Legend of the Mist

by Veronica Bale

  “I didna, though I do remember the moment ye describe.”

  “I let you go, fifla. You escaped because I allowed it, ja?”

  “I ken,” Norah admitted. “I am no’ fool enough to believe otherwise.”

  “Do not misunderstand me, myn fagra, I do not mean to frighten you now. I am only recalling our first meeting. I promised you I would treat you fairly so long as you were an obedient vif. But I found you beautiful even then. I am pleased by it. And you are young enough that you will remain beautiful for a long time to come, which pleases me even more. There is nothing worse than a beautiful woman who is worn into a tunrida before her time.”

  “Tunrida, sir?”

  “It’s ... well, we’d say a hedge-rider. A hexe; a witch; an ugly, old woman.”

  “A hag?” Norah provided.

  “Ah, ja. That is a fine word, a hag! You know, I am reminded of a woman from my own village of Hvaleyrr, Gnud. She is a hora—a whore—but she was beautiful not so long ago. Long hair the colour of the sun, a glorious face, and an even more glorious fadmr.” He cupped his hands at his chest in illustration. “Then, within only a few years time her beauty withered. Her hair thinned, her face grew lined, and her fadmr began to sag as low as her fitta.” When he waved his hand in front of his groin again in illustration, Norah turned her gaze sharply away.

  “Forgive me, but may I enquire as to why my connections to the mainland of Scotland are important?” she said.

  Einarr laughed heartily. “I see you are a proper maid, uncomfortable with such crude talk. I am glad. Well then, to answer your question, I desire connections to support my war against Harald Fairhair.”

  “I dinna ken the name.”

  “King of all Norway,” he sneered, and spat over his shoulder with hate. “Or so he calls himself. Connections are important. If ever this war deepens, I shall have numbers on my side, numbers that Harald cannot match with all his enemies in Skaney. I am told that the Campbell clan will come to my aid if I ask them, and there are more connections on which I can call if I need them.”

  Norah was not at all certain that the Gallach clan’s ties to Clan Campbell would indeed mean an alliance for Einarr, but she kept quiet. She did not wish to expose her father’s bluff—if indeed that was what it was. She wasn’t sure.

  By then they had reached the village, and were wandering among the widely scattered collection of dwellings. Sitting outside one of the low houses, talking to an elderly clansman, was Torsten.

  Norah smiled, and her heart leapt in her chest. Spotting her at the same time, Torsten felt his own heart leap, and just barely managed to stop himself from grinning widely in front of his brother.

  “Ah, Torsten, come here, will you?” Einarr called.

  Torsten bid his respects to the old man with whom he’d been conversing, and in no great hurry crossed the short distance to where the pair stood.

  “Is this not a wonderful thing? I am getting to know my bride,” Einarr proclaimed.

  “So I see,” Torsten answered, glancing laughingly at Norah.

  “We have been for a lovely walk just now, and have discussed much ... or, well, perhaps I have been doing the talking, but it has been nice.”

  “You are lucky, then, to have found a young woman who will listen to your endless babbling without dying of boredom.”

  Einarr laughed and slapped his brother on the back, inadvertently pulling Norah forward in the process. Startled, she found her face nearly pressed to Torsten’s chest. The fragrance of him surrounded her: the salt wind of the sea, a trace of spice mingling with the linen of his shirt. And something else, some unnameable scent which she remembered from a time long ago.

  Torsten felt his pulse quicken at her nearness, and when he stepped back he found he could not look at her right away for fear that he would reveal his innermost thoughts. Instead, he focussed on his brother.

  “Your men seem to be getting along with the clanspeople of Fara. Are they behaving themselves?”

  “They are,” Norah answered on Einarr’s behalf—more for the pleasure of talking to him than to defend the Viking conquerors. “We have existed together quite peaceably for the past three years. ‘Tis a shame ye couldna join us sooner. The island has missed ye.”

  The island has missed ye. The deeper meaning which he detected hit Torsten with an unexpected force, striking a target within him that he never knew was there. He cleared his throat.

  “It seems, brother, that your ranks have refreshed themselves. I see many new faces I do not remember, and there are many faces which I remember that I do not see.”

  “Ja ... well, I might have cleansed my men somewhat,” Einarr admitted begrudgingly.

  “Cleansed? Some of your most prized and deadly warriors are gone. You mean to tell me that you removed them by choice?”

  “I did, and you can mock me all you wish. But believe it or not, I learned something from the raid on Bjarmaland. Having the bloodlust is all well and good when raiding foreign lands, but when fighting your enemies on your own soil, you cannot slaughter innocents along with them. Otherwise you will leave yourself no allies and make more enemies than you bargained for. As deadly as some of my warriors were they could not be taught the lesson. So I made them leave to satisfy their bloodlust elsewhere.”

  This new and somewhat enlightened Einarr surprised Torsten. He was about to comment on the fact when he noticed that, beside him, Norah looked rather peaked. He understood immediately that Einarr’s casual talk of bloodlust and raiding on foreign lands had stirred the anguish and anger which she, as a survivor, still painfully carried. For her sake, he changed the subject.

  “Lady Norah, I have something for you. I did not give it to you earlier, because I wished my brother to be here as well.”

  He reached beneath the neckline of his shirt to the small, inner pocket where he still kept the amulet from Gulnaraj. His fingers clasped the large ruby, warm from the heat of his own body. Tentatively he withdrew it, and let the jewel fall, dangling it from his forefinger by the delicate chain of Persian gold.

  “Thor’s balls! Where did you get your hands on something like that?” Einarr gaped.

  “It was a gift from my partner. We traded spices together. When I told him I was leaving to attend your w-wedding,” Torsten nearly choked on the word, “he gave it to me to bestow upon my brother’s bride.”

  “It is a beautiful gift,” Einarr marvelled. “Befitting one so beautiful as yourself, fifla. Look, the rauthr—the gem—it matches your hair.”

  “It is called ‘ruby’ in Gaelic,” Torsten put in shyly.

  The heat of Norah’s gaze set his face aflame, for she was not looking at the amulet, she was looking at him with tender awe. He swallowed nervously, his hand still suspended mid-air with the necklace dangling from his fingers.

  “Will you not take it, fifla?” Einarr prodded.

  “I am sorry, sir,” she said so quietly it was nearly a whisper. “I am just stunned by yer generosity. I am no’ worthy of something so precious.”

  “Of course you are, myn fagra,” Einarr declared. “If any woman is worthy of such a thing, it is one no less beautiful than you.”

  Still gaping at the gem which he held out for her, Norah raised her hand, and allowed Torsten to drop the necklace into her palm. The invisible force which connected them surged between them again, and it took every ounce of strength Torsten had not to pull her into his arms and draw her mouth to his.

  “Brother, you are very generous to part with such a valuable item, no matter the reason it was given to you,” Einarr said, breaking the spell of which he was entirely unaware. “Yet another thing so very un-Viking-like about you. You surprise me more and more each time we meet. Come, walk with us a while.”

  As the trio began anew their leisurely stroll through the village, Norah glanced between the two men, her brows lifted in question.

  Einarr explained his remark: “My brother is quite possibly the worst Viking you could ever imagine, for he
does not approve of what Vikings actually do: we vike.”

  “I canna believe it,” Norah gasped, fixing Torsten with a mischievous glance.

  It was the same mischievous look she’d given him the day before when they’d had their walk together. Did ye no’ hear? I am mad, she’d said so casually it had caught Torsten off guard. Remembering it, he barked a laugh, which startled Einarr.

  “Forgive me, I was ... er, thinking of something else,” he provided lamely.

  “Truly, I think your mind has shattered in your time away, man,” Einarr said to his brother in Norse.

  Recognizing that he used the word krasa, which Torsten had explained to her, Norah giggled. In turn it caused Einarr to stare at her suspiciously. Her excuse was more tactful than Torsten’s had been.

  “I didna mean to laugh, sir. ‘Tis just the pair of ye remind me of my own brothers. Why, just the other day Madeg and Friseal were at each other in much the same way.”

  “Speaking of your brother, fifla, why is it your Garrett has not come to meals these past few days? Unless my eyes play tricks on me, he has been absent ever since our marriage was announced.”

  “I ken, sir. I have noticed also.”

  “Why does he stay away?” Torsten inquired.

  “Well,” Norah sighed, and paused, considering how best to explain. “He feels he has betrayed me. Or rather, he thinks that I feel he’s betrayed me. He kent of my father’s arrangement wi’ Sir Einarr, ye see. In his mind he thinks I hold him to blame for no’ saving me from the union. We are very close, Garrett and I.”

  “Do you hold him to blame?”

  “Odin, give me strength,” Einarr grumbled, rolling his eyes.

  “I did at first, aye,” Norah admitted, ignoring him. “But now I ken he had no choice in the matter, as I have no choice. There is something larger happening here than my own, insignificant wants, something greater than myself which I must no’ hinder.”

  Einarr chuckled. “I am glad you have seen sense. You are right, the safety of your clan was at stake. You are very self-sacrificing.”

  Torsten did not say anything for he could not swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat. Once again he understood a deeper meaning than his brother failed to detect. And he sensed that Norah was right about it ... though what that ‘something larger’ was he couldn’t fathom.

  It frightened him, nonetheless.

  “You must seek out your brother and let him know how you feel,” he advised. “You must mend whatever rifts develop within your family. That is what our father, Alfrad Greybeard, always said.”

  “And a wise man he was,” Einarr agreed.

  Norah nodded. “I think I shall.”

  And she meant it. Wherever on the island he might be hiding, she would find Garrett, and she would put his mind to rest.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon Norah set out to look for Garrett. She searched the most likely places first: the barracks, the village, the armoury. But he proved elusive.

  Dusk was beginning to lower itself by the time she found him. It was a strange dusk; the sun reflected off the low-lying mist giving the entire island an eerie, golden glow.

  He had hidden himself in a small inlet on the western edge of the island. Here, when the winds were calm as they were now, the shape of the beach created a shallow pool that was relatively sheltered from the rough sea beyond.

  They’d come here often as children, she and Garrett, and later the younger ones, too. They’d play for hours on the narrow beach, searching out stones and shells and skipping them over the surface. Garrett and the children would even swim in the inlet if the weather was particularly fine. Norah never had.

  When she spotted him he was sitting on a smooth, flat rock, the base of which was submerged in the water. He had taken his boots off, and was lazily swinging his bare feet in the gentle waves with the hem of his kilt pulled up to his knees.

  “So this is where ye’ve been hiding,” she called from the edge of the beach.

  He did not turn at the sound of her voice; he did not even flinch. It was as if he’d been expecting her, had come here to this place where they’d been so happy as children to wait for her. He gazed out over the glittering golden water as she approached and took a seat next to him on the damp, cool rock.

  “Shove yer bum, will ye?” she teased, nudging his hip with hers. Her laughing tone coaxed a hint of a smile from him. He shifted to give her more room.

  “I havena seen ye for two days, and ye’ve only just got back,” she said. “Why d’ye hide from me?”

  “Ye ken why,” he answered, his voice barely audible.

  “Are ye angry wi’ me?”

  Garrett tossed an annoyed glance in her direction. “Dinna play games wi’ me, lass.”

  “Alright, then. Let me tell ye what I think. I think ye hide from me because ye think I am angry wi’ ye. Ye think ye have let me down, or at least ye think I believe that to be the case. And worst of all, ye’re warring wi’ yerself because ye see the reason for father’s decision. Ye see the wisdom in it: to sacrifice his daughter for the good of the clan. And ye canna reconcile what ye ken in yer head to be right wi’ what ye ken in yer heart to be wrong. How’s that, am I close?”

  “Ye’ve always been perceptive,” Garrett shrugged. “Aye, ye’ve got it right. And dinna ye dare tell me that I’m wrong. I ken ye feel that I’ve betrayed ye, whatever my reasons may be.”

  “But I dinna, I swear it,” she insisted, pressing her hand to his bare knee. “Perhaps I did at first, I willna deny that. I felt like ye were the one person who understood who I am. When everyone else avoided me, or expected me to behave in a way I couldna, ye were there to accept me, and protect me from them all. So aye, I did feel betrayed that ye hadna told me. I felt betrayed that ye didna try to stop father.

  “But now,” she asserted, “things have changed. I see that ye had no choice in this just as I have no choice.”

  Garrett shook his head. “And ye’ve had this complete change of heart in the span of two days? I dinna understand it.”

  “Nor d’ye need to. In fact, I dinna think I could explain it even if I wanted to. Only, ye must ken that things have changed. I have accepted my fate, and I dinna blame ye for any of it.”

  Norah watched her brother’s face as he mulled her words over. As with Cook, a sense of guilt stirred in her belly for lying to him about what her fate would be. Or as good as lying, at any rate, by leaving that bit out.

  At length, he spoke. “I went away to Cowal because I couldna bear to see yer face every day and ken that I’d done ye wrong. But I also went away because I couldna bear to see those Norse beasts crawling over our island. And even though ye say ye’ve accepted it, I canna bear the thought of yer being forced to marry one of them. God help me, Norah, I canna bear it. I have stayed away as much as I can so that I dinna have to see it day in and day out.”

  “But Garrett, ye’ve stayed away from us, yer family,” she argued. “And in doing so ye’ve denied us having ye wi’ us. When we need ye the most, when I need ye the most, I canna find ye. Ye’re not there to comfort me, and lead me, and be the right pain in my arse that ye can be.”

  A genuine laugh escaped from Garrett’s grim-set mouth.

  “Ah, there, see?” Norah pressed, leaning into him playfully. “There’s the smile I’ve missed these three years. Come back, aye? Dinna pay any mind to the Norsemen in our midst. Come back because I’m asking ye to.”

  “I hate them, Norah. I bloody well hate them. Especially that Einarr.”

  “No one says ye have to like them,” she agreed. “Just tolerate them as we all do. Or, if ye canna tolerate them, ignore them.”

  Garrett peered long and hard at his sister, evaluating the truth in her plea “Aye, alright,” he agreed finally. “But only for ye.”

  Norah grinned. “I’d be offended if ye conceded so easily for anyone else.”

  Eleven

  Garrett kept his promise, and just as the island
ers were beginning to take their seats for the evening meal, he strode through the entrance to the hall. With his head high and shoulders back he took his seat, daring any Viking before him to challenge his rightful place among the leaders of Clan Gallach.

  “I’ll no’ speak of yer disappearance, lad, but I trust it willna happen again,” Fearchar said in a hushed tone as Einarr took his place beside the chief. “I’ll no’ having ye offend them, no’ after we’ve worked so hard to maintain peace.”

  Garrett clenched his jaw and shot Norah a frustrated look. But at the pleading expression on her lovely face, he nodded begrudgingly.

  “I’m here, am I no’?” he challenged.

  The meal progressed uneventfully. Garrett held a tight rein on his manners and kept his mouth shut, answering only direct questions from the Gallachs; the Norse at the head table did not acknowledge him, but Norah noticed a hint of a smirk on Einarr’s lips at the young fool’s stubborn pride.

  The moment the trenchers and platters were cleared away, Garrett rose from his seat as if it were made of pins and marched back out the way he’d come. A few curious eyes followed him, but for the most part his petty act of defiance was ignored.

  “Well, it was a start,” Iobhar noted with a begrudging grin.

  Norah also considered leaving the hall after the meal had concluded. The itch to visit the broch had begun in her belly once more, and she longed to lose herself in its magic. But Einarr foiled her intention.

  “Norah, come join us in a game of dice, ja?” he called from across the hall. A group of the Norse had collected at one of the trestle tables to watch their leader and a Gallach warrior play at gambling.

  Obediently she approached, but politely refused. “Now sir, ye must ken I dinna play dice. What kind of a maid would engage in such a sinful pastime?”

  Her tact earned her a twittering of appreciative laughter.

  “I never play either,” Torsten put in, coming to stand beside her. “Einarr cheats.”