by Derek, Julia
Table of Contents
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Prologue
Chapter 1
BLOOD EAGLE
Julia Derek
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Published by Adrenaline Books
Copyright © 2017 by Julia Derek
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published as an e-book March 2017 by Adrenaline Books.
To find out more about the author and to sign up for her new books release, visit
JuliaDerek.com
Cover design by The Cover Collection.
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* * *
“Death smiles at everyone. A Viking smiles back.”
— Unknown
1
I didn’t know how many cups of mead I had drunk when the room began to spin. It must have been at least a dozen. Ragnar and I were standing in the middle of the great hall, while people were hollering and cheering around us. All I could really focus on, though, was my best friend. Ragnar was staring at me with such intensity I wondered if he thought I would somehow disappear were he to look away. He lowered his wooden cup and grinned, his eyes gleaming like two sapphires pushed deep into his skull.
“You had enough yet, Blackhair?” he asked me with a sneer.
I returned his stare and emptied the cup I held in response; no way was I letting him win this contest. Feeling like I was under water, I tried to put the cup on the table beside us. It ended up on the floor and rolled toward the crowds instead. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand when my knees began to buckle. Stumbling, I reached for the table and somehow managed to grab a hold of it. It provided just the support I needed to remain standing. My gaze caught Hilda then. She was right where I had left her when I accepted Ragnar’s challenge, in the midst of all the shouting people. With the utmost willpower I squared my shoulders and called out, “Two more, Sven!”
Ragnar grinned wider, his eyes not leaving me. Sven stood to the side of him with a big decanter in his hands. Next to him stood Erik, or at least I thought so; I wasn’t sure any longer. The person held out two cups in front of Sven, who tipped the decanter and let foaming gold liquid fill the cups.
As I received my cup, all the people around us floated together into one screaming, multi-headed beast. The room spun faster and faster. My stomach began turning, and I had to concentrate hard not to let the nausea that suddenly overcame me engulf me. I knew it then. It was over. One more cup and I wouldn’t be able to stand up any longer. As much as I hated to admit it, I had to tell Ragnar that I’d had it. All I wanted in that instant was to lie down somewhere cool and close my eyes, get to sleep. I couldn’t care less if I’d be remembered as a poor drinker as long as I got to lie down. Just as soon as this drinking contest was over, I would find a good spot where no one could see me. Forcing myself to maintain my balance, I raised the cup high and pressed forth a grin.
“I’ve— I’ve had enough, Ragnar. You are the master of drink,” I said.
Ragnar’s eyes gleamed again, his face red and shiny. “Are you sure?”
My tongue felt thick. “I loathe saying it, but, yes, you’ve… beaten me.”
Ragnar’s many supporters broke into applause and loud hollers, taking turns slapping his back. The ones who had bet on me winning began booing. I turned my head, careful not to move it quickly and aggravate the spinning sensation, and looked in their direction. I wanted to tell them I regretted having disappointed them, but before I could do so Ragnar held up a hand.
“Be quiet, people,” he demanded. “Leif is taking his loss like a man. Treat him like one.” His arms were around me, and it took me a few moments to realize he was embracing me. I moved my arms around his back, returning the gesture. Then I gripped Ragnar’s wrist and extended it above us. I was determined to show everyone that I was indeed taking my loss like a man.
“All hail the besht drinker in the province,” I slurred. “All hail the best drinker!” My words were met with hand-clapping, loud cheers and whistles. As soon as I let go of him, Ragnar bowed so low to the left and to the right that his torrent of strawberry blond hair touched the floor. Then he waved away the many guests and they scattered reluctantly. Soon, only a few people remained around us, among which I thought I saw our friends Sven and Erik, and Ragnar’s older brother, Loke.
I had to grip the table again, even lean against it not to lose my balance now. But the table no longer provided sufficient support; my knees were about to collapse. I needed something more to remain standing. I discovered that Hilda was right beside me then. Grateful, I swung an arm around her shoulders.
“How are you doing, my friend?” Ragnar asked me, scrutinizing me with a fervent expression. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Do you need to lie down for a while?”
The condescension in his voice annoyed me. While I wanted nothing more than to lie down, I’d be damned if I would admit it to Ragnar or anyone else. I might have lost the mead contest, but I was determined to bear my loss with dignity. Suddenly remembering my wife, Thora, I searched for her and soon found her standing between two men. She was glaring at me like I had turned into a filthy rat.
Why is she looking at me like that? I wondered. An urge to get outside and breathe fresh air filled me. I wanted Thora to come with me so I could talk to her. Whatever it was that bothered her, I would take care of it as long as we were on our own.
“Did you get an opportunity to see the amazing gift I have for Father?” Ragnar asked me then. “We need four men to wheel it out.”
I tried shaking my head in response, but my skull felt as though it was a large animal intestine filled with stone, too heavy to move. A murky ‘no’ escaped my lips instead.
“Well, you must see it. It’s waiting out in a barn.” Ragnar turned his head and said, “Hilda, why don’t you show it to him? You know where it is. I didn’t get an opportunity to dance with Thora yet. I must get at least one dance with her before I return her to her husband.” Grinning, he turned back to me and winked. Then he extended his hand to Thora. She took it immediately. The two of them turned around and disappeared into the crowds of people.
I stared after them, too drunk to understand what was going on. But… but… Wait… I wanted Thora to come out with me… Why did she… Wait… What was going on...?
I turned my head only to find Hilda pressed close to me, my arm around her. I frowned. Why am I holding on to Hilda like that?
The short girl glanced up at me. “Leif. I think you need some fresh air. Why don’t you and I go outside for a walk?”
That sounded like an excellent idea. I was about to throw up any moment now. Squeezing Hilda’s shoulders, I slurred, �
�Very well. Show me Ragnar’s incredible gift...”
I needed to get out of there fast, so I pulled her toward the wide open double doors of the Jarlabanke clan’s main dwelling. Outside, I sucked the cold air deep into my lungs and the nausea, thankfully, calmed down instantly. I felt much better, not nearly as drunk. We continued toward the barn that contained the gift and walked inside. A couple of wax candles lit up the jumbled space in which large farming tools were scattered, and, farther in, cows were standing in stalls. Some little animal, a mouse perhaps, crossed our path and disappeared behind a long rake.
“It should be somewhere over here,” Hilda said. She removed my arm from her shoulders and walked behind a couple of wooden ploughs. I followed her. She stopped next to a large object covered by a brown woolen blanket. “Ah. Here it is.” She removed the cover.
Right as the gigantic rune stone became visible, a new wave of nausea surged through my body, more potent than previous ones, and I felt drunker than ever. I staggered, grabbing a hold of Hilda’s shoulder. I could feel her contracting her much smaller body to support my weight and save me from a nasty fall. She stared at me, alarmed.
“Dear Odin, Leif! Are you well? Do you need to sit down?”
With what was left of my strength, I shook my head. For some inexplicable reason, I did not want to admit even to Hilda, my own foster sister, how drunk I really was. If I got some more fresh air, I would feel better, I thought, though deep down I knew that was just wishful thinking. Any moment now my legs would give out. Still, I said, “I’m fine, Hilda... I just—”
Hilda’s wide eyes narrowed. “Leif.” Her voice was very serious. “You and I are going to sit down for a while. Right over there.” She took my hand and led me toward a giant oak trunk that served as a long bench situated deeper inside the barn.
She made me sit down and sat down herself, beside me.
I tried to make myself stand up, but my legs refused to obey me, so I soon gave up. We just sat there quietly, my big hand remaining between Hilda’s small ones, and listened to the cows move around in their stalls. A goat bleated somewhere. At times, feeling how I was about to vomit, I had to concentrate hard on breathing while staring down at the straw-covered ground. After what seemed like an eternity, my stomach calmed down. I was suddenly extremely thirsty. I turned to Hilda to ask her if she could get me some water, but before I could get the words out, everything went black.
The next thing I saw was Ragnar’s red face, glistening from sweat. His face was so close to my own that I could feel his hot breath on my skin. He glared at me with a crazed expression.
“Leif! By Odin, wake up!”
How my head hurt… It felt as if Thor himself was beating on it over and over with his hammer. My eyelids were heavy and I had to fight hard not to let them close over my eyes.
Suddenly my cheek burned and my head shook violently. The pain was so intense I opened my mouth to let out a groan, but no sound came out.
What is going on here? Then I saw Ragnar’s palm up in the air, red and trembling, and I realized that he must have just slapped my face. And it looked like he was about to do it again. I braced myself for more pain.
Why is Ragnar hitting me?
I tried to ask just that, but couldn’t because my mouth felt like it was packed full of soft cloth. I had to make him stop; the throbbing pain in my head was more than I could handle. I tried to move my hands in front of my face to shield it, but my arms were stuck somehow, so they stayed down. Fortunately, Ragnar stopped on his own, his hand sinking back down. He kept glaring at me furiously and screamed, “How could you, Leif? How could you?
Could what? What is Ragnar talking about? Why is he so angry with me? Again, I tried to open my mouth and ask him what was happening, but my tongue refused to obey my mind. With the utmost effort, I turned my heavy head to the side instead. I thought I saw Erik and someone I didn’t recognize stand right behind Ragnar. Maybe someone else, too; it was hard to tell the way their bodies floated into one and then back to several. I saw Thora standing beside them, sometimes two of her. Her long fair hair and face glowed whitely in the dark, her large eyes black and glimmering like two pieces of burning coal in a field of snow. I glanced down toward my feet and saw that I was… naked from the tunic on down.
What the hell?
My trousers lay bundled up around my feet. Only then did I realize I was standing because someone was holding me up by the arms. I tried turning around to see who it was when Ragnar yelled again, “How could you, Leif? How could you do this to her? After everything our family has done for you and your family!”
Do what? What the hell was Ragnar talking about? What had I done?
Ragnar turned to Erik and said, “Get a bucket of water.” Nodding, Erik immediately turned and left.
Moments later, a flood of icy wetness splashed over me, clearing my muddled mind, even taking the edge off the throbbing in my head. The surroundings sharpened and the bodies were no longer floating together.
I looked at Ragnar, determined to get to the bottom of what the hell was going on. But Ragnar was no longer looking at me. Instead, something on the floor held his attention. I turned my head and looked in the same direction. There, on the dirty, straw-covered ground, lay Hilda in an awkward position, the skirt of her green dress pulled up to her waist so her white legs were bared. What is she doing there? I wondered. And why isn’t she wearing any undergarments?
My eyes moved back to Hilda’s face. She was sleeping. Why has she gone to sleep on the dirty barn floor? It struck me that I had never before seen anyone look so lifeless in their sleep. It was almost as if she were dead.
“How could you, you ogre? How could you?”
I faced Ragnar again, who stared at me with eyes that threatened to jump out of their sockets, his face boiling. I opened my mouth, at last managing to move my tongue.
“What… what’s going on?”
Instead of answering me, Ragnar lifted his arm high up into the air. A large dagger gleamed in his hand. I filled with a strange mix of dread and disbelief. Is Ragnar about to… kill me?
But why would Ragnar want to kill me?
Instead of ramming the dagger inside me, Ragnar abruptly lowered his arm. He said, his voice void of any emotion, “No, Leif. I am not going to let you get away that easily. That is too cheap a price to pay for what you did to my sister. I will first make sure you and your family are humiliated in front of the entire province. Then you will die a terrible death – just like Hilda did.”
2
I stared into the cell’s immense blackness from where I had crashed to the ground after Sven and Erik had thrown me there. The sound of the door slamming moments earlier still rang in my ears, like an echo.
By Odin, what must I have done…
A wave of nausea surged through me. I rolled onto my side, hoping that lying in this position would help my stomach settle down. It did, but my head still hurt so much I thought it was about to crack open by itself. Or had it been cracked open already? Had Hilda hit it with that thick branch they found in her hand? Of course she had. She had used it to defend herself while I… while I did all those awful things to her. Oh, dear Odin.
At first, after getting over the shock learning that my foster sister was really dead, I didn’t believe Ragnar when he told me I was the one responsible for it. It was just absurd. Why would I do such a thing—rape and then strangle Hilda? By Thor, I loved her like a sister! She was my sister. I would never touch a hair on her head in any way but lovingly.
Yet, everything pointed toward Ragnar being right. According to both him and Sven, I had been lying on top of her when they entered the barn, her dress pulled up to the waist and her undergarments torn off. Semen had been smeared on her skirt, on the insides of her thighs, on her stomach, on my genitalia, and my hands had been closed tightly around her neck. And clearly she didn’t give up without a fight, because my face and neck and hands were streaked with congealed blood from numerous scratches.
I touched the top of my skull, expecting to feel wet or caked blood around an open sore. But I felt nothing of the kind in the roots of my hair. I wondered if she had hit me at the back of my head instead. I traced my skull toward the back with trembling hands. It didn’t take long until I found something large and tender and round. I lightened the pressure of my hand and went back over the bump. It was a big bump, I soon realized, located right above my neck. It didn’t feel like there was any blood on or near the bump, but it seemed to be growing still. My eyes suddenly filled with hot tears that began streaming down my cheeks. I had to bite my tongue hard not to scream out loud.
Dear Odin, what must I have done!
I closed my eyes and saw Hilda on the floor again, her body spread-eagled on the straw-covered ground, the skin on her legs glowing white in the soft sheen emanating from the wax candles. I saw Thora staring at me like she wanted to tear the heart from my chest. Then I saw Ragnar, his eyes bulbous and his face red and shiny, asking me over and over: How could you, Leif? How could you do this to her?
Ragnar’s words went through my head again and again until they became my own.
How could I? How could I have raped and then strangled Hilda?
I squeezed my head with both hands, not caring how much it hurt, and tried to produce the tiniest morsel of a memory of Hilda doing something to provoke first my urges, then my temper. She must have done something in order for me to do what I had done to her…
What would that be? But no matter how hard I tried to remember, I couldn’t think of anything.
Then again, nor could I remember ever having downed so much mead in one night, either. All the drink must have made me lose my senses, turned me into a lunatic just like it did when smallpox took my mother’s life.
