Eilish pulled strips of thin bark from the cut logs. She placed the tiny mound of curled fire starter at the center and arranged brittle, thin branches arranged around it. She wouldn’t place the larger pieces of firewood closer until there was a flame to feed. Her hands went to her leather pouch before she remembered her strike-a-light had been taken from her by the raiders, having been deemed valuable.
Her cheeks flushed as she realized she was being watched by most of the men around the camp. She couldn’t walk away from what she’d started. She’d have to start the fire the hard way. So Eilish reached for the straightest stick she could find and a flat strip of wood. Before she could get started, she realized someone was standing beside her.
She looked up at Leif. His hand was near her head, but it wasn’t empty. In it he held a curved piece of steel and what she recognized as smoothed flint. He spoke so she could understand. “Use my fire flint.”
Eilish accepted the tools from his hand, and without much effort was able to start the fire. Once a strong flame danced in the air, she fed it firewood so it would grow. Yellow light lit the faces of the men around the camp, making the darkened sky seem even blacker than it was.
The elder man sitting beside Ragna kept his eyes on her. She tried not to notice, but it was hard not to. He licked his lips and said words to her that she couldn’t understand and didn’t want to. He touched the ground beside him, a gesture easy enough to understand. She questioned if she could get away with pleading innocence before walking away. The frightful look in his eye told her, no.
Maybe her father’s plan never had a chance. Maybe her time had run out and death was the only thing left to look forward to.
Chapter 4
“In the firelight I can imagine you are a lady, thrall. It has been too many days since I have left my bed servant’s side. You light a fire better than even she. Come closer so I can get a good look at you,” Rúni growled across the fire at Aiden, winking at his sons, who laughed in response.
“Leave him alone,” Leif said beside the young thrall. He’d seen his uncle harass countless unfree servants. Demeaning their masculinity was a sport to him, and one his cousins enjoyed watching.
Rúni’s face pinched into scowl. He turned to his brother and complained. “Your boy does not know what fun it is to tease thralls. I do not think he has ever had fun or knows what it is.”
Leif felt his father’s disapproving gaze fall on him. He was always skirting around the line he dared not cross, testing Ragna’s patience. It was a challenge remaining loyal to his familial ties when he knew how little honor his father had. He did not wait for an answer from him and said, “I only find more amusement in the sagas you tell, Uncle.”
“Well, there was the time I caught Ragna’s thrall trying to steal the skiff and run off.” Rúni rubbed his jaw. “He learned his lesson before meeting Hel.”
Sten and Oddmund clapped their hands together and shouted, “Já!”
“I only wish the new thralls could understand me,” Rúni said, casting threatening glances at Aiden, Cormacc and Ronan. Then his voice deepened and he began to tell his tale.
Leif didn’t care for his stories. He only wanted to settle in for the night without his uncle badgering the servants. He wanted a quick and successful run the following day so his father was satisfied. As long as Ragna’s hunger for wealth was satisfied, he gave Leif some freedom until the next season. He didn’t relish their summers viking, adventuring and raiding for wealth like the rest of his kin did. He only wanted to be done with it.
His father and cousins listened to Rúni’s story, eager for some form of entertainment. The unfree servants settled into their leather hudfats for the night. Leif looked down at Aiden, who was still squatting at the fire, seeming unsure of what to do next. The thrall held up the steel and flint, and he gestured to an untouched rolled-up leather sack beside Agnar. “That bag is yours. Keep your belongings in it by day and the cold out by night.”
The shaggy-haired young man nodded and went to the unclaimed hudfat. His fingers unrolled the bag, and he climbed inside of it. The thrall remained in a sitting position while his fingers fumbled with something below view. Slowly, he lifted some jerky to his lips, ripping off a piece.
Leif went to his own bag on the other side of Aiden and handed him his drinking bladder. “Here,” he said. “Take a long draught—you deserve it. You work hard despite your size, and I am thankful you tended Agnar’s wound.”
“Thank you,” Aiden’s soft voice answered. His dirty hands lifted the bladder for a drink. He was clearly thirsty after a long day’s travel. When he was done, he handed it back to Leif, who’d already settled into his own sleep sack.
Leif lay down and stared up at the stars, trying to ignore the story that was being told by the fire. Instead, his thoughts went to the future and what he’d be forced to do in his father’s name. The imagined sensation of ocean waves lulled him to sleep until morning.
It wasn’t the sunrise that woke him, for daylight hadn’t come yet. The deep indigo sky no longer held the stars that had claimed his attention last night. Birds had taken to the heavens, sensing the start of day was coming. Leif rolled onto his side to discover Aiden’s hudfat was empty. He sat up to look around the camp.
Eleven sacks, save one, were filled with sleeping crewmen, not including Leif. There was no sign of the shaggy-haired thrall around camp. Leif cursed to himself. If he’d tried to escape, it meant certain death for Aiden, and Leif wouldn’t hear the end of it from his father, who’d voiced his displeasure about the scrawny slave to begin with.
Careful not to wake anyone, Leif slipped from his sleep sack and affixed his sword to his belt. When he wished to travel in silence, there was none quieter except for Ragna. His eyes trailed across the fields, searching for movement. He hurried in the direction that Agnar and the thrall had taken to collect firewood last night.
He approached the grove of trees when a twig snapped nearby. He rushed to find cover behind a wide, crooked trunk. Leif was slow to peer around it, searching for the source of the noise. There he spotted Aiden, squatting beside a bush. It was not that strange to think a man might want to dig a hole in seclusion. He sighed in relief, thankful the thrall wasn’t so foolish as to try to run away.
Leif would have gone back to camp directly, but he wanted to make sure the young man did intend to return. When Aiden was done, he pulled his trousers up and squinted around the grove. Then he did something very curious. He removed his cloak and belt and began to wrestle free of his tunic. His back was turned to Leif when it was finally pulled off. Cloth strips were looped and sagging about his waist, and Leif wondered if the thrall was injured.
The young man unwound the cloth from his body, then peered toward camp once more. He turned toward the tree Leif was hiding behind, offering a full view of his bare chest and abdomen. Before he could wind the cloth bandages about his ribcage again, Leif was shocked to see round, supple breasts and smooth, milky skin leading down to the trim of Aiden’s trousers. No time was lost before his bosoms were hidden away, pressed flat by the binding that was spiraled around them. He tucked the end of the cloth under and slipped the tunic back on. Aiden fastened his belt once again and threw his cloak over a shoulder. Leif watched as the thrall he’d once believed to be a man hurried out from the grove of trees and back to camp.
He’d come out in search of an escaped servant and discovered something else entirely. His mind spun as he tried to make out what to do next. His father needed a full crew to carry out his plans. If he found out she’d lied about her identity, Ragna would either kill her without another thought, or if he remembered the necessity of having every hand available, he’d work her even harder than any man and let the crew have their way with her. First in line would be Rúni with his voracious appetite for women.
Leif reminded himself that he didn’t have to make a decision yet. When his father woke he’d be eager to leave if the weather was fair with the winds in their favor. It wa
s never safe to linger in one place on land, especially when their head count was well below the average for a raiding party. Their true advantage was at sea where Ragna was at his strongest.
With his father weighing on his mind, Leif walked back to camp. The sun was only just beginning to crest the eastern horizon over the sea, diffusing the glow of the morning mist. Leif saw movement around the campfire’s smoky skeleton. Agnar was standing and stretching beside his hudfat while he scratched his belly. A deep yawn breached his lips, and he called to his friend, “Morginn.”
Leif returned the morning greeting in distraction, his eyes falling on Aiden. He watched her begin to roll up her leather sleep sack while her name burned in his mind. Likely just another lie, but one he would continue to use for now.
“Leif!”
He turned to face his father, who was scanning the land’s horizon. Ragna’s eyes narrowed and focused on a slim spire of smoke rising in the distance. His lips pursed as he spoke with restraint. “What does the day hold?”
Leif knew immediately his father had woken in a bad mood. And because he’d gone to track down Aiden instead of checking the seas for threatening weather, he had put Ragna in an even worse state. “I will see.”
“You best beat us to the boat, boy, for your sword and threads will be left here.” Ragna turned around and called out to the men, “The winds are blowing east. Gather everything and board the ship!”
Leif knew his father meant it. He would let Leif suffer the embarrassment of sailing without a stich of clothing, having lost his sword on land. Nothing would be more disgraceful than a man leaving his weapon behind.
The camp stirred as the remaining men got up, rubbing their hands together for warmth. Their breath could be seen as they squinted into the morning fog. Leif didn’t waste time. He hurried down the slope to the beach and unfastened his belt, setting his sword and belongings on the damp ground. He stripped off his tunic for convenience, but he didn’t even bother with his trousers.
He called to the sensation that made him different, that allowed him to change the form of his body. Or their gift from Odin, as Ragna would say, although this wasn’t a form his father had ever mastered, a resentment that pushed Leif to hide away when he used it to avoid more of Ragna’s anger. His pores tingled with sensation while he leapt forward. His fingers cupped at the air, suddenly capturing it with newly sprouted wings. His trousers and shoes tumbled free, away from his narrow legs and webbed toes. Leif’s feathered chest nearly touched the ground before he caught the wind current and took to the skies.
In spare moments, he enjoyed using this amazing ability, but it had only brought him unhappiness. The first years when his gifts had been discovered, he’d been a natural at flying, something that brought him much misery, since he did not take to the water like his father expected and forced him to. It was a useful tool his father exploited for his own personal gain, making Leif suffer for it. Of course, there was nothing wrong with using what you could to get ahead in such a dangerous world. Where Leif’s view differed with Ragna’s was on how that was accomplished.
His white and gray wings stretched out, lifting him above the morning fog. Sunlight touched his hooked bill and feathered body. He stared into the brightened horizon, spotting the faint gray outline of their destination. His wings carried him even higher before lowering him back down in a slow gliding motion, creating an immense amount of speed while he flew over the ocean.
He hoped the weather would be good to them. It was one thing his father couldn’t control and resented for it. Winds and storms were stronger than even their fine boat. Leif looked in the direction of the sun, seeing few clouds ahead. The higher the sun lifted above the horizon, the faster the mists dissolved like fat on a hot stone.
Leif turned back, not wanting to risk more time in the air when the crew was likely near pulling anchor. His father might be sour if his weather predictions were off, but at least he’d still have his trousers and weapon, and there didn’t appear to be a storm on the horizon. But he had been wrong before.
When he dropped below the dispatching fog, he saw the knarr beside the beach and the movement around it. Most of the men were in the boat. Only two remained in the water. Agnar took up the rear, moving slowly as he waded through the high tide, searching the skies for his friend.
Leif let free a mournful cry from his beak as he got nearer. Agnar cheered at him when he coasted over his head. Leif landed on the beach at his pile of belongings. Not more than a moment after his webbed feet touched the gravelly shore, he thought of his fleshy body and felt himself return back to the form he was born with. His perspective changed as his height increased.
The warmth the feathers provided was gone, although he thought he detected the soft caress from the sun on his shoulders. Leif didn’t waste any time reaching for his trousers to pull them on.
“Hurry!” Agnar urged him from the shallows.
Leif grabbed his tunic, shoes and belt along with everything attached to it. With them pressed to his chest, he waded through the water toward the knarr just as Agnar pressed his hands onto the gunwale, lifted himself up and swung onto the boat. Aiden was near the aft of the ship, her tunic floating around her waist, staring at him from under her shaggy mane.
“Útlendr, climb on,” Sten shouted at the frozen thrall.
Leif heard his father order the newest servants to pull the anchor, so he hurried up. By the time he reached Aiden’s side, the ship had begun to drift. She appeared to notice the same thing, snapping her from her daze, and turned to grasp the gunwale. She tried to do what Agnar had done so effortlessly, but struggled to pull herself high enough out of the water. Leif knew it would soon draw his uncle’s attention, and he determined that wouldn’t be good. As a child he’d heard Rúni say countless times, “A man who cannot pull himself into a ship is a disgrace.”
Leif tossed his belongings in the boat before putting his hands around Aiden’s bare waist to lift her up. She swung her leg over the side. It was done so quickly he hoped no one saw his offered help. As soon as her wet body rolled onto the aft deck and out of the way, he grasped onto the gunwale of the moving ship and did what he’d practiced so many times as a child, hoping to impress his father. He was quite young when he’d realized it was an impossible goal. There was no way to please a man who always wanted more.
When he leapt over the edge, he avoided stepping on Aiden, who was already pushing herself off the deck. She was on her hands and knees looking over her shoulder at him like she never had before. Fear and confusion filled her bright green eyes.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been stared at in that way. Countless other crewmen had seen him change his form, calling him both a god and devil. Maybe only one of those names were true. Each summer he’d grown numb to it, but something in the way she looked at him made him uneasy.
“I hope you did not come back without news for me,” Ragna growled from two strides away, his brows furrowed and his eyes turned the color of steel.
Leif bent down to pick up his tunic, shoes and sword from the deck. While he fastened his belt, he tried to calm his father’s temper. “There are few clouds in the direction we sail, and the fog should lift with the sun.”
Ragna didn’t respond at all; he only found someone new to bark orders at. While the rowers pulled out the oars and put the wooden chests in place, Leif slipped on his tunic and shoes. He didn’t have the time to lift his belt over his long linen shirt because he was expected at the bow of the ship.
The song he’d practiced for nearly all of his adult life poured from his lips, setting the rhythm for the rowers so they could leave the inlet and meet the open ocean. Before long some of the crew raised the sail with the help of Cormacc and Ronan. They’d need to learn the value of the wind if they would make good crewmen.
His eyes fell on Aiden, back to work bailing water from the hold. A determined grimace braced her lips and brow. Now that he knew her secret, he couldn’t see her as a man like he once ha
d. Everything about her had a feminine quality: the slope of her cheeks and her delicate lips. He knew the shape of her body hidden beneath her baggy tunic and tried forcing the memory from his thoughts.
Maybe his uncle had been right, and he’d been drawn to Aiden because of his womanly qualities, although he couldn’t remember appraising him in that way, except for observing his possible seaworthiness and tenacity. That would be imperative for Aiden’s survival now.
Leif turned to the bow to keep a lookout over the misty waves and to prepare himself for the next leg of their journey.
Chapter 5
Eilish felt the choppy seas beneath her and was thankful she hadn’t been offered breakfast, for she might have been tempted to take a bite. Cormacc, however, seemed to be trying to unearth his evening meal from the depths of his soul. Thankfully the wind carried away the smell. He clung to the edge of the boat as if he were trying to hold it still, but it didn’t react to his touch except to keep him bobbing up and down. The slave didn’t get to mourn the loss of his last meal before he was called on by Leif to help with the sails.
She focused on bailing the water that had collected in the hull of the ship overnight. It kept her body busy, but not her mind. Eilish couldn’t push away the memory of the large sea bird swooping down to the beach and becoming a tall, bronzed and very naked man. It had to be some sort of spell or enchantment, the likes of which she’d never seen before.
Eilish remembered Agnar’s earlier warning: she’d see things she wouldn’t believe, but she should put her trust in Leif, no matter her fear. The painted man had been a slave and was now free. He was as loyal to his friend as she’d ever seen, but could she trust the word of a Finn-Gall? An outsider—a stranger?
Tides (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 3) Page 5
