“Do not leave me, Dægan! Dare not even think it!”
Dægan rolled his eyes open, a task that seemed so difficult. “I am still here.”
“Aye, that is grand,” Tait replied, reaching into nothingness. “You stay with me! You hear?” Tait shot a look toward Nevan. “Send one of your men to the fort and bring me back a mistress’ embroidery needle and thread. This wound must be closed right away! Do it!”
Nevan did as he was asked, insisting urgency to the chosen man, knowing full well it would never work, even if he returned in time. Although bereft of speech by the magnitude of Dægan’s wounds, Nevan was not so daft that he didn’t realize the gravity of the situation. But to deny Tait of his optimism was pointless, since that was clearly all he had a grasp of at the moment.
Dægan tried to speak, but his voice was lost amid another gasp and a vicious shudder. In slowly regaining his composure, he tried again.
Mara heard her name. “Aye, m’lord?”
“I am proud of you…” Dægan said finally. “Wife of mine…you sailed a langskip…like a great seafaring man…you sailed me home…I am home.”
“Aye, you are home now.”
At that instant, a large woolen sail was tossed into the air and draped over the tightly roped mast poles, forming a much appreciated sanctuary. Its purpose was a blessing as many gathered beneath it, only to watch their chieftain suffer.
Tait threw Nevan’s cloak aside, as it was thoroughly drenched. He grabbed Mara’s hand and pushed it firmly against Dægan’s bloody left side, his eyes terrified. “Keep your hand here! Understand?” He didn’t wait for a response and stood in frustration, shouting more commands outside the tent in the rain. “Come on, men! We need a fire!”
Mara cringed at Tait’s harsh, raging voice. She thought she could hear him ordering that several chests be brought from the ship to burn and possibly cursing a few men he deemed stupid for not thinking of it themselves.
“Tait is worried about you, Dægan,” Mara softly whispered, feeling the warmth of Dægan’s blood oozing between her fingers now.
He nodded. “As are you.”
“Aye,” she said trembling. “But you are going to be all right. I know it.”
Dægan reached up and touched her face, catching a tear in his palm. “Do you remember…what I told you…the first time…I made love to you? I said…that my love is stronger…than a sword arm…and more eternal…than the last breaths…of a dying warrior… Do you remember that?”
Mara nodded, her eyes spilling more tears into his hand.
“I am dying, love…”
“Nay!”
“Sh…” Dægan comforted, pulling her down to his face. “‘Tis all right…Be not afraid…I love you…eternally…” he said, releasing a breath. “You are safe…and I am in your arms…just as I wanted…just as I prayed… There is nothing left…for me to do. Your God let me…do all that I asked… My days on this Earth are done…”
Mara shook her head frantically, as that was all she could muster from the sadness that overwhelmed her and the heavy ache that held fast to her heart.
“I made a deal…with your God, Mara… A promise… Forgive me… but I did… I asked Him…to let no harm come to you… That I may see you…one more time…even if it meant my death… He granted… all that I asked of Him… You must understand… No god…has ever done that for me…”
Dægan kissed her, as tenderly and as long as he could until he was incapable of holding back a convulsive shudder. He gritted his teeth, determined to finish what he wanted to say.
“I am where I want to be…in your arms…waiting the start of another day…whether it be here…or in the next life…I will wait for you… Forever and a day, I will wait for you…”
Mara held his face with her one hand, her forehead gently resting on his. “Dægan, please. Give up not! Please! Dægan, please!”
“I am not giving up…” he said, exhaling longer than before. “I am simply keeping my word…”
“No, no, no!” Mara wept. “Please, stay with me! Please, Dægan, please! I will be lost without you! I need you!” She gently shook him as he became so still. “Please speak to me!”
“Small blessings, love…” Dægan took in a deep breath and looked as if to say one more last thing to her, but his eyes closed and the air escaped him, slowly…
Easily…
Painlessly.
Mara’s breath caught in her throat and she crumbled upon him, the harsh reality of his death sinking in as she could no longer hear his heart beat in his chest.
****
Tait rushed inside, hearing Mara’s pitiful cry, his arms full of wet and broken ship pieces. He slowly walked closer, his own heart dropping like a stone in his stomach as he looked at Nevan and then Ottarr, Havelock, Ingvarr. But no one gave him the look he wished to see.
The face of optimism.
The gleam in one’s proud eyes.
The smile of triumphant success against all odds.
There was nothing in their expressions, only a speechless, grief-ridden sadness.
His last look was to Dægan and he stared with disbelief, falling to his knees, still holding the dripping, dark wood in his arms. He squeezed them tight, trying with all he had to hide his emotional wounds, but his tears trailed in lines down his cheeks, his heart breaking in two.
Tait let the wood tumble from his arms and reached out to touch Dægan’s right arm that had slid to the ground, his hand upturned. He noticed the scar on Dægan’s palm, the one symbol that marked them permanently and undisputedly as brothers, when blood alone could not join them.
“He is cold,” Tait muttered, and began to build a fire with the wood he’d brought.
Ottarr put his hands upon his soon-to-be son-in-law’s shoulders. “‘Tis done.”
Tait pushed him away. “Dægan needs a fire!”
Ottarr understood Tait’s madness, but hoped to bring sense to him. “Your fire will not bring him back, son.”
As if the very words slapped him, Tait howled and jumped to his feet. The peal of his unsheathed sword rang loud into the night despite the crash of thunder overhead, and he began bestially hacking at the unfortunate wood on the ground.
Ottarr let many cyclical swings go by before he came up behind Tait and tried taking the weapon from his hands. It didn’t go without its struggle, but with Tait already starting to break down, he soon gave it up and slid at Ottarr’s feet, finally letting himself cry.
Ottarr sighed and handed Havelock the slightly chinked blade, taking notice of everyone’s gawking. “Do not just stand there. Tait wants a fire. Give the man a damn fire.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Tait opened his eyes and looked around him, the morning sun’s light coming unforgivably through the open sides of the tent. He was still lying upon the ground, in the same spot he’d collapsed, yet a good crackling fire was ablaze beside him. His last volatile actions from the night before readily became his first thoughts as he noticed the dispersed pieces of Havelock’s warship, further damaged from the bludgeon of his sword.
He raised his head and saw that no one, including Dægan, was present—save Nevan. The king was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, his face miserably aged and tired, for he had been there all night.
Tait gathered himself from the ground and sat with his knees bent to his chest, arms astride so as to hide his face in the cover of his lap. He spoke first. “I suppose everyone is talking about me—and my bout of madness.”
“There is no shame in what you did.”
Tait scoffed and rolled his head across his forearm, back and forth. “I am no more of a man for it.”
“Nor are you any less,” Nevan added kindly. “Tears show not weakness, Tait. They proudly declare your love, and there is no denying the strength of the loyal bond between you and Dægan.”
Tait frowned to keep the embarrassing tears from coming and stared out into the distant lapping shores. “Where is Dægan?”
/> “He is being prepared.”
“Nothing short of a king’s ceremony.”
“Of course,” Nevan agreed, still ruminating on the unsettled problems ahead and the right words for introducing them. “You know you are still welcome amongst my people. There is much work to be done, but this can be your home again,” Nevan said invitingly. “Your people—”
“Dægan’s people!” Tait inferred sternly, short of being delusional.
Nevan realized the eggshells beneath his feet. “All right. Dægan’s people…are without a leader. A chieftain. There is no heir or brother to take his place. Moreover, his people need a home. ‘Tis only fitting they look to you for those answers. What will you do, Tait?”
“I know not,” said the man once of temper and gruffness. “I know not what I am doing right now. All I know is that I feel like I am lost in a nightmare, stuck in the remote boundaries of sorrow and pity, where I am sinking deeper into the bottom of the sea. Cold, black, and heavy is the water above me.”
“This burden will pass, my friend. ‘Twill not be tomorrow morn, nor will it probably be before the winter solstice. But ‘twill pass. I promise.”
Tait tried with all he had to find comfort in Nevan’s assurance, but none came. “Have you tried those fanciful words on Dægan’s mother?”
“Unfortunately, hers is a mother’s burden, one that will never pass. If this tragedy does not take her, the winter will.”
“How is Mara?” Tait inquired, his tears welling in the corner of his eyes again.
Nevan crossed his arms. “She mourns as you. Deeply.”
“Perhaps she should decide where we make our home, given she is Dægan’s wife.”
“Given she is widowed, I expect her to soon long for her father. And enemy or not, if she wishes to return home to that man,” Nevan uttered, his voice taking a resentful tone, “I will make those arrangements for her.”
Tait looked up at the solemn king, his words triggering a conversation he and Dægan had once had in confidence. “You know not, do you?”
Nevan’s brows lifted just enough to give the impression that he minimally cared to know anything about Mara’s father. “Know what?”
Tait took a deep breath, never thinking he’d be the man to say this. “Mara is yours.”
Nevan froze. Surely, he had heard Tait wrong or mayhap his grief was toiling with his good sense. “What did you say?”
“The widow princess. Mara. She is your daughter.”
Nevan slowly leaned forward, his breath stuck deep in his lungs, and he tried to swallow, tried to digest those shocking words, but they proved incapable of settling. His thoughts churned amid the stuttering of his beating heart. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I say only what is true, Nevan. Dægan told me himself.”
“But how? How did Dægan come to find this out?”
Tait shook his head and exhaled, rolling his teary eyes. “You know Dægan. He is the most persuasive man to ever speak words. He breached your enemy’s walls as a highly marked man and came out with the king all but kissing the ground where he walked. I swear Dægan could convince a bird its wings are more suitable for swimming in the sea if he so wanted.”
Nevan searched the dancing flames of the fire between them as if the answer would emerge from the flares of red and gold. “Callan set to kill me ten years ago and I doubt he would knowingly raise my bastard child as his own. ‘Twould make more sense if you told me he threw her to the cliffs at birth.”
“You both loved the same woman. Is that not how your feud came about?
“Aye, but—”
“She was your virgin love. Your virgin love,” Tait persisted, strolling through the secret life of Nevan’s past. “Could you imagine how Callan felt, finding out the woman he was promised, had given herself to someone else before him, and still loved that man so much that she declared the only way to consummate the marriage would be to rape her?”
Nevan’s eyes flashed with anger as he imagined what the ruthless king would have done that day to his precious love.
“Now imagine his surprise when her womb grew with a seed not planted by him—ever. What better way to get back at the man who planted the seed than stealing it right out from under him?”
“What revenge is that, if your enemy knows not about it?” Nevan questioned. “When I came to Callan to end the feud, why did he not tell me then? Why just kill me?”
“Because with you alive, you still threatened what he had left. You may have had his wife and all her love to yourself, but he was not willing to share everything with you. With your death, came his sweet revenge, sometimes best served as a simple pat on one’s own back.”
Nevan rubbed his bearded chin, twisting and turning through the most implausible and yet most heartening change of events. “But why would Callan, after all these years, finally admit to it?”
Tait actually smiled. “Rest assured, he tried to deny it, but the truth spilled from his mouth the moment Dægan informed him that you still live, his proof being the chest.”
Nevan’s mouth gaped as everything came full circle. “Ah, the chest. I almost forgot I gave it to Dægan. You mean he actually kept it?”
“Aye—and your wish as well—giving it to Mara, the one who held his heart.”
Those very words pulled tears from Nevan’s eyes as he remembered the one who held his heart twenty years ago and the trouble he went to filling the chest for her. He couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t journeyed across the world to fill it, she might very well be alive. He thought of her sensual grace, her long dark hair, and her eyes as green as the emerald sea. But the trails of her distant memory soon led him meandering toward one other person similar in description—their daughter, Mara.
“Does she know?” Nevan asked.
Tait simply shook his head.
A gradual change came over Nevan’s whole face and he stood with excitement. “I should tell her!”
Tait quickly got to his feet and blocked the way. “Nay! You cannot!”
“Why?” Nevan asked.
“Did Dægan tell her?” Tait replied, indicating the obvious. “I ask you, did he tell her? Did he ever say a word about it in his last dying breaths?”
Nevan sank in disappointment.
“I know this is very hard for you, to find out you have a daughter, born of the only woman you have ever loved, and that it must not come to light. But think it through. Right now, Mara has three men who love her. If you tell her, she will hate you all. She will hate Callan for keeping the secret, she will hate you for bastardizing her, and she will hate Dægan for knowing the truth and taking it with him to his grave. Do you really want to hurt Dægan that way? Dægan made this all possible. He made it so you can be with your daughter and the end result was that he gave his life for it. Tarnish not his memory over details of little worth. All that matters is Mara is yours and you know it to be true.” Tait placed both hands upon the king’s shoulders. “Is that not the better revenge?”
Nevan joined eyes with the Northern warrior before him, still tumbling questions in his mind. “Did Dægan know this prior to our arrangement? Is this why he married her?”
“Nay. He knew nothing of the kind. It was only after he fell in love with her that he started to put the sums together. What prompted him to delve deeper was your familiarity with her likeness, that place-names started to match, and that even timelines could likely mesh. I know he would have told you himself if—” Tait tested the waters in his mind first before taking that initial step toward Christianity. “If…God…had not taken him so suddenly.”
Nevan crowded his brows in hearing the Northman’s choice of words and quickly glanced at his belt, looking for the silver war god trinket Tait always had in his possession. To Nevan’s surprise, it was absent the pagan amulet. He was now sporting the wooden rosary he had once given to Dægan.
Tait reached down and removed the beads with care, as though they were made of glass, and c
losed his fist tightly around them. “Dægan told me during our journey home that peace is only found by way of peace and that obedience is only as good as the command. If we should quiet our warring voices to that of humble men, we will hear God like a trumpet in the night.” Tait lowered his voice to that of a quivering whisper, his tears coming like a flood. “He truly believed that he could find peace in this wretched world and ‘twas within every man’s reach should he hear the voice of God. I want to hear it, Nevan. I want to hear it as Dægan heard it.”
Nevan smiled with pride. “I believe you already have.”
****
And so, at dusk, they laid their chieftain to rest in the hull of a warship, and not as a pagan accompanied by all his material possessions needed for the Afterlife, but with perishables of flowers and incense. It was an eclectic sight of Viking inheritance joined with that of the Christian influence, slowly drifting out to sea.
Tait took his bow, that which he restrung with Lady Mara’s hair, and stretched it above his head, a single flaming arrow awaiting its flight off the cliffs of Inis Mór. Everyone, of the two diverse groups, was present at the place where Dægan had many times gone to ponder his deepest thoughts, or to escape his troubled world to find peace, if just for a moment. And now, from the very windswept crag Dægan adored, they gathered to celebrate him finally finding that eternal peace.
Tait released the arrow and it cut through the dim light of the swiftly setting sun, sinking firmly into the hard oak wood of the drakkar, lighting the petal-strewn hull afire. Soon thereafter, his numerous loyal kinsmen cast a wave of flaming arrows in the same direction, each one finding a home amid the Norse ship.
There was silence in watching the fire spread and consume the vessel, with Dægan’s silhouetted body unable to be seen anymore through the high flames of the blaze. Its beautiful shades of amber and bronze reflected in the surrounding sea, equal to the breathtaking colors of the evening sky.
****
Mara couldn’t recall a more perfect sunset than this day. She took in everything—the coolness of the mist in her face, the gentle breeze in her hair, and by now, the distant firelight of Dægan’s drifting longship. She memorized his last words, every single one, and branded his face in her memory for this story would be told; if not amongst those who craved a good tale, then to his very child, sure to stir within her womb. It would be spread from ear to ear, and with just as much grandeur and excitement as the warrior-skald himself would have put forth.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 35
