Raging Sea

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Soren Stormblood,” she whispered. “Take me.”

  In less time than she could have imagined, he changed into a storm, pushing her back and thrusting deep. His winds moved over her skin, their brisk chafing teasing her breast as his tongue had. She arched up to meet each thrust of his flesh. Ran could see him and then not, as he became something else, something human and yet not. Something more. Something different than he’d ever been.

  “Ran Waterblood,” he called from within the winds. “Come with me.”

  His voice turned her to water and she was held within the winds as they rose and rose into the sky. Lightning bolts coursed around them, and each one shattered her until the water and winds reformed. Thunder rumbled through the skies as they, stormblood and waterblood, merged into one.

  Then they burst, together as the lightning struck again—water and wind, man and woman, stormblood and waterblood. Lovers until the next bolt that shattered them apart. Over and over, through the sky, on the sand, in the clouds and in the water, they became one and shattered, joined and shattered into pieces. Water and air mixed together, carried by the winds, across and in the sea, until with a burst they fell apart, each falling back to the beach where it all began.

  They lay on the beach, trying to ease their racing hearts. Soren reached over and took her hand, pulling her to him. Power rushed through her body, pushing through her veins and arteries, into her muscles and bone and marrow. When she looked at him, she could see he was filled with it, glowing silver even more than before.

  “I do not know what happened, but I think that is how we will uncover the circle and defeat Hugh de Gifford.”

  It was a long while before they spoke, and then Soren told her his plan. She understood that they or any of the warriors or their people could die in this endeavor. More than that, Ran understood that this battle was in her blood and connected now to her, their, powers.

  By the time morning came and they parted, Ran knew that Soren was already a part of her as she’d left part of herself behind in him.

  • • •

  Marcus liked to pray in the dark silence of the night. Oh, he enjoyed the time of common prayer where his community of priests would gather and pray together. But there was something special about listening to the sounds only present in the dark.

  So this night he walked several miles down the beach until he found the place where the gods wished him to be. The outcropping jetted north into the ocean and sat high up so he could see miles in all directions. Kneeling and closing his eyes, he began his ritual.

  The silence was filled with words from the gods. He let them seep into his soul and sought the truth he needed to know from among the clamor of the messages.

  He could feel the fear of his faithful priests.

  He felt the doubt of the other warriors.

  He knew the dread that the other men felt, facing the coming battle with an evil they could not from the way in which they were trained.

  But those thoughts and fears and prayers were not what the gods had brought him here to see. The flashes of lightning sparking against the huge storm to the north was.

  Pillars of clouds collided high in the sky, filled with wind and rain and lightning flashes and crashing thunder. As he watched the storm grew and circled the tidal island, and Marcus understood what he was seeing.

  The waterblood and stormblood had merged! Praise be! His soul cried out in joy at the sight of it and at being gifted by the gods to witness such a thing. In a way he could not have anticipated, the two had joined, not only their hearts and bodies but now their souls and spirits. Whatever strife had kept them apart had melted in the strength of their love.

  Praise be!

  As the storm, lightning, winds and rain dissipated, Marcus fell to the ground, prostrating himself and opening himself to the gods for their directions.

  When morning came and a bright sun rose into a cloudless sky, Marcus understood what he must do. Returning to the camp, he went to the tent of the healers where Corann yet recovered from his ordeal with Lord Hugh. He waited in patience and prayer until his old friend opened his eyes and then he merged with him, sharing his thoughts.

  Corann shook his head at what Marcus shared with him. Marcus smiled and nodded his head, leaning closer so none would hear.

  “’Tis your time to step into your rightful place, my friend. The gods have declared my time is done.”

  Corann struggled to speak, but his body had been so damaged that he could not. Marcus put his hand on Corann’s forehead and sent a burst of healing sleep into him.

  “Good-bye, my old friend,” Marcus whispered as he left the tent and saw to the other necessary tasks he must complete in time.

  After speaking to Brisbois, Aislinn’s guard and the only other human who had survived within the circle during the ritual, Marcus understood his place and praised his gods for such an honor.

  Chapter 21

  Hugh watched as the priest conversed with his bishop. So far, over the last two days, the bishop of Orkney, the pope of Rome and even the king of Norway had visited the priest as he hung chained to the wall. The bishop was giving the priest a special dispensation to follow Hugh’s orders, as a secret mission against the true evil—the Warriors of Destiny.

  The pope had offered the priest a plenary indulgence of three years to take up the robe of martyr against the evil ones who sought to destroy the Church. The king had convinced Ander that the real leader in this endeavor against evil was Lord Hugh, and a reward of gold would be his if he joined Hugh. When the priest had hesitated at a worldly reward, the king had instead offered him a choice of serving God in any part of his kingdom.

  The fact that the bishop was Eudes, his commander and half brother, did not matter. That the pope was a soldier who served as guard or that the king was actually Svein’s housekeeper who now did anything Hugh bid her do mattered not. In the mind and thoughts of Father Ander, the bishop, pope and king had come calling.

  The sacrifices he’d witnessed and the burnings of his own skin were not worship to a false god, but were the results of the fiery purification by the archangel Michael with his flaming sword, the pope told him.

  That the priest could fight his efforts did surprise Hugh. He’d seemed weak-willed at first. The fact that he yet lived also, for Hugh had been continuously invading the man’s mind and forcing his beliefs into him. Soon, very soon, Father Ander Erlandson would be ready to fight the evil warriors, including his friends Soren and Ran.

  Over the hours of relentless indoctrination and on top of the pain and deprivation, the priest broke and then was rebuilt by Hugh. By the time he was taken to the circle, Ander would do whatever Hugh told him to do and believe whatever Hugh told him to believe.

  Eudes stepped out of the chamber and nodded to him. He had, as bishop, delivered God’s call to Ander and the word of God said that the stormblood and waterblood were trying to open a doorway for evil to enter the world. And he must do or say whatever was necessary to thwart Soren.

  “He has taken up the call of his God, my lord,” Eudes said. Eudes had never refused an order or failed him in this work. Oh, he had killed the priest they’d captured, but his work with Ander had made up for that.

  “Very well,” Hugh said. “Take him out and clean him up. Feed him and have that woman see to his injuries. He has only today and part of this night before he must perform the ritual.”

  “And the stormblood? What will he say when he sees him?”

  Hugh shrugged. “He knows he was a prisoner. At least he is better off than the other one.”

  Svein Ragnarson could be a problem. Hugh had promised him to Soren alive, and though he had no intention of letting him live, the man had to at least appear to have a chance at survival.

  “See if the woman can do anything for him. When the waterblood arrives, tell me.”

  Hugh left the c
hamber and went outside. Within a few hours, his men would be positioned at the entrances to the spit of land where the major stone henges sat between the two lakes. No one would get in or out of it without Hugh knowing about them. He’d also prepared his ships. That did not mean he thought he would fail, but he was pragmatic and liked to have alternatives when dealing with such unpredictable creatures.

  His biggest advantage was that they still thought like the humans they once were. They thought they were somehow limited. So, he planned to remind them of their humanity. Until or if they moved beyond that Hugh knew he would succeed.

  Though Soren had promised cooperation, he would reveal neither the specific location of the circle nor the words needed to open it. Hugh did not blame the young man, for keeping that knowledge to himself gave him some leverage. And kept both of them alive for now.

  Now they waited for the night and the rising of the moon to begin. He bristled with anticipation of seeing the stormblood and waterblood reveal the circle, long buried and hidden away.

  And for the release of his goddess.

  • • •

  Ran knew she must leave soon. The plan Soren explained would have her arrive at sunset at her father’s house. She sought out Aislinn to speak to her about the ritual and found her in the tent of the healers, packing up supplies and preparing to leave.

  “Aislinn, may I have a moment to speak to you? I have questions about . . .” The young woman turned and nodded.

  “Come outside so we will not disturb the last few moments of rest they will get.” The burly, silent guard accompanied them.

  “Have you seen Marcus?” Aislinn asked once they were outside the tent. “I have been looking for him since sunrise and cannot find him.”

  “Did he leave with William and Brienne?” Those two would be close by the area when she and Soren uncovered the circle and having the older priest with them made sense. “I will tell him you seek him if I see him.”

  Aislinn nodded to the guard who moved a few paces away, though his gaze never strayed from the priestess or anyone who approached her. Then the young woman studied her with an unsettling intensity.

  “You have bonded,” she whispered. “The gods be praised!”

  “Bonded?”

  “You have mated and merged your beings, your powers. It will strengthen each of you and your child.”

  The world tilted under her feet and only the quick action of Aislinn’s guard kept her from falling. “My child?”

  “When you are blessed with one, your powers will be combined in that child,” she explained. “We did not know if, like the ancient ones, those of the bloodlines would mate with priests or priestesses, or if they’d mate with each other. To carry on the powers to the next ones.”

  Thinking on the fertility ceremony she’d seen, Ran did not want to consider how the gods mated with humans. Or the price of those joinings.

  “So many of our practices have been lost to us,” Aislinn said. “We are learning even as you and the others do. With William and Brienne, his powers rose when she was endangered. Hers rose upon meeting him. But we did not know if each pair will be connected in that way.”

  “Why do you not know more? Are there no records?” Ran knew that the Church had records and written texts from centuries ago. As did the kingdoms and other governments.

  “Ours was a tradition passed down through stories and prayers. Truly, seeing what Soren’s grandfather created was the first time we have seen all of it in one place. Marcus believes we should begin the practice of recording our ceremonies and prayers on parchments or tablets.” Aislinn looked around the camp once more.

  “I am certain he is simply busy with arrangements,” Ran said. “I know you have many tasks, so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to know if there is anything I should know about the ceremony. I worry about Ander being able to chant the prayers.”

  “He has been in the hands of the evil one for days. I pray that he is strong enough to withstand what is done to him.”

  “And if he cannot finish it? Marcus said that beginning and not ending the chant will bring about the destruction of the circle?” Ran asked, knowing that was what Marcus had said. “So, I thought that you could teach it to me. If Soren’s attention is on Lord Hugh, I can instruct Ander. I think it would be better. . . .”

  “None of the rituals are the same. Oh, we begin in the same way, calling on the Old Ones to protect us from evil, but then each circle has its own chant.”

  “How do you know which one it is?”

  “I heard it when I entered, when Brienne and William joined us inside the circle. This time, they were revealed to Einar, who was supposed to teach them to us when the time came. At least he taught them to Soren, who can pass them to Ander.”

  Ran had a bad feeling then.

  “So there is nothing I can do to be ready?”

  Aislinn reached out, her green eyes glowing and the color of moonlight blazing around her, and touched Ran’s arm where the mark lay.

  “You are waterblood. You are ready. You are bonded to the stormblood now. Act as one. Rely on no one but each other. Accept his strength, forgive his weakness.” Aislinn squeezed her arm. “Be one with him.”

  Her blood surged at the prayer of this powerful priestess of the Old Ones. The sea was in her and she was with the sea. She held the powers of water within her.

  “Your eyes,” Aislinn said. “They are the sea! The goddess dwells within you!” The priestess released her and knelt before Ran. Bowing her head to the ground, she whispered something. Raising her head, she smiled and nodded at Ran.

  Shocked by the priestess’s actions, Ran made her way out of the camp and joined with the sea. It was different now. She did not look out at the sea; she looked inward at it. She was the water. She flowed. She sustained.

  The merging with Soren had caused some change in her power and in herself. She was much stronger with him. Her trust was the price of this change and her pride the cost.

  Flowing around the island, she did not go to Orphir, but to the lake. Leaving behind the fear from her last encounter, she moved through the bay, past Hamnavoe and through the thin connecting channel. In the lake, she slid along the bottom, looking for the circle.

  It was there!

  Under a thick layer of silt and debris from thousands of years of waiting, the circle was there!

  Some stones stood while others had fallen. Eight stones in the middle. More in a wider circle around them. An altar stone to one side of the center of it all. Bigger than Stenness. Wider than Brodgar. A huge complex for worship and then a gateway to another place.

  As she moved over it, she felt the power simmering there. But the power stuttered as something beneath it pushed against it.

  Sister, you will not succeed, she heard herself say.

  I will be free, Chaela said from deep under the circle.

  We put you there and you will remain, she told the goddess who’d been like a sister to her. Nantosuelta’s heart and spirit hurt at the actions they’d been forced to take.

  You think you are more powerful than me. You will pay for your betrayal, Chaela said, screaming and pushing against the barrier that held her within the prison of the void. I will be freed.

  No matter the cost, you will not, she promised the evil one her sister had become.

  Ran streamed back to sea and around to Orphir. Rising from the sea, she walked across the beach and confronted Chaela’s minion, who watched her with widened eyes. Oh, aye, let him worry.

  “Take me to Svein Ragnarson,” she ordered. Changing to her human form, she repeated her demand. “Take me to my father.” Her voice sounded different to her and echoed in a strange fashion.

  He stumbled back, motioning for her to follow, and she walked into the house that used to be hers. Those who had served Svein Ragnarson before now stood broken and wretched along
the corridors of the house. They shuffled aside as Hugh de Gifford approached. All but one woman.

  “Dalla,” she said. No longer proud or pretentious, the woman could not even raise her gaze to Ran’s.

  “Is that her name?” Hugh asked. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice now.

  “What have you done to her? To them?” she asked. They turned down a corridor that led to the servants’ rooms.

  “They have been made to serve me,” Hugh said. “She thought her place as Svein’s favorite would save her somehow. She offered his secrets and his wealth to bargain with me.” They stopped before the smallest chamber in the house and Hugh lifted the latch. “They all learned.”

  Ran stumbled and gasped when she saw her father. All sense of power seeped away in the face of his condition. For a moment, she was simply the daughter of a dying man. A dying man with his soul lost.

  “Father?” she said, kneeling at the side of the small cot. “Father?” She took his hand and found it cold. “Papa, can you hear me?”

  Ran could hear Hugh behind her. Turning, she found him smirking. He had done this. He had taken her father, her people, even her house and destroyed all that was good. With no more thought than that, she created a wall of water that knocked him down and pushed him from the room. Ran dropped the bar on the door. Hugh could return and get in if he wanted to but she did not want him there now. Face him, she must, but it would be later.

  She leaned in closer and examined her father. His breaths were barely raising his chest, and his skin was gray. She lifted the bed linens and pulled up his sleeve. Burns. Burns. Bruises on his stomach when she looked there. More burns and bruising on his legs.

  He did not move with one exception—his lips tried to speak. From the bruising on his neck and throat, she doubted he could get a word out at all. Leaning closer, she tried to hear, but they were simply breaths without sound.

  Ran placed her hand on his face and moved into him, her water joining with his. As it coursed through his body, she saw the injuries that were not visible outside. But when she came to his head and his mind, she pulled herself back.