Raging Sea

by TERRI BRISBIN

  One to open, one to close, his grandfather had taught him. But there had been that third one, one his aunt said called down the protection of the gods against evil. He told Ran of the three as they walked to the altar stone at the northern edge of the center where Ander stood.

  With each step toward the circle, a noise began at its center and spread outward. Almost a chiming of bells but something different. When they entered together, a wall of light surrounded the structure, cutting them off to everyone outside. Though he could see through it, the only thing he could hear was that sound.

  And then a second terrible noise joined the first.

  Like the scream of a wild wounded creature this one rose into the air. As they watched, the stone floor disappeared and they could see into the void.

  Streams of fire collided with the barrier and they could feel the heat of them. Then sharp talons, like an eagle’s, scratched at the barrier, trying to break it open.

  “Ignore that!” Soren yelled, pulling Ran to the altar.

  “Is that Chaela?” she asked. “What is she?”

  “Something unimaginable,” Ander said. “Evil incarnate.”

  “We must stop her, Ander,” Soren said, touching his friend’s arm. “We cannot let her rise to power once more.”

  “Stop the evil,” Ander said.

  “Ander? Can you do this? Can you help us close the circle?” Ran asked. Another scream emanated from the void at her question.

  Soren began the third song then, humming the melody of the song to protect them from evil. He could see his grandfather in his mind, sitting next to him, singing the words. He let his voice grow stronger and stronger until it filled the entire ring. When he looked over at Ran, she nodded in encouragement, holding his hand.

  It was quite a shock when Ander joined in, singing what sounded like Latin to the same tune he sang the words of Old Einar’s song. Ander’s higher voice complemented Soren’s deeper one. The fact that the songs had the same tune could not be a coincidence. They finished the song and Ran nodded.

  “I asked God to protect me from evil, now and at the hour of my death,” Ander whispered, wincing in pain as he spoke the last few words. Clutching his head, he shook and struggled against something inside.

  “Must stop evil,” he screamed. He fell to the ground and rolled there.

  Soren could not think of what to do. The ceremony had begun with that song, that prayer. To leave or try to leave now, even to help Ander, would destroy all of them and the circle. Though he and Ran were prepared to give their lives to end this, their deaths would not prevent Chaela from entering at one of the two other circles.

  As Marcus had said, it would leave them without two of the bloodlines in the coming battles.

  As Marcus said . . .

  “Ander, did Marcus visit you? Have you seen Marcus?” He took hold and shook his friend, trying to get through the pain.

  “The priest? Marcus?” Ander asked. “So many came. The bishop. The pope. The king,” Ander said, still clutching his head. “The priest came—I thought he was a soldier until he prayed me to sleep.”

  Could it be possible?

  Aislinn and Marcus had told him of the bond forged between the priests. It was a way to share thoughts and prayers amongst their community. Had Marcus tried to bond with Ander and been caught by Hugh?

  “How did he pray you to sleep, Ander?” Soren knelt next to him. “Did he touch you?”

  Ander screamed out again and then fainted, unable to fight it any longer. Soren had no idea if there was an allotted time to complete the ritual here. They could not leave now, he knew that, but must they complete it soon?

  Chapter 23

  Ran reached out to Ander much as she had to her father. She let go of the fear that threatened to overpower her and let her water go into him.

  When she reached his mind, she stopped, overwhelmed by the cacophony of voices there. No wonder Ander was in pain. She sorted through the real and the imaginary ones, washing away those that harmed this man of God and leaving the truth. His memories of his friends, his belief in his God, his knowledge of right and wrong, truth and lies and good and evil . . .

  And the prayers and memories and knowledge that Marcus left for him. Ran smiled at that. Marcus did not die in vain. His death was not an empty one. Pulling back from Ander, she looked over at Soren.

  “Is that what you did for me on the beach?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Your injuries were slight compared to what de Gifford did to Ander and to my father,” she admitted. “I know not if it will help him. I could not help my . . .” Tears filled her eyes then and he pulled her into his arms and held her. She knew her father was dead even now.

  “I am sorry, my love,” he whispered to her. “I wish we could have saved Svein. I think he knew. I know Marcus understood what he was doing as well.”

  “Marcus did. He was following his gods’ path.”

  The winds swirled above them, the lake churned outside the perimeter of the ring and the chiming sounds echoed as he kissed her. She clutched him to her and took the love he offered. If they had to perish, at least he would be with her, giving her the strength to face it.

  Accept his strength, Aislinn had said. Forgive his weakness. Be one with him.

  How could she die without forgiving him?

  She changed then, letting go her form. He accepted her into his body and then changed so that they became one. Existing in that form, she could hear his thoughts and he could hear hers.

  I forgive you, Soren. I cannot face this without you knowing that I have.

  You do not know the truth of it. Look within. ’Tis here, he said, opening his mind and heart and letting her seek the truth.

  She moved through his memories, going back and back until she was in his life two years ago. Watching his feelings and thoughts as his—their—lives were destroyed . . .

  By her father.

  Her father had been behind it all. Soren had been faithful to her. Aslaug had not carried Soren’s child. Soren’s guilt over her suicide. Her brother could never know for it would tear his heart out. Svein Ragnarson was the one responsible. His greed and hunger for power drove him to it.

  Why did you never tell me?

  You did not want to hear it at first, he admitted in a sad tone. Then you were gone and I had no hope of seeing you again.

  Why did you not tell me now? Why did you try to save him from Hugh, knowing what he did to you? To us? she asked.

  He did not say the words; he did not have to, for she could feel everything in his heart. For her. To protect her. So she would not hate her father. To give her the life she deserved. And so many other stupid reasons that only Soren Thorson would believe. But at the core of all of them was his unwavering love for her.

  “Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

  Ran and Soren separated and looked down to see Ander awake on the ground. They both recognized the prayer, a Christian one they’d been raised on.

  “Ander?” Soren asked. “Are you well?”

  “I know not. Where are we?” Ander asked, as Soren reached down and helped him up to sit. “What is this place?”

  A terrible roar came from the center, reminding them of their task. They helped him to stand and the priest looked around in wonder.

  “This is the circle, the gateway,” Ran explained.

  “I thought I had died. The pain in my head, the vision of angels above me. The chiming.”

  “Angels?” Ran asked.

  “Two beings of light floating above me. Angels?” Ander asked.

  Soren laughed and looked away. Ran shook her head. Whatever he might have thought he saw, it was not angels.

  “Lord Hugh convinced me you were the evil ones, trying to let that”—he nodded at the being trying to escape—“out. But Marcus told
me the truth. Where is he? I must thank him.”

  “Marcus is dead, Ander. Hugh had him killed when he was found with you.”

  Ander mumbled a prayer under his breath—it came so by rote that it made Ran smile.

  “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may the perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.”

  “Amen,” they said.

  If Ander could pray a Christian prayer for a man who worshipped other gods, how could she argue? Did it matter to the gods who created this circle if a prayer of a different god was offered? She thought not.

  “So what must I do? What must we do?” Ander asked them.

  “Aislinn and Marcus told me that you must say the prayers while we shed our blood together on the altar. Then we must find the stone carrying our mark and place the blood on it.”

  “And then?” he asked.

  “Then the gods who built this place will seal it once more and she cannot get back into the world.”

  “You will teach me the prayer? ’Tis a song?”

  “Aye,” Soren said.

  They helped him to walk to the altar, giving a wide pass around the opening to the barrier. Once there, Soren drew out his dagger and handed it to Ander. “Begin this way . . .”

  Soren sang the first line of the song and Ander repeated it. Ran held her breath or sang along under it, alternating back and forth and hardly able to breathe at all in the tenseness that surrounded them.

  By the end of the second line, the stones began to vibrate. At the third, the chiming reached an earsplitting level. Ran prepared herself for the final line. Soren sang it and Ander hesitated for a moment, not repeating the last part of it.

  No one moved as Ander fought some battle within himself. He managed to keep from saying another word as some fragment of Hugh’s will struggled to overwhelm the priest’s own. The stones clamored and the goddess shrieked as though close to gaining her freedom. The light surrounding the rings shot off bursts into the night sky.

  The wrong word and they would be destroyed.

  Was that Hugh’s plan after all? If he could not get them to open the circle, he would destroy it?

  Nay! It would happen like this. Ran would not let Soren and Ander die.

  Touching the priest and Soren, she nodded and Soren followed her lead, setting the winds to spin around the three of them, blocking out everything else. Then, she accepted Soren’s strength and passed it to his broken friend.

  Ander gasped but did not speak at first. Then his smile spoke of success. As he gave voice to the last part, they joined hands and he cut with the dagger over the altar. Her turquoise blood and Soren’s silver mixed with the wine red of Ander’s. The pool of it glowed with power. Their marks all lit as though afire.

  “Put the blood on your mark and find the place on the stone that is yours,” Soren said. “I will help Ander.”

  Soren half carried, half dragged Ander around the circle until he found the one for the priest. Leaning him there, he helped him raise his arm to the mark. Ander hissed as he touched the blood there.

  The screaming and torment became louder and louder in the center as Chaela realized she would fail. Ran rushed to the stone marked with the waves and held her arm up to it. She watched as Soren found the one marked for the stormblood and, with a nod to her and then Ander, he lifted his arm and touched the blood to the mark.

  The stones groaned, bending and twisting as stone could not. They expanded before their eyes, stretching higher and higher into the sky above them. The chiming within them grew louder and louder until Ran wanted to scream against it. Her arm, her mark, her blood were still sealed to the stone behind her.

  Now, above them, were six creatures or beings, all glowing in the colors of their bloodlines, the same as in her vision. The goddess Nantosuelta smiled at her as Taranis blessed Soren. Then, impossibly, the stones reached over the circle, meeting in the middle and melded over the void. With a crash, the altar stone cracked, spilling their blood onto the floor. It trickled across, following the spaces between the stones until it reached the barrier.

  Then the light was in the circle, shining out around them, sealing the barrier so no being could escape. The shrieking grew softer and softer until it faded out of existence.

  And all was silent.

  In an instant, the stones were as they had been when first placed there. The light and sounds were gone and the three of them stood in the middle of it all on the stone-laid floor. Ran looked around and saw William and Brienne standing near the path.

  Soren met her gaze and nodded at the stone behind her. She turned to find the goddess there. Glancing back at him, Ran saw a man behind Soren. Taranis, the goddess whispered. As the goddess entered her, the god entered Soren once more.

  “De Gifford is a coward,” Ander said when Brienne and William reached the ring.

  But there would be time to speak of such things and to deal with her grief when the goddess left her. Now, Ran understood what last service they asked from their bloodline. She met Soren in the middle of the circle and let the goddess forth.

  Taranis, my love, the goddess said, taking him in her arms and kissing him. She opened her mouth to him as she would open her body for him.

  The winds rose around them, and the fireblood understood. She led the warblood and priest from there, leaving the henge to them.

  Nantosuelta, must we part? Taranis asked her. I cannot bear the separation.

  Love me now, husband. Love me enough to last until we are returned to each other, she urged.

  He rose like the winds and took her, joining their bodies and their hearts a final time. He thrust into her and she took him in, accepting his force, his strength and his desire. He filled her with love and power and life itself.

  They melted together and cried out their pleasure into the winds and the sky and the sea. It echoed across time and across space. It echoed . . .

  Then Ran and Soren were alone, lying together, still joined, in the middle of the stones. The goddess whispered to her, and then walked away. She turned to see the goddess and the god fade into the stones in the ring.

  They lay there in the silence now, replete and satisfied and safe. Soren rolled to his side and held her close.

  “What did she say?” Soren asked, kissing her gently.

  “That I will bear you a son,” Ran said. “A son who will inherit great power.” Ran felt life stir within her.

  “Do you?” he asked, sliding his hand over where hers now rested. She nodded.

  “Soren! Ran!” Ander’s much stronger voice carried across the stone ring to them.

  “At least they left our garments,” Ran said, pointing to the pile of clothing next to them.

  When they were garbed, they left the ring and walked up the path out of the lake. Ran found her father’s body, killed by Hugh’s hand and left there next to the lake. Soren remained with her as she sat, grieving for the loss of the man who’d given her life.

  More of the followers and priests had arrived, but the cry that pierced the air told her that Aislinn had found Marcus. Even with her loss still fresh, Ran’s heart broke more when she saw the young woman grieving at Marcus’s side, holding his hand and praying.

  Each priest and priestess came up and knelt for a time beside him, offering prayers, but Aislinn never moved away.

  “He was like a father to her,” William explained. “He raised and taught and loved her since she was brought to him as a child.”

  When the final person to pray at his body knelt, Ran began crying too. Father Ander, in his priestly garb, with his prayer beads in hand, remained there, holding Aislinn’s other hand and praising Marcus for his sacrifice. Finally they wrapped his body in a clean cloth and blessed it.

  Ander went and offered prayers at her father’s body and then came to where Ran and Soren now stood with William a
nd Brienne.

  “’Tis their custom to burn their bodies after death,” Ander said. “Aislinn told me it purifies their soul.”

  “I think we should do it in the stone circle there,” Soren said.

  “Our circle disappeared after we sealed it,” Brienne said. “If this is still here, it is for a reason.”

  Aislinn walked up to them and Ran held her close. Both of them had lost fathers in this battle against evil. “Ander suggested we place Marcus in the circle, Aislinn,” Ran said. “What think you of that?”

  “He said he wanted us to learn more about our earlier practices. He did not have to be the first to teach us,” the woman said sadly. “But he will be honored by such a thing, too.”

  Chapter 24

  They built the funeral pyre not in the center of the circle, but in front of the stone marked with the sign of the priest. Ander, in a touching gesture, escorted Aislinn, who led the procession of priests carrying Marcus’s body down the path to the henge. William and Brienne and Soren and Ran followed next. Then the rest of those in their company. For once, the Norman guard was not at Aislinn’s side, but offered begrudgingly accepted help to another of the injured priests.

  Of all those mourning, William’s man Roger seemed the most devastated by Marcus’s death. Though Aislinn openly grieved, Roger did so in silence, holding the mark on his arm that Soren learned Marcus had made to link them all.

  When they entered the outer ring, they turned and walked around the perimeter seven times. Then entering the inner circle, they walked in the other direction seven more times. Reaching the pyre, they placed his body on top of the wooden slats and branches.

  Aislinn offered a final prayer aloud and then the priests surrounded the pyre and prayed in silence for a short time. As the sun rose to begin a new day, Ander lit the fire under the body and stepped back. Kneeling next to Aislinn, Soren’s friend offered prayers in the Latin rite for the dead.

  They would remain for a time and then leave, also in procession; any remains of the body would be left to excarnate on the pyre.