Raging Sea

by TERRI BRISBIN

  His mind was gone. What made him Svein Ragnarson was gone.

  Knowing the only thing she could do was keep him at ease until he passed, Ran entered his flesh again and sent more of her healing water into him. Circling through him, pushing herself into his muscles and bones, she did what she could. But even with the goddess’s power, she could not sustain his life.

  She formed at his side, pulling back into her human body, and watched as he sank into a deeper sleep. His pallor was not as gray as before.

  It would be harder now, knowing the truth of his impending death. Her role in this tragic play was that of hopeful daughter. She must convince Hugh that her father was the price of her cooperation.

  Give him words as smooth as the calm sea, the goddess said.

  Ran stood and lifted the bar on the door, opening it to find Hugh waiting there. He entered and stood next to her father.

  “He is the price of my help,” she said, pointing at her father. “He is the only reason I will help you and Soren. When the goddess is released, I want him made whole and returned to me. Along with all you’ve taken.”

  “There will be many changes when the goddess returns, Waterblood,” Hugh said. Not all of them good, she knew, even without his saying so.

  “I want your word, your bond, on this,” she said, holding out her arm.

  His gaze narrowed as he took her hand in his. She shuddered when he sent his fire into her, but let the water flow through and against it. The silent battle continued as his fire fought with her water. The last time they’d touched, he’d won. This time . . .

  He released her first. With a wary look, he nodded and stepped away. “And what about Soren?” he asked.

  “I care not,” she said. Smoothly, the goddess urged. “He betrayed me and destroyed my family. I want my father’s life and nothing else.”

  The fireblood stepped closer and smiled. He was a handsome man and now filled with a vitality she’d not noticed before. He exuded a sensuality as he approached her. Arousal. He smelled of arousal.

  “You care not about him, yet you have taken him back as your lover. You let him in your body. You pleasured him.”

  “I have needs,” she said.

  The heat in his breath against her neck had nothing to do with the fire that lived in his blood. He wanted her.

  “I could see to them,” he said as he slid his finger along her neck. “We could see to them.”

  Smoothly, daughter, the goddess urged.

  “As you have said”—Ran turned to face him, moving away from his touch—“once the goddess is free, many things will be possible.” Bile rose in her mouth as she said such a blasphemy, but she kept her expression one of interest. “It all depends on my father’s life.”

  “And one other thing, my dear Waterblood,” Hugh said as he walked to the door. “If you try to deceive me or not carry out our agreement, I will make certain that Soren and the others learn your secret.”

  Alarmed at such a threat, she looked at him.

  “My secret?” she asked. The goddess whispered through her blood, calming her.

  “That you killed that innocent man. That you sucked him dry of his life. Drop by drop.”

  Guilt filled her. She had mindlessly killed a man who had the bad luck to be standing near her. “I did not do it apurpose,” she said.

  Hugh walked back to her, moving in as closely as he had been before. His breath on her skin made her shiver.

  “Ah, true,” Hugh whispered against her neck, his body close enough for her to feel his aroused flesh against her hip. “But before you let your very human guilt fill your heart and soul, I felt it.”

  “Felt it?” she asked, not daring to move.

  “I felt your thrill and wonderment at your power to do so. I felt it. Your desire for more power . . .” He pressed against her, harder. “We will seek many pleasures of many kinds when the goddess has risen.”

  Fighting off panic and guilt, she sought the power of her blood. Her heart raced, making it difficult to ease her breathing. He would read it as . . .

  “Just so,” he said, smiling. He touched his mouth to her neck and she felt the tip of his tongue on her skin. Her body shuddered and he stepped back. “Just so. You do as you’ve agreed and this ends well for both of us. Chaela will reward us for our part in freeing her. Your father will live. And we will have all the time we need to explore the extent and depth of our powers and pleasures.”

  She could not speak after such disgusting words, so she simply nodded. His smile must be like the one who greeted that first woman and tempted her to evil, too.

  “We begin at moonrise.”

  And he was gone.

  Ran barely made it to the bowl sitting in the corner before she began retching.

  From fear. From guilt. From knowing the truth. From fearing that others would know it. Her stomach emptied itself until there was no more. On her knees, she prayed for forgiveness to any god who would hear her plea.

  For as much as she wanted to deny it, using her power was pleasurable. Even when she took that man’s water, she enjoyed how her power felt pulsing through him and pulling every bit from him. She was the water and reclaiming it to herself was gratifying in a physical way.

  She vomited again, giving up nothing but bile now.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she looked at her father and knew the truth. She must—they must—prevail. She’d felt the enticement and pull of evil and it was too strong to resist forever.

  Sending more of herself into her father with a touch, Ran went to find Soren.

  Chapter 22

  Ander Erlandson was a humble cleric and a competent scholar in the service of his God. Now though, as Marcus peered into the window of the small chamber from outside, Ander lay bloodied and beaten on a clean bed. The woman servant had tended to his injuries and he lay unmoving.

  Marcus knew the priest survived only because Lord Hugh needed him. But as he waited for the opportunity to enter the house, Marcus could feel the terrible results of the torture wrought on this innocent soul. Waiting for the house to clear of most of the guards, Marcus offered up prayers for his friends and their success . . . without him.

  When the chance came, he took it, moving quickly and quietly inside and down the corridor that led to the small chamber. Marcus lifted the latch as carefully as possible and inched the door open. Ander sat on the edge of a small cot, whispering to himself. Words about saints and purification and evil echoed around him.

  As Marcus crept into the chamber, Ander let out a sigh of desolation and exhaustion. Then he laid back and stretched out on the bed.

  “Father?”

  Only more whispered prayers answered him.

  “Ander Erlandson,” he whispered. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. “Father?”

  Marcus moved quietly across the room, snuffed the candle on the table and walked to the bedside. The bed crunched from his added weight on the straw mattress. Then he laid his hand on Ander’s forehead.

  “You must open your eyes, good Father,” Marcus said. Then he touched his fingers to the priest’s burned mouth.

  “You have been ill-used for your beliefs, Ander,” Marcus continued. “Neither your god nor mine would require such things.”

  “Go from me, Satan!” Ander yelled, trying to push Marcus away. Waves of pain and confusion emanated from within the priest’s soul and mind. He must offer what comfort he could.

  “Hush now,” he said, covering Ander’s mouth with a gentle touch. “Rest now, Ander. Gain back your strength.”

  Ander fought the spell Marcus was weaving around him, trying to make him fall into sleep’s grasp. This priest’s purity of spirit gave his mind a strength Marcus hoped would protect him in the coming hours. Marcus kept his hand on the poor priest’s head, waiting for him to sleep. Then, as he had with Corann, Mar
cus entered the priest’s mind and soul to try to correct the damage the evil one’s minion had created.

  Though Ander had succumbed to Lord Hugh’s torment, his spirit was strong. All Marcus could do was reinforce that strength and remove the constraints that Hugh had placed to make the man do his bidding. Lord Hugh’s power was great, but Marcus knew his was stronger, especially in an already good soul.

  He remained there, pouring the last bits of his priestly power into this good soul, begging his own gods and Ander’s to show mercy to him and to strengthen him to fight against the evil that would use his goodness against him.

  Only when the sound came of people approaching down the corridor did Marcus release the priest. He stood, certain he did not wish to meet his end on his knees.

  • • •

  Soren could feel Ran’s distress and went to Orphir to find her. She stood motionless at the water’s edge and so he took her into himself and merged with her. The thick cloud filled with wind and water floated out over the water.

  Hold me, she said.

  I am here.

  They just remained there together in one form until they heard de Gifford’s voice and felt his approach. Separating, they took human form on the beach before him.

  “Is that how you will uncover it?” de Gifford asked, smiling, clearly excited by the coming events.

  “I believe so,” Soren said. Ran nodded. Something had disturbed her deeply. “As storm and water, we can push away the water and open the site.”

  “There are two rings of stones under the water,” Ran said. “I saw them earlier today.”

  A chill went through the air and a keening sound echoed across the waters as the moon rose over the eastern horizon and the sun dropped below it in the west. He looked at de Gifford and then at Ran and nodded.

  “’Tis time.” His own voice echoed across the beach and he looked at Ran. Her eyes glowed brilliant turquoise now as she reached for his hand.

  “We will meet at Stenness,” Hugh said.

  “My father?” Ran asked, turning her gaze on de Gifford.

  “I will take him and the priest there,” Hugh said. “They have actually been sent on ahead of us.” De Gifford motioned to his men to move out. “Wait until I arrive and then uncover the circle. Once you have done that, I will bring the priest to you and you begin the ceremony.”

  Soren nodded as did Ran.

  “I will kill him if I think you are betraying me,” de Gifford warned. “And then I will kill the priest.”

  “I will see him alive before I open the circle to you,” Ran said quietly. “And I will see him alive before I carry out the ritual. If he dies—” Her words drifted off.

  “Since we have all entered this bargain willingly, let us be done with the threats. We all have great things to gain in this endeavor,” Soren said in a voice that sounded very different to him.

  De Gifford left them, traveling to Stenness in his own manner. Soren took Ran’s hand in his.

  My love, it has been too long since I held you.

  The words were not his, but he said them in his thoughts to her. She smiled back at him, walking into his embrace. Soren felt as though it was the first time he’d held her.

  Taranis, my love. I have longed for you over these centuries, she said.

  Nantosuelta, he said. Come, let us carry out the ceremony.

  The voice in which he spoke was both foreign and familiar to him, for it was part of him and part of the god who now lived within him.

  Merging your souls released us into you, Taranis said.

  Now we are you, his goddess wife said.

  In a moment, they were at the place between the lakes.

  “There,” Ran said, pointing to the area between Brodgar’s Ring and the burial cairn on the opposite shore. “The circle lies there.”

  They turned and watched Hugh enter. He did indeed move between torches, ones his men must have placed in preparation. On the shore there, a wagon holding Ander and her father sat waiting. When Hugh stood before them, he nodded at his men. Ander was helped from the cart and walked toward them. Svein was carried over and laid before them.

  Soren led Ran to the edge of the lake, across the path from the stones, and held out his hand to her. Embracing her, he lifted up into the sky and moved out over the lake to the place she’d indicated. From here, even in the gloaming, he could see something under the water.

  “Give me your strength, Soren,” Ran and the goddess said.

  He began the merging, spinning faster and faster, letting the winds free to form a huge storm over the lake. She added her water to it and they grew. Lightning shot into the sky and into the lake.

  Waters, move! The goddess called out from the storm.

  Soren guided the heavy spinning clouds down to the lake, adding his winds to the force pushing the waters away from the circle. He expanded, wider and wider, stronger and stronger, until they became a cyclone over the circle. When the water cleared away, he pushed deeper and harder to clear the accumulations of silt and debris from within the rings. Finally, the stone-inlaid floor was visible and he knew he’d reached the bottom of the structure.

  Now, stand the stones! Nantosuelta called out.

  He drew his winds tighter around them and strengthened them. When they were so strong they could not be resisted, they moved around the ring, pushing the stones upright and into their places. Before dissipating, Soren pulled Ran to him inside the winds.

  “No matter what happens, Ran. Know that I love you,” he whispered to her.

  “And I you,” Ran whispered back, kissing him as though it was their last time.

  Though they’d never spoken it, they both knew that they would destroy the circle and themselves before opening it for evil to enter.

  No matter the cost, she and the goddess whispered.

  Soren let the winds go and brought them down to the beginning of the path leading out into the lake, where the twin stones stood marking it. All of it had been right there—marked by the upright stone and its twin that pointed right out to it.

  Ran glanced over and commanded the waters to stay away. Then they waited for Hugh to bring Ander to them. He must enter the circle first to begin the ceremony.

  As he watched his friend approach, he knew something was very wrong. Ander did not feel right to him. Confusion poured out of him and his gaze darted quickly from one to the other, to Hugh, to the rings, to Svein.

  “Do we begin?” he asked in a voice that did not sound like his own. It was familiar, but Soren could not identify it.

  “Aye, Ander,” Soren said, holding out his arm. “Let me guide you.” But Lord Hugh stepped forward first, placing his arm on Ander’s shoulder.

  “Are you ready, Father?” he asked the priest. “Are you strong enough to carry out the task?”

  The words had a strange sound to them and Soren realized he was using his power to control people by pushing his thoughts into their minds. Taking over their wills.

  “Aye,” Ander said, now in his own voice.

  “Very well,” de Gifford said, releasing him. “Seek out the inner stones and the altar and begin the ritual.”

  Soren watched his friend walk along the path slowly, turning this way and that, staring into the circle and then to the sky . . . or the heavens, mayhap. When he reached the first of the rings, he touched the nearest stone before entering.

  Soren took Ran’s hand and they walked side by side down the path leading into the lake. Glancing back, he saw that de Gifford now held Svein before him, a dagger at his throat.

  “Ran Waterblood!” he called out.

  Though Soren knew the threat that was coming, he had to look back with her.

  “This will be your father’s fate if you think to betray me.” Two of the soldiers near the wagon lifted out a blanket-wrapped form and tossed it free.
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  Marcus’s dead body lay at the foot of the twin stones.

  When Ran screamed and tried to run to her father, de Gifford met his gaze and nodded. Soren nodded and pulled her once more toward the ring in the lake. Suddenly another scream filled the air. As they watched, the torches flared around the area until Brienne materialized before her father.

  “What have you done?” she screamed, taking her human form and running to Marcus’s body.

  “He tried to meddle in my plans,” Hugh said. “He knew the price.”

  When Brienne turned to fire and began to attack Hugh, her father simply moved Svein before him and smiled. Unable and unwilling to kill an innocent, Brienne stood waiting—most likely for her chance to save Svein or stop her father.

  Hugh’s men began pointing in the distance and shouting.

  He’d seen the warblood rise to take his form in practice, but nothing he’d seen prepared Soren to see this. He understood why Hugh’s soldiers began fleeing.

  Almost as tall as the stones of Stenness at his back, the warblood stood now as a blue-skinned berserker of legend. His eyes glowed red as he moved with a lethal grace across the path to the twin stones. The ground shook with each step he took. Soren blinked several times, still not believing the sight of him. One of his massive arms was now a sword that no man could carry and the other was a war hammer worthy of Thor Odinson himself. The scream the warblood released made even his own blood curdle at the sound.

  “Harm her and I will destroy you, Fireblood!”

  “We seem to be at a stalemate for now,” de Gifford answered. “But when the gate is opened, you will pay for your choosing to resist me.”

  “Soren! Ran! Do not help him!” Brienne screamed out.

  “We have a bargain, Stormblood. Waterblood, you sealed ours with your water,” de Gifford called out. “Go now! Chaela awaits.”

  “Come,” Soren said to Ran. “I think he has Ander under his control,” he warned.

  “What will we do?” she asked. “What song will you teach him now?”