Raging Sea

by TERRI BRISBIN

  They were . . . rutting.

  The chanting grew louder and louder, the tone and timing of it sexual in nature and the man paced his thrusts into the woman to those chants. The woman moaned in pleasure, still on the ground, as the man plowed deep into her.

  Ran looked away and then saw an old man carrying a large dagger into the circle. He walked seven times around the circle in one direction, then another seven times in the other, stopping before the couple on the ground in the center. The chanting and prayers reached a feverish pitch as the man threw back his head and screamed out as his seed released into the woman. They moved in unison as he emptied into her.

  Then, quicker than she thought possible, the old man straddled the couple, grabbed the man’s head and slashed into his neck. The woman kept screaming out her release as the blood poured over her. The priests took hold of the dying man and lifted him out and away from the woman, allowing his blood to cover her. As she lay shuddering with her own release, the people fell to their knees and touched their heads to the ground.

  Unable to breathe or move, Ran watched in horror as the priests and priestesses dipped branches in the man’s blood and blessed all those around the circle with it. The naked woman climbed to her feet, following them, and allowed the people to touch her, taking the blood of her lover to smear on themselves.

  “May she be fertile!” the old priest called out.

  “May she be fertile!” the crowd answered.

  The woman laughed and shouted, “May I be fertile!”

  Raising the dagger, the priest shouted again to those watching. “Or her blood will nourish the soil!”

  “Her blood . . . life to our soil!” the people yelled.

  “My blood for the soil!” she laughed out, falling to the ground now.

  A fertility ritual? Here at the stones?

  Ran turned looking around at the area. The crowd waited and watched as the woman was brought once more to the center where the man’s dead body now lay on a pile of wooden branches dipped in tar. The old priest gave her a burning torch and she lit the pyre aflame, watching as the fire consumed the man whose seed yet ran down her legs and mixed with his blood.

  Stumbling back, Ran noticed people she had not seen before. As the old priest took a place before one of the stones, these four men and three women did so, too. Dressed in costly garments and gemstones and crowns, they glowed, each surrounded by a bright color—turquoise, silver, molten orange, red, green, blue and yellow gold. The woman clothed in a gown that flowed like the sea met Ran’s gaze and smiled at her before turning back to the others. The priest glowed like moonlight as he spoke more words to the people. The seven touched the stones and became them, growing taller and leaning to meet over the sacrifice.

  And then everything was gone and she stood holding on to the stone.

  The gods? Had she just seen the gods?

  Three women and four men. The woman in turquoise? Was that the goddess who ruled the sea? Her own ancestor?

  A fertility ritual and a sacrifice to please them? In their honor? Here on the field of Stenness?

  When?

  Ran staggered into the circle and began to fall. She heard Soren screaming her name as she landed in the center, in the same place they had just burned their sacrifice to the gods.

  • • •

  Soren scooped her up and carried her out of the circle. She did not respond at all, no sounds, no movements. He laid her on the ground as the priests came running.

  “Ran!” he called, rubbing her hands and tapping her cheeks. “Ran, wake up,” he said.

  She’d walked to the stone opposite of where he was and laid her hands on it. Her body had jerked and jerked, and then she pulled away and stumbled to the center, where she fell.

  When she did not wake after several minutes, Soren decided to take her to the priests in the camp. Mayhap Aislinn knew what was wrong? Lifting her gently and leaning her head against his chest, he asked the winds to take them. Ran did not rouse even as they approached the encampment.

  Soren remembered her words about the sea and knew that he must give her to the sea. To revive her. To protect her. Going north past the shoreline, he dipped down until he could glide within inches of the surface of the water. Carefully, so carefully, he stopped and let her slip into the sea under him.

  He watched as her body disappeared into the water. Her human form dissipated within seconds of his placing her there. Soren floated above, watching and waiting for any sign of her.

  “Come back to me, Ran,” he whispered, the winds carrying his voice into the water. He stayed above the sea, watching and waiting for her. The sea was her refuge, it had saved her before.

  What had happened? What had she seen or touched?

  He and the priests were in and out of the circle, touching all of the stones and searching for clues, and nothing happened to them. But Ran reacted to something there, just as she had the first time. Was she somehow connected to those places?

  Soon, a whirlpool formed beneath him. It spun the water around and around until a huge wave rose. As though it could see his form, the wave rolled toward him and then crashed into him. He laughed and threw the winds at her, creating thousands of water droplets that rained down on the sea. Ran rose in her human form and waited for him to carry her.

  “I think I saw the beginning,” she said. “I think I know where the circle is.”

  “A vision?” he asked, turning toward the coast and the encampment.

  “When I touched the stone, I saw it. I saw them.”

  “Them?”

  “The gods. The seven Old Ones. They lived here. They existed with the humans who worshipped them, Soren.”

  Excitement filled her voice, which was not what he expected to hear.

  “You scared me. I saw you convulse and then collapse in the circle,” he said, leaning his head against hers. “Do not do that again.” It was a mixture of a command and a plea.

  “Take me to the broch,” she said. “I want to show you first.”

  They reached the broch and entered the chamber. The priests had finished copying the drawings and were gathering up their supplies to return to the camp. He took them back and returned to Ran.

  She walked around the perimeter of the broch’s lower chamber, reaching out but not touching the drawings. Then she stood in the center and faced one side. Faced the southwest.

  “When I was there, when the stones were first sanctified, the land and water were very different from now,” she explained. “The water was much lower and more land, here”—she pointed—“and here was above the water.”

  “And you think the circle we are looking for is . . .”

  Could it be? Had they been standing right on top of it, or been part of it already?

  “Under the water?” he asked. She smiled again and nodded, walking closer to the wall but still not touching it.

  “Here, I think. See how the land curves right there in his drawings? When I was there, it was in the distance, a huge circle that sat between Brodgar and the land that projects into the lake from the west.”

  He was astounded. Even the map hinted at its presence. Einar had known.

  “So, how do we get to it?” He turned to her. “If it’s under the water, how do we perform the ritual they said we must do to close the gateway?”

  “I am not certain. I hope that the priests can tell us that when we show them this,” she said. “I do not think the water of the lake there will heed my call.”

  “But you control all water, Ran,” he said. “Why would it not obey you?”

  “I think I heard the evil goddess that first time. I think she is there, beneath whatever this gate is, waiting for it to be opened. So when I touched the water, it was her voice speaking to me.”

  “But her man must be able to open the gate to free her. So how will he get to i
t if it’s under the water?”

  “I think the others may know,” she said. “We should talk to them now.”

  He followed her to the stairway and was surprised when she stopped and turned to him. It put her face level with his own.

  “My thanks for saving me,” she said, touching his mouth in a quick, fierce kiss. She rested her arms on his shoulders and touched her forehead to his. “I could feel your strength around me, Soren. I knew you were there.”

  He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her mouth and tasting her deeply. She tasted salty like the sea. She leaned against him and ran her fingers through his hair. Cupping his head in her hands, she tilted her face and offered herself to him. He took it, sucking in her lower lip and grazing it between his teeth. She leaned her head back and he pressed his mouth on the tender skin of her neck, nipping up to the edge of her ear and biting it.

  She arched against him, her breasts pressing into his chest and her hips grinding on his. Soren reached down and gathered the length of her skirt in his hand, teasing the curls he found with the back of it while holding her in place. With the other hand, he stroked between her legs, moving his hand over the soft skin of her inner thighs and then up in between. She gasped but did not move away.

  Staring into her eyes, he pleasured her until she was wet and panting. Then he unlaced his breeches and took out his cock. Pressing forward, he found the place he wanted and entered her in one thrust. He guided her hips down and she hissed as she slid down his length, seating him deep within her.

  “I have noticed,” Soren said as he withdrew and thrust again. “You want me after you have been in the sea,” he whispered. Leaning forward until she was sitting on the stairs, he shifted so that he could enter her by driving his flesh up and back into her.

  She arched up against him then, her flesh grabbing and holding him, creating a marvelous friction as he moved in and out of her. If his weight on her bothered her, she said nothing. Always she opened for him and allowed him his way.

  Within the tight area of the steps, Soren could not move the way he wanted to, so he took hold of her and walked up to the main chamber. She laughed when he nearly dropped her, but her legs around his hips kept him seated within her. As soon as they were out of the stairway, he knelt down and settled deep inside of her with a moan. One she matched.

  And then he took her the way she liked him to—thrusting deep, pulling out and plunging back in, hard. He reached up and tried to unlace the ties of her gown. He wanted his hands on her breasts. He wanted to kiss them and bite the nipples and make her scream. When the ties resisted, he tore them apart as she laughed.

  “I would have loosened them,” she said as he covered one nipple, sucking it into his mouth and teasing the tip with his teeth.

  “It was taking too long, Ran.”

  Kiss, lick, suck, bite. Then listen to her release a sigh or moan deep in her throat. He left marks this time, small red love bites along the undersides of her breasts that she would see when she dressed or bathed. Kiss, lick, suck, bite. She arched against him, clutching her strong legs around him, trying to keep him buried in her.

  “You are taking too long, Soren,” she whispered.

  “Is that a challenge? Should we see who finishes first?”

  Her laugh turned to moans and gasps and then screams as he plundered her. He would make her come first. Rolling to one side, he slid one hand down her back and slipped his thickest finger against the puckered opening. He did not enter, just pressed against it as though he would.

  “Soren,” she yelled out.

  “You made the wager,” he whispered, sliding his other hand down between her legs and against the little bud of flesh that was most sensitive. Hooking his finger against the bud, he held her tightly in his grip. If she moved or squirmed, she pushed him in deeper, either his fingers or his cock.

  He knew the moment she gave in, thrusting herself against the hand in front, so that his cock moved, too. Enough play, he decided. Taking his hands from pleasuring her, he rolled her to her back and held her arse tightly. Then he counted his thrusts—an old game between them.

  “One.” He thrust deep and pulled back with a shift of his hips.

  “Two.” Another thrust, sliding them along the floor.

  “Three.” She shuddered then, it began deep inside around his cock and then took over her body.

  “Four, five, six.” Her body clenched tightly around his flesh and continued to spasm as she peaked.

  He gentled his movements then and continued until she softened around him. Then he allowed himself to find release.

  “I remember when you could hold out until the eighth or ninth one,” he said against her hair, when he could breathe again.

  “I do also,” she agreed. He lifted off her and she slid back. She was thoroughly taken and tousled. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen and her breasts exposed to him through the opening in her gown. The reddened marks would blossom by morning, reminding her of his attentions.

  “You look . . . well pleasured.” He knelt and leaned over, kissing her gently. “Are you well pleasured?”

  “Aye, truly,” she whispered back.

  “Ran . . .” he began.

  He wanted to tell her he’d loved no one else but her. That he taken no one else to his bed since she’d left it. And none before. But that would mean exposing her father’s sins at a time when she most needed to believe him blameless. He could not do that to her, not even to make his path with her easier.

  “Nay, Soren,” she said, slipping from his grasp and standing. “I do not wish to hear about the past. We have now, this day, and we know not how many more. If we are successful, if we survive this ungodly challenge, then we can speak of the past.”

  It was probably best, considering that he had no other reason to rescue or attempt to rescue Svein than the man’s place in Ran’s heart. He would do it for her.

  But he needed to find a way to rescue Ander for himself.

  They would have made it back to the camp in time for the evening meal, if she had not issued another challenge. And having won that one, she offered him the chance to break their tie. That third time he would remember for a very long time and he would smile when he did.

  They arrived to find the camp settling down for the night, but the leaders waited for them. Though the night and the shadows cast by the fires hid Ran’s becoming blushing, there was not a man or woman in that camp who did not know what they’d been doing and why they were so late.

  Or what he would do again as soon as they could manage a few minutes of privacy.

  Chapter 18

  Ran could not meet any of the gazes that now focused on her around the unlit fire. But for now she must. Knowing where the circle was meant that they needed to come up with a plan to get to it and seal it.

  In doing that she was condemning her father to death, one not of his choosing or fault. And though he was guilty of many, many things, none of them deserved this ending. Hugh de Gifford was torturing him, both by physical means and using his men, his ships and her against his mind and heart.

  And now another innocent, truly an innocent man of God, would pay for sins he did not commit.

  All as evil pursued its own course.

  Ran explained what she’d seen, blushing through the description of the fertility ritual. With Aislinn’s help she was able to concentrate on everything else going on around the ceremony and describe the location and appearance of the circle that now lay under the water.

  The priests were fascinated by her descriptions of the old gods they worshipped. To hear of their human embodiment and the worship, even the ritual she’d witnessed, gave them more knowledge about their gods than they had before.

  “But that is what happened in our ritual,” Brienne said. Still thinking about the couple rutting in front of everyone, Ran star
tled. “Not that part,” Brienne admonished with a teasing tone. “The stones we consecrated with our blood grew impossibly tall and met in the middle over the void. And I saw something, someone, in the sky above us,” she added.

  “Living stones?” Aislinn asked. “Could each of the circles actually have the gods within them?”

  “Marcus, tell us what you know of their leave-taking,” Soren said to the priest.

  Did he notice that Soren moved closer to her and touched her as they talked? His hand on hers. His leg against hers. His eyes on her. Ran forced herself back to the conversation.

  “The legends say that after the evil one’s betrayal and imprisonment, the gods decided to leave humanity behind. They had long been familiar with humans, so they strengthened the bloodlines of their descendants to carry the powers needed to defeat her if she ever rose again. There has never been a mention of how they left or if they actually remained here.”

  “But many generations spoke of them still being here, did they not?” Aislinn asked.

  “Aye,” Marcus nodded. “Some thought them so enamored of humans that they would never have left. Some said the gods still spoke to them. Some stories of their accomplishments and traditions have been appropriated by other gods.” Marcus looked at William and the other Christians in the group and then at those of Norse descent.

  “Will the ritual be the same at each circle, Marcus?” Roger asked. Roger’s men had been instrumental in defeating Hugh de Gifford’s human forces and preventing more of the priests from being killed.

  “I, we, know that the blood of the two must be mixed on the altar with that of the third, the priest. Then the prayers must be said and they must sanctify the stone that bears their mark with the blood.” Marcus looked to William and Brienne and Aislinn, who nodded in agreement. “If the blood is spilled together on the ground and touches the barrier before the three touch the stones, it will tear open the void and she will escape. If the altar stone is broken after the blood mixes and spills on the ground without the stones being blessed, she will win.” All of the priests mumbled several words under their breath when he said that.