  “Did you know?” I countered. “Did you know your father murdered my sister? I told you the story—how could you not have known?” I suddenly felt sick. “Were you there?”

  I backed up in horror, but he grabbed hold of my hand. “By all the gods, I swear to you, I didn’t know until the moment you recognized him. I stayed here when he went on raids to Éirinn to keep watch over Arin and Finna.”

  I believed him, but it didn’t make it any better. “I can’t bear to look at you right now, Leif.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but he relented and moved toward the door. Just before he left, he turned to me and said, “Just because it’s my father doesn’t mean I don’t understand how you feel. I made it my life’s mission to track down the jötnar and have my revenge for what they did to my sister. She was murdered, too, and if I came face-to-face with her murderer . . .” He trailed off, but his eyes were so full of sorrow and sympathy for me that I had to look away.

  I was left alone for a time, while I paced my room like a caged animal. What would my father say if he knew I’d come face-to-face with Alana’s killer and done nothing? And Máthair?

  No, there was only one option: I would have my revenge.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the jarl’s room. The door with heavily carved knotwork gave it away. To my horror it was only one door down from my own bedroom. I’d been separated from my sister’s murderer by only a few walls this whole time.

  I waited in the shadowy hallway until one of his servants left his room, and then I opened his door and strode in as if I belonged there. I gripped the hilt of my sword as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  The feast had ended long ago, and I knew with the jarl’s injuries he would retire early. He writhed on his bed, his breathing ragged and pained, and I could tell it was his leg that tortured him. I hated this broken man. Hated him for taking away my right to confront him for killing my sister, to demand justice. How could I demand justice from an infirm, elderly man? A man whose injuries had clearly been punishment enough all these years. Did he even remember killing my sister? Or was she just one of many faceless victims?

  I stalked over to him, my blade catching the light of the fire as I passed by. As I stood over him, I contemplated all the ways I could kill him: the point of the blade thrust into his heart, a slash to his throat as he’d done to my own sister, a stab to his gut to make him die slowly and miserably.

  He moaned in his sleep, and my hand turned white on the hilt of my sword. This man was nothing like the one from my memory—the heavily muscled monster. Now he was only a shriveled old man. I sighed heavily and took a step back.

  “Jarl Frey,” I said, just loud enough to wake him. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then those ice-blue eyes stared up at me.

  “Have you come to put me out of my misery, then?” he asked, his gaze flicking to my sword.

  I shook my head in disgust. “I told you before—you don’t deserve such mercy.”

  “Then why have you come?”

  “I want to know why you took my sister’s life, but I know you won’t be able to tell me. I’m sure she was only one of hundreds you’ve killed in your miserable life.”

  His eyes clouded over with pain. “You’re wrong. I do remember.”

  I had the briefest sense of reaching toward his mind, and then I found myself completely immersed, as real as if I suddenly dived below the surface of the sea. There was no resistance from him. Not even the smallest protest that I had grabbed hold of his mind.

  Show me the attack on my father’s castle, I commanded, and the memories were wrenched toward me so fast I flinched before them.

  There was Jarl Frey’s longship landing on our shores, his men pouring over the sides with eager shouts. But Jarl Frey hung back, his hand upon an adolescent boy’s shoulder.

  “This is your first battle, so stay close to me,” he said. “Your mother will skin me alive if one of the Celts kills you.”

  The boy gri
nned and flexed his lean muscles. “I’m stronger than I look, Uncle.”

  The memory shifted, moving rapidly through the battle that took so many of my clansmen’s lives. And then the boy appeared again—seen through Jarl Frey’s eyes. The boy stayed close at first, but they were soon separated by the chaos of battle. When Jarl Frey caught sight of him again, he was on the far side of the courtyard. The boy managed to take down one or two of my clansmen before another struck a blow to his side, placing him in the path of another man. With a jolt of recognition, I watched as my own father strode toward the boy, sword drawn. The boy tried to deflect my father’s attack, but he was knocked back easily. With a twinge of horror, I watched my father run him through with his sword. The boy fell, his eyes wide and unseeing before he even hit the ground.

  Jarl Frey let out a feral cry as a new flood of memories crashed over us: his nephew as a tiny infant cradled in a woman’s arms, the boy learning swordplay from Frey, the same woman again who could only be the boy’s mother, her eyes a unique mixture of worry, sadness, and pride as the ship set sail.

  It was about this time in his memories that my own mother and sisters appeared. From Jarl Frey’s viewpoint, there could be no doubt that we were the family of the king of Mide as we rushed toward the safety of the castle, dressed in our fine velvets and furs.

  He contemplated killing my mother at first, but then when he saw my sister and me, his mind changed. Blood for blood, he had thought. The king’s daughter for the death of my sister’s child.

  I watched him kill my sister again, felt her heart beat as fast as a bird’s beneath his hand that restrained her. I watched and reminded myself why I hated him. Why I wanted him to suffer. But even with these convictions in my mind, I still saw the boy as a helpless infant in his mother’s arms. I felt Jarl Frey’s immeasurable pain at losing his nephew.

  The memories skipped ahead—I supposed I was subconsciously calling them forth. Jarl Frey threw his crutches to the floor, fell to his knees at a beautiful woman’s feet—his sister, the mother of the boy—and bowed his head. Her hair was so pale blond it was almost white, and tears streamed down her face. Icy shock trickled through me as I realized it was Rúna. But no harsh words came from her—only terrible sobs as she wrapped her arms around her brother.

  His pain was a living thing that grew and grew no matter what poultices were used or how much he rested. Still he maintained his conviction that his actions were justified—that the innocent girl had deserved to die. But as the years passed, and his leg only worsened, he saw the truth: that he had angered the gods. He regretted what he had done, but in the darkness of his room at night, he admitted the truth to himself. He regretted it the most because it had crippled him, and he was now no longer able to be the warrior he always had been.

  I pushed Jarl Frey’s mind away from me as though it was tainted and came back to myself. I stared down at him, curled so pathetically on the bed. He had suffered far more than a quick death would have given him. The hatred in me for this man was an old, old hurt, one that had been allowed to flourish and take root deep inside me. It wouldn’t easily be removed, but it was no longer strong enough to wish him further torture.

  “My regret tortures me,” he said when I relinquished his mind, “but I know it does nothing to take away your own pain. The gods saw fit to take my own daughter from me, and now I know your sorrow.”

  “I still cannot forgive you,” I said, my jaw clenched around my words. “Not even for Leif.”

  Another tremor racked his body, and I left him there, suffering in his bed.

  But I could no longer revel in it.

  26

  I spent the night on board Leif’s ship, surrounded by my undead army. After I left the jarl’s room, I escaped outside, simply unable to face Leif. I wanted to go to Sleipnir’s stall, but I knew it would be the first place Leif would look for me, and I couldn’t talk to him—not yet. We would have to work together in battle, but I couldn’t bear to be near him under his father’s roof. The night was long and sleepless. My mind tortured me with endless images: my sister’s death, meeting Leif’s father, and worst of all, every touch and kiss and gentle word I’d received from Leif. It all felt like I was betraying my clansmen, my sisters, all over again. But even as I struggled with the weight of betrayal, I knew I could never abandon the quest. I’d seen for myself what my undead army could do against a jötunn foe, and it gave me hope that we would defeat Fenris and his army in the end. I owed it to my sisters and remaining clansmen to fight . . . and win.

  By morning, I was a jittery, sleepless shadow of myself. Sequestered away from Leif and the others, I’d missed out on the battle preparation, and for once, I felt unprepared. But as I watched men and women march onto the quay, ready to defend themselves and their world from the jötnar threat, I felt my weariness disappear. They lined the sides of the longships with shields of many different colors: red, orange, white, green, blue. All with runes I’d never seen before. They climbed on board weighted down by armor and swords, until the ships hung low in the water. It was a terrifying and glorious sight.

  As though sensing the battle ahead, the eyes of the undead warriors had come alive, a fierce sort of hunger alight in them. I prayed that their sacrifice would be worth it; that we would be the victors against the jötnar.

  We’d gained two more longships in addition to Rúna’s, and so it was with a fleet of eight that we set sail for the rivers west of Skien. After a roar of well-wishes sent from the people who stayed behind in the village, quiet settled over the ship; the only sound the waters lapping at the sides.

  Leif was the last to board, and the sight of him brought me shamefully close to sobbing. He wore the armor gifted to him in the Morrigan’s realm, his silver wolf mantle blowing softly in the wind. He looked tall and dangerously beautiful. I stiffened as he approached me, and hurt flashed across his face.

  “I went to your father last night,” I said quietly.

  He nodded slowly. “I know you left him alive, and I thank you for that. I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy.”

  “I went to him planning to kill him, but it was harder knowing that he regrets what he did,” I said, unable to look at Leif. “It would have been easier to execute an unrepentant murderer.”

  He reached out and lifted my chin so I was looking him in the eyes. “You had mercy on my father, but you cannot extend the same mercy to me?”

  I took a step back until he was no longer touching me. “I’m trying, Leif,” I said, and I felt as though my heart was being torn from my body. “I’m trying not to see you as my enemy.”

  He reached out and grabbed hold of my shoulders. “Ciara, you cannot continue to push me away. We’re about to go into battle together.” He gave my shoulders a little shake. “We may never see each other again alive after this. What can I do to make you see how much you mean to me?” Suddenly he straightened. “Sigrid said that now you’re strong enough to penetrate the jötnar’s minds. You should try it on someone whose mind you couldn’t breach before.”

  He had my full attention now. “You want me to try to take over your mind?”

  “I trust you.”

  His words were like shards of ice to my heart. “Still, I don’t think you realize just how . . . intimate it is. I could see your every thought and memory if I wanted to.”

  “I’ll accept the risk.”

  “I’ll be gentle,” I said. He smiled a sad smile.

  I reached out with my mind and stepped through into his easily, as though I’d never been barred from Leif’s mind before. His thoughts swirled around me like leaves on the wind, and I snatched one free from his stream of consciousness.

  It was me from the day we met on the battlefield, only it was an image of me I’d never seen in my own reflection. I brandished a sword against him, but instead of looking inexperienced and childlike as he’d once accused me of being, my whole body was taut with power. My black hair streamed behind me, my dark eyes flashing at him fiercely.
I lifted my chin and met his gaze, and I could feel his reaction: it was as if he were ensnared in a spell.

  Image after image appeared before me: me looking surprisingly beautiful in the cave in which I kept him prisoner—and Leif’s knowledge that he could escape, but chose not to, just to stay with me a little longer—hundreds of little moments remembered from traveling together on Sleipnir, the first moment we kissed, the many battles we’d fought together, seeing his own land through my eyes.

  In every image, in every moment, I was beautiful and strong and passionate.

  You love me, I thought, awestruck.

  The revelation hurt me more at this moment than it would have to suddenly discover he didn’t care for me. He loved me, but I couldn’t move past the knowledge of who his father was.

  I love you more than I’ve loved anything—even the thrill of battle. His words resounded through me, all the more intense because I could feel without a shadow of a doubt that he meant them.

  The shock pulled me free of his mind, and once I returned to my body, he pulled me to my feet. His hand was warm on mine, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest.

  “Now you know the truth,” Leif said.

  I felt something inside me break.

  The sun was setting when the longships beached on the shore of the river. Faster than I would have thought possible had I not seen it so many times before, the men disembarked. Sleipnir and Abrax were brought ashore, and my undead army followed. Leif mounted Abrax, and I pulled myself astride Sleipnir.

  “We will attack after nightfall,” Leif said as we gathered around him. “We must kill as many as we can before they have the chance to grow into their giant height, but even in their smaller forms, they are faster and more skilled than you. Stay together.” His eyes met mine over the heads of all the others, and I nodded my assent. “Let’s go.”

  The total number of men had swelled to over three hundred, and yet I still feared it wouldn’t be enough to stop the jötnar.