“But I am not a simple farmer, am I, my lord?” Soren used the honorific for the first time. “Nor was my grandfather before me. Marcus said he was the strongest priest ever born of the blood.”
“Old Einar. The target of Svein’s persecution.”
Soren faced the nobleman and walked toward him.
“When I first encountered you, I had no idea of the magnitude of this situation,” Soren explained. “And now? Surely you have been told about the broch? And Einar’s drawings? The location of the other bloodlines?” Soren offered.
Hugh’s eyes flared at the mention of the last, turning the color of molten metal for a single moment before returning to normal. “By her father, that priest and others,” he replied.
His spies might have told him about the broch and the drawings, but the location of the other three bloodlines and the priestess’ place in the rituals to come had been kept a secret. Marcus himself had seen to copying that particular panel of the wall. And then he’d had it whitewashed so none would see it.
“I know now about the old gods and my place as their descendant. I am tired of having others decide my fate,” Soren said quietly. “I already know you need me to open the gateway, so tell me of your plans and my place in them.”
De Gifford studied him for several long moments before reacting. Then he nodded. Standing, de Gifford walked to a table in the corner of the room and filled two goblets with a rich, reddish liquid. He walked back and held one out to Soren before taking his seat again. Soren held his cup to his host and then tried it.
“A comfort I allow myself. ’Tis from the bishop’s own supply.”
It was a richer wine than anything he’d ever tasted. Smooth and full of flavor, it warmed his throat and stomach. Soren could tell it was potent, too. De Gifford probably wanted to loosen his tongue. Another sip and he complimented with a raised cup.
“If you help me in opening this gateway, the goddess will be very pleased. She was the most powerful amongst them, you know. She can give you powers and a position of great importance in her new kingdom,” de Gifford promised.
“I want the two you hold and Ran,” Soren stated calmly.
“Why the good father?”
“We have a bond since childhood. I owe him much,” Soren said, once again speaking the truth.
“I have plans for Ran,” de Gifford began. “She offers such . . .”
“I want the priest, Svein and his daughter when this is done,” Soren repeated. “I am certain I will want other . . . comforts,” he held up the cup and smiled. “Before I agree, I want your word on this.”
“We plan to breed the bloodlines and produce other powerful people to serve the goddess. Once she is freed, they will all be at our mercy,” de Gifford explained. “Even the daughter of my flesh will once more have some use.” He glanced away for a moment and then turned back with a smile, a lecherous one. “Ran Waterblood is extremely powerful; her blood is strong.” Soren could see the man becoming aroused as he spoke of Ran.
“She is mine,” Soren said forcefully. “She owes me three years. And sons I should have had. So first, I will breed sons on her to serve the goddess,” he said, pausing to take a mouthful of the wine. “Then, once she has paid her penance for believing her father’s lies, I am not opposed to allowing others . . .”
Soren let the words drift off and slid his hand down and touched his cock. De Gifford’s lust was apparent. The man laughed aloud and drank down a good portion of his wine.
“This all depends on you bringing her to our cause. Will she open the gateway? Will you?”
“She thinks I will save her father for her. She’s begged me to do so—and she begs so prettily when she needs to,” Soren smiled. “I told her I would find a way.” He drank the rest of the wine and put the cup down and nodded. “If you have a priest to carry out the ritual, I will open the gate.”
Hugh stood from the chair quickly and threw his cup against the wall, screaming out. Soren tried to be patient and waited on his show of fury to pass.
“The damned priests die before I can turn them to my purpose,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “They live like sheep, dragged onward by Marcus and fed nothing but his lies and his will.” He stopped and took several deep, rapid breaths, regaining his control. “The last one, with the last one, they broke the bond they had forged amongst themselves and let him die.” Hugh took one last breath and met his gaze. “The only one I have now is your priest. The one of the Christian god with no training in the old ways.”
Did he dare? Soren knew this was the dangerous part of the bargain, but it could be the only way to make this all work.
“If you can turn him to our cause, I can give him the words during the ritual.” Knowing it was a huge risk to Ander, to his soul, to sanity and his life, Soren let the words settle.
“How is that possible? You are the stormblood, descended from Taranis the Terrible,” de Gifford said. “A priest must be trained. A priest must learn the spells and the chants—”
Soren leaned his head back and began to hum the first song Einar had taught him. When de Gifford just stared in disbelief, he added the words. After a few lines of the chant, the ground began to shake beneath them, tremors coming from somewhere away from the water and moving through the house.
From wherever the portal to hell opened into this world.
He stopped and waited for de Gifford’s reaction. The nobleman grabbed his arm and pulled Soren’s sleeve up, searching for the mark of his bloodline. It was there, the lightning bolt surging now, sending bursts of power into his body and blood.
“How can this be?” Hugh asked, staring at the mark. “Only priests can learn the spells and rituals.”
“I told you—Einar Brandrson, my grandfather, was the most powerful priest the Old Ones created. I carry his blood, too. He has taught me the words and the sounds since I was a boy. I only realized it when I saw those words carved into the walls of the broch. ‘One to open, one to close’ he would say as he sang them to me.”
Silence filled the chamber as he waited for a reaction.
Hugh leaned his head back and screamed, making the walls shudder and creak. Throwing his hands into the air, he began calling out words Soren did not recognize. He heard the goddess’s name several times and he watched as de Gifford changed into living fire.
Ablaze, no longer man but creature of the evil one, he was terrifying to watch. Only the eyes and mouth appeared like those of a man. The heat of it knocked Soren back a few paces and he worried that the house would burn. Then, an instant later, he was human again.
“I will want to see you use your powers,” de Gifford ordered. “Then I must see to tasks undone.”
“The priest?” Soren asked.
“He has little will but much heart. So far, he has refused my offers. Now. Now I have so much more reason to bring him into our fold, as the good Christians say.”
“I want him alive,” Soren said. “When this is done.”
“Alive? Alive can mean so many things.”
Soren crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“Very well, the priest alive. Svein alive for your use. The woman to pay for her sins.” De Gifford laughed under his breath and then spoke. “They will all wish they were dead.”
“So, are we agreed then, my lord?”
De Gifford stopped and stared at him. “You do not trust me, Soren Stormblood.”
“And you do not trust me, my lord. This will be an interesting arrangement.”
He followed de Gifford outside to the training yard his men had set up and for the next hours, he allowed the fireblood to guide him in using the powers he held. Surprisingly, never did he feel endangered or threatened. Instead, Hugh de Gifford was a patient instructor, showing him all manner of things he could do with wind and storm and lightning.
Which made Soren ver
y ill at ease.
They parted, each with tasks to complete, and agreed that they would attempt to open the circle in two days’ time during the fullness of the moon. Two days during which Soren must play his part as a willing accomplice, convince Ran to trust him enough to play her part and fool the most dangerous man, or creature, on earth.
And yet, as he rose into the sky, searching the island below him, Soren was invigorated. And hopeful. For the first time since the changes within him began, he felt hope.
Chapter 20
Hugh entered the stairway and followed it down under the old, round church to the portal below. He’d left both the Christian priest and Ran’s father chained there, allowing them to witness more than their human minds could probably comprehend. Hugh had found that torture along with deprivation made most men more amiable to his demands.
But he also knew that most Christian priests were subjected to various practices that were or were very close to torture during their religious training. Oh, they’d be horrified to think of it as such, but the Church understood very clearly how to break men down and rebuild them into the fanatical, ruthless priests needed to carry out their duties. This Father Ander would have suffered such treatment and might be harder to break.
Though neither he nor his father and grandfather before him had been believers in the Roman Church, he’d learned their teachings and carried out their ceremonies of worship while waiting for the time when he could act on his true beliefs. Waiting until their wealth and power and powers could keep them safe from censure . . . or worse. Now was the time for his rise and, with the goddess’s help, he would be successful. First though, the goddess demanded her due.
As Hugh approached the door to the chamber, the walls began to shake and the ground rumbled beneath his feet—Chaela was hungry. Lifting the latch, he pushed open the door and entered. Father Ander was conscious and saying those damned prayers. Relentlessly, the priest murmured the same one over and over again. Hugh knew it and knew it well, for part of his preparations. The priest’s fingers moved as though holding his beads and his lips unceasingly whispered the words. Only a slight hesitation occurred when the roar came from below the stone floor.
“Hail Mary,” the priest began again, closing his eyes. His words faltered when Hugh approached him. Hugh waited for him to finish this rendition before stepping closer and laughing at his efforts.
“At the hour of your death. Amen,” Hugh offered the last words, mocking the priest. “How many times have you said that prayer, Ander? One hundred? Two? A thousand?” Crouching before him, Hugh leaned closer even as the priest tried to lean away. “Mayhap your prayers have been answered?”
Father Ander’s words came to a stuttering stop.
“Aye, good father,” Hugh continued. “Your savior has arrived to help you.” He laughed then. “Oh, I see your confusion. Not the Savior, but yours. Soren Thorson has claimed your soul and your life.”
“Soren?” Father Ander asked, his dry lips bleeding as he tried to speak aloud.
“Soren Stormblood has seen the right path and will open the gateway for Chaela.”
The shrieking that came from below them at his declaration made the chamber quake. Ander tried to press his arms against his ears to block it. “He cannot,” Ander whispered. “He will not.”
Hugh grabbed the man’s hair and slammed Ander’s head back against the wall over and over until he was almost unconscious.
“A pity you feel that way. With this kind of devotion, you could be the new high priest to Chaela. You could begin your own new church, choose your own supplicants.”
Hugh walked to the door and opened it. Motioning to Eudes, who stood waiting outside, Hugh stepped aside and watched as Eudes dragged the chosen sacrifice and tossed him on the floor. Ander began to struggle to turn away and began his prayer again.
“Hail—” Hugh grabbed his face, forced open his mouth and thrust a finger of flame against his tongue. Ander screamed against the agony.
“The only reason you still have that tongue is that I need you to say the prayers aloud. But when you have fulfilled your duty, I will tear it out and burn it before I burn you to the goddess.” He released Ander and stepped to the center of the chamber. “Silence!” he yelled.
As the priest lost the last vestiges of control and sought any oblivion he could find, Hugh wondered if he yet prayed those words to himself. Then the goddess called to him and the priest was of little concern to Hugh. His own prayers echoed through the chamber, mingling with the screams of the sacrifice and honoring his death.
In the end, the goddess was placated, the priest was an empty vessel waiting to be filled and Hugh moved one step closer to succeeding.
• • •
Brienne had said her father could travel from fire to fire, using any form of it to move from place to place. That was how Hugh could watch and know so much. And why Marcus had made them finish using them so quickly to light the chamber beneath the broch. Once the fireblood knew of them, he could travel to them.
Or just go in search of them.
So, Ran had promised to meet Soren on Birsay the next night. They had much to discuss and decide, but if she did not trust him, if she could not play her part, they would fail.
She wanted to believe she could, but the words spoken aloud yesterday stirred up her doubts. Ran loved him, she knew he loved her. Love was not their problem. Lovemaking was certainly not.
Traveling through the sea, she remained in her watery form when she moved onto the beach like a wave. Soren lay there, a hand thrown across his brow, his breathing slow and even. Asleep.
As she watched him, she noticed injuries and burns on his arms. He said he would do what was necessary for Hugh to believe his defection, but she had not thought that part through.
Seawater healed. Seawater soothed.
She flowed up around him and then, changing from cold to a soothing warmth, she covered his body like a blanket and held him. He moaned as the warmth penetrated his skin. She washed over the bruises and the burns and offered him relief from the pain.
“What . . .” he said. Waking, he lifted his head and realized it was her.
“I wanted to ease your pain and your injuries,” she said. “My waters heal skin.”
He lay back and did not resist, allowing her to caress his skin and soothe the tears and the burns.
“What are they from?” she asked, flowing gently over him. “What has he done to you?”
“He is testing me—testing my loyalty, testing my resolve,” he said. He lifted his head and glanced as she spread across him.
“And will you be loyal?” she asked.
“I am only loyal to you, Ran. I know you will not understand this, but I have only ever been loyal to you.”
Ran felt the truth of his declaration to her soul and let it ease some of the bitterness still residing there.
“But what we face, what he plans, I cannot do unless I know that you trust me and will be loyal to me. No matter what he says, no matter how he tempts or threatens us or the others, I need to know if you will be with me.”
She knew she loved him and now she must trust him.
She did trust him. She knew it in that moment.
“I am with you,” she said. “I am.”
He did not say anything then; he just lay still as she flowed around and over him. “I love you, Ran Sveinsdottir. Forever and always. You are the only one in my heart.”
“I love you, Soren Thorson,” she whispered.
They remained like that for a time.
“You are talking to me. Your voice sounds lovely when you are the water.”
“I am,” she said, realizing that she had not done that before. She’d spoken to the sea, she’d screamed in it, but had not tried to send her voice out of it. “Is it lovely?”
“I think it’s the soft voice that c
alls to sailors, beckoning them in the depths.”
His voice was soft and sleepy. She laughed until he spoke again. “Beckon me in, Ran Waterblood. Beckon me into your depths.”
His words called to her. She reached out her hand and pulled him to stand. Though still water, she held her form, keeping together almost as human skin. Then she moved around him, removing his garments one by one until he stood naked before her. She covered him in warmth and caressed him, touching his back and his wonderfully muscled back and arse. Then she stroked his cock, using her watery hand to encircle it and massage it.
His head fell back and he let out a deep, soft sigh. She guided him back down to the sand and covered him, sliding over him, pressing, caressing, stroking him until he gasped. Then she took human form and straddled him, sliding his length into her. He opened his eyes and held out his hands to her. With entwined fingers, she balanced on him as she moved up and down his flesh.
“I cannot decide—water or woman,” he whispered, pulling up and wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. The hair on his chest teased her breasts and made the tips tighten. She rocked her hips, sliding in and out a bit, waiting for him to take control.
He did not. He let her set the pace for their joining. And though she loved it when he thrust hard and deep, this easy pace suited her this night. Soren tilted his head and kissed along the fullness of her breasts. Lifting and arching her back, she pushed her breasts closer to his mouth.
He took one in his mouth and laved it with his tongue. The roughness made her ache deep inside. Each slide of his tongue brought about another throbbing within her core. And still he did not take her.
He slid his hands down around her arse and guided her rocking pace. This was the time when he would roll her on her back and fill her. Not this time.
“Are you anxious, Ran? Hurried?” he whispered against her neck as he kissed his way up to her ear, stopping several times to taste her mouth. “I like the gentle pace of the sea,” he teased.
Her body wanted to explode beneath him. Everything within her had tightened and tightened and now she wanted to come undone. She wanted the storm.
Raging Sea Page 19
