by Amy Sumida
Ayla instinctively tried to huddle as far away from Bohemund as possible but the little tent made it very difficult, so she finally gave up and decided to put all of her efforts into remaining dry. She knew, without a doubt, that her husband and the warriors of the tribe would be coming for her. They wouldn't waste such an opportunity as the storm. The Seljuks could fight in anything, a little water wouldn't bother them and it would provide a distraction that should enable them to sneak up on the tired Normans. She just hoped Bohemund didn't do anything to her before they could arrive because she couldn't think of a single thing she could do fast enough to make a difference.
“Is this your magic, witch?” Bohemund grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her against him.
“My magic takes time and work,” she tried vainly to pull away from him, “I have not the power to summon a storm so great instantaneously.”
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Bohemund was getting more and more uneasy. “This storm is unnatural.”
“There is nothing more natural than a storm,” Ayla said haughtily, trying to settle his mind so he'd relax his vigilance.
“Don't play me for a fool, woman,” Bohemund sneered. “I'm done with your games. You answer to me now, so make it stop!”
Ayla looked at the man incredulously. He'd really lost his mind. How powerful did he believe her to be? And if he did think she was so great, how did he expect to control her? Obviously, the man didn't even have control over his reasoning.
“Did you hear me, Temptress?” Bohemund spat. “Witch, Evil Sorceress! Cease this magic right now! I will not tolerate your wickedness.”
“I have no power over this storm,” Ayla shouted to be heard over the wind. “The gods themselves could not stop this!”
Chapter Seventy-One
Rannulf and the tribesmen raced after the storm, remaining dry until the darkness finally settled in one place. Rannulf kept his pace, driving Burak straight into the downpour and the horse never wavered. Baruk’s name meant lightning, so it seemed strangely appropriate that he was the one Rannulf rode into the storm.
The tribesmen followed Rannulf into the dark, knowing that the storm’s abrupt halt could mean only one thing: they had found Ayla.
Darkness closed around the men but they could still make out the small gathering of trees and the shapes of horses sheltering there. The Seljuks rode straight for the Normans, giving their enemy barely any time to even lift sword against them. It was hardly even a battle and none of it could be heard over the howling of the wind. The dying Norman screams were carried away, hardly even disturbing the Norman horses, who seemed to be more frightened by the storm than the battle.
Bohemund heard none of it and was pulled completely unaware from his tent. One second he'd been screaming at Ayla, the next he was staring Rannulf in the face. He blinked in amazed terror, then looked back at Ayla, who remained in the tent, staring at her husband with a confident smile.
“I knew it was magic!” Bohemund screamed in rage. “I knew you'd summoned the storm!”
“No, Bohemund,” Rannulf shook the man to gain his attention. “Ayla had nothing to do with this. It was our son who sent the storm after you. You've angered a power you cannot even begin to understand.”
“Your son?” Bohemund quieted in shock and even as he settled, so did the storm.
First the wind slowed, then the lightning stopped, and the clouds rolled away. Soon there was only bright sky, illuminating Bohemund's crazed expression. He was choking in horror, looking from the clear sky to the clear rage in his old friend's face. The Seljuk tribesmen looked about them in awe and Bohemund fell to his knees Rannulf allowing it with a fair amount of disgust.
“That child did this?” Bohemund was losing his last grip on sanity.
Rannulf turned away from Bohemund and went to Ayla, to help her to her feet. He pulled her quickly into his arms and they clung to each other with relief. Rannulf hadn't known how scared he'd been until that moment. Until he'd held her again and he was able to touch everything he almost lost. His entire life had led to this moment, to freeing Ayla and bringing her back to their family. This was the pivotal moment, the point where he knew they could move forward safely into the future, without looking over their shoulder any more.
Ayla nestled against Rannulf's broad chest, silently thanking every god and goddess she could remember. Had Akara truly done this? Had her son helped Rannulf save her? If it was true, it meant her son was not only more powerful than both her and her father already, but that he had an impossible wisdom, an understanding of speech and the world around him that a child shouldn't have. It was a terrifying thought and although she was thankful for that power now, she prayed that her son would be strong enough to shoulder it.
“Have you been harmed?” Rannulf finally pulled away to look her over.
“No,” she laughed, trying to push aside fears for a future that was far away. “You hardly gave him enough time.”
“Thanks to our son,” he smiled.
“Did Akara truly send that storm?” Ayla frowned up at Rannulf.
“He did,” Rannulf said solemnly, “and I've never been more proud or more grateful.”
“That’s impossible!” Bohemund screeched, drawing their attention back to him. “He’s a baby, are you saying he’s more powerful than Ayla?”
Ayla took a shaking breath, she didn't like that Bohemund was giving a voice to her inner fears. She determined right then that she'd do anything she had to do to give Akara the strength of character and the knowledge he'd need to use his power wisely. Her son would survive and he would grow to be a great enchanter.
“We were friends once,” Rannulf said, ignoring Bohemund’s tirade. “There's much I owe you, including this woman I now call wife. For that I will be merciful and spare you. Go back to Antioch, Bohemund, and rule your principality. Be content with that and leave me and my people alone.”
“Your people?” Bohemund spat as he stood. “I am your people!”
“No,” Rannulf said sadly. “The Turks are now my people and you're my enemy. From this day forward, if I ever see you again, I shall kill you and if I don't, I'm sure my son will.”
Rannulf turned away and lifted Ayla onto Baruk’s back. Bohemund could only stare in shock as the rest of the tribesmen mounted, taking the Norman horses with them and leaving Bohemund without a mount. Ayla hope the long walk back to Antioch would kill Bohemund, as she thought her husband should have but she had a feeling Bohemund would make it. Monsters always did.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Rannulf laid in bed with his wife and son in his arms and soaked in the happiness he'd almost lost that day. He kissed the top of Ayla’s head and she snuggled closer against him.
“What shall we do if he ever decides to loose his temper with us?” Rannulf asked as he looked down at the sleeping baby.
“The gods only give that kind of power to those who can handle it,” Ayla whispered. “Akara will not abuse it.”
Rannulf was glad that Ayla had stopped worrying about Akara’s future but he thought she might have gone to the other extreme. If Akara’s rage could summon a storm when he was just a baby, what will one of his temper tantrums be like?
As if he knew his father’s concerns, Akara opened his eyes and looked up at Rannulf. The babe’s eyes connected with his so serenely, that Rannulf couldn't help but be calmed by them. The future was uncertain but his love for Ayla and Akara would never waver. All would be well.
Then the child smiled softly and laid his head back down to sleep. Rannulf shook his head in wonder and thanked the Gods for his family. He wasn’t sure but as he drifted off, he thought he heard the sound of soft, feminine laughter enveloping him.
Author's Note
Although Ayla and Rannulf are both fictional characters, the other main characters in this book are not. The Grand Vizier of Antioch really did imprison John the Oxite when the Normans' led by Bohemund, laid siege to Antioch. The siege happened much as I described
it, without Ayla's intervention of course, but there was an earthquake and the Aurora Borealis was seen. The Tarfurs, led by Peter the Hermit, did also, unfortunately, become cannibals at one point, and the city was eventually taken by the Normans.
The alchemy Ayla practiced, was in fact, in practice at the time and the curses she sent against the Norman armies were weapons employed by the Seljuks. The nomadic tribes, their customs, religion, food, clothing, and homes were all as I've described, even the goat game. A lot of research was done about Antioch and the surrounding areas as well, including the pleasure gardens of Daphne, and I've tried to describe the city as accurately as possible from the historical evidence available. I hope I've made it all come alive for you and that you were able to enjoy Rannulf and Ayla as much as I enjoyed them.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
Godhunter
The first book in the Godhunter series
by Amy Sumida
Chapter One
“There were of old certain men versed in sorcery, Thor, namely, and Odin, and many others, who were cunning in contriving marvelous sleights; and they, winning the minds of the simple, began to claim the rank of gods.”
Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, 13th century
When someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes!
Those were the words going through my mind the first time I met Thor. In my line of work they should have been words to live by… literally. At least they would have been had I remembered them in time. Unfortunately, Bill Murray’s voice taunted me inside my head mere seconds too late. Thanks a lot, Bill.
My forgetfulness left me facing the distinct possibility of an early and creatively painful demise. If only I'd remembered the movie wisdom sooner. Yes, movie wisdom. Scoff all you want but it may surprise you how much useful information is hidden in movies. At least that's what I tell myself so I can feel better about thinking in movie quotes half the time.
“So, Thor,” I smirked up at the muscle-bound madman while he glowered down at me through a fall of his shimmering copper hair. “What's it gonna be? Hammer, lightning, fists of fury? Lightning might singe the rug a bit. Odin might not appreciate that, looks kinda old.”
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to taunt gods but hey, what did I have to lose? He’d caught me red handed, bent over the new “Make War not Love” campaign plans I found in the Human Relations room of Valhalla. I hadn’t even heard the loud-mouthed God of Thunder coming in, if you can believe that one. Loud-mouthed didn’t automatically mean loud-footed, evidently. Then to make matters worse, he asked me if I was a god. Like maybe I was a newbie or something, and what did I, the ever quick-witted one say? I said no. Could someone please tell me if they’ve seen an unclaimed brain lying about? I've no idea where I’ve left mine.
Then again, maybe I should cut myself some slack. It’s a little shocking to be face to face, well face to chest, with what had to be close to seven feet of gorgeous, vibrant, leather-clad Viking godliness. Did I mention gorgeous…and the leather? I don’t mean that yuppie silky lambskin either. I mean hard core, I’m gonna bust your ass if you look at me wrong, well worn but still strong enough to wipe the floor with your face, leather. Just seeing the way it teased me by gripping all that muscle, made me want to rip it to shreds just to teach it a lesson. Bad leather, Viking gods should be naked.
“You want to see my hammer?” Thor’s eyes gleamed as he looked slowly up and down my body, which took longer than it should have for all five-foot-three… and a half… of me.
“Whoa there, Viking,” I leaned back further on the table he’d previously planted me on. “Raping and pillaging days are in the past. You gotta catch up on the times.” I snapped my fingers in his face. “Nowadays there are laws on the treatment of prisoners.”
“Not for gods,” his lips twitched just slightly but I caught the movement and I started to hope I might actually make it out of this mess alive. Get 'em laughing, then run while they're distracted. It's not the best plan but it's worked for me before.
“Hey, like I always say, gods are people too,” I smiled my best P.R. smile. Gods are great, they’re not at all out to cause mayhem and suck power out of the human race, really, and I’m definitely not here to foil your evil plans. I smiled bigger.
“No we’re not,” the frown was back and he leaned a meaty fist on the table next to my hip for good measure. The leather around his forearm creaked at me gleefully.
Okay, that was more like it. I could handle a mad god better than a horny one. I congratulated myself on the sharpness of my tongue until I felt his thumb scrape lightly over my jeans. Shit. More creaky leather commentary came as he leaned in closer and I found myself wondering how much strain the stuff could take. Maybe he’d bust his seams before he had a chance to bust my face. I can’t say the prospect didn’t have its own appeal even without saving me an ass whoppin'.
“Now, now,” I clucked my tongue at him, trying for my best schoolmarm imitation and hoping he didn’t have a thing for teachers. “You mustn’t forget your own history. Shall I refresh your memory?”
“Try me, human,” he made a sound halfway between a sniff and a snort, “let's hear what you think you know of gods.”
“Well for one thing,” I poked my finger into his massive chest, “I know you aren’t gods at all, so you can just stop with the holier than thou attitude, buster.”
A thick eyebrow arched up and Thor’s lips went into mini spasms.
“For another thing,” yes, I was still poking him, “I know where you’re from, Atlantean. I know your god abilities are nothing more than technological and magical advances your kind kept from the rest of humanity in an attempt to rule the world. Advances that ended up destroying Atlantis but still you all didn’t think that was any reason to stop practicing them.”
“Practice does make perfect,” his eyes started to spark with the very magic I’d referenced and I knew I had only one shot to get out alive and un-hammered as it were.
“I know something else too,” I whispered and looked side to side conspiratorially.
He couldn’t help it; his smile finally broke free before he leaned in closer, “What’s that?”
“I know if I do this,” I kicked my leg out as hard as I could and caught him where no man likes to be kicked, “god or not, you’re going down.”
I jumped off the table the minute Thor landed, groaning and cupping himself on the thick carpet. I ran through the door, already chanting the spell that would get me through the wards of Valhalla and out into the Aether. I felt the magic rush over me like a hot sentient wind, as I ran down a long hallway to the Tracing room. It sparked eagerly, urging me back to where I came from. Everything in its place and all that.
The trace point sealed behind me with a low murmur of magic and a pressurized pop in my ears. Then the Aether pulled me in, my body becoming a mere memory with a tingling, freeing ecstasy. I flowed through streams of pure magic, my spell pushing me along to my destination so I didn't have to navigate the waters myself. With another pressure-pop that announced the return of my ears, and a healthy jolt of gravity, I exited the Aether and felt my body reluctantly become physical again.
My momentum carried me into the opposite wall of the alley I'd arrived in, and I automatically crouched into a fighting stance just in case Thor had managed to follow me through. Tracing was a rush, add the adrenaline of the chase to it and it left me panting for breath and shaking. My pulse beat heavily in my ears, the thudding drowning out the traffic I could see in my peripheral vision. I was holding my kodachi before me and I hadn’t even realized I’d drawn the Japanese shortsword. Remnants of magic sparked blue and drifted to the ground in a roughly circular outline but the wall before me remained the same, no ripples, no blurring, no sign of Thor at all. I stood slowly, leaned back, and felt my heart rate start to decelerate as I slid the sword into its scabbard.
“God damn Buffy! Freakin’ vampire slayer gets all the props,” I muttered. “Vampires, hmph, please! Bunch of
melodramatic pussies. And werewolves? I'd fight one of those puppies any day rather than a god. At least they can't pull magic out of their furry asses. Now Fairies, I might not be thrilled to meet one of them in a dark alley… a dark alley kinda like this one.” I shoved myself quickly away from the wall and power-walked towards the street, still bitching about a fictional vampire hunter under my breath.
“Vampire Slayer,” I grumbled, “Try killing a god sometime and then get back to me. Blondie wouldn't last a day. She'd be whining to her mommy about the unfairness of it all within minutes. Oh, and falling for your prey... total amateur. You don't crap where you eat and you don't kill where you sleep. Or sleep with who you kill. No wait, that's necrophilia. Oh whatever, it's just dumb to let your prey seduce you.” I had a flash of Thor's striking face, blue eyes sparkling, and decided to just shut the hell up. That guy Spike was kind of sweet to her, in a psycho kind of way. Ugh, I threw my hands up and shook my head.
You might be wondering how someone gets into the god hunting business and all I can tell you is: hell if I know. I pretty much stumbled face first into it. Like hitting a rock when you're riding a bike, I went flying and landed in a thorn bush. A burning one. A talking, burning one that said it was god.
I never really was the religious type. I'm more of a hands-on kinda girl. I’ve practiced witchcraft my entire life, which I kinda looked on as a religion of the self. I do mean witchcraft by the way, not Wicca. I know that's a religion but I don't practice it, I just do the spells. Wicca's a little too peaceful for me.
Well, maybe I haven't practiced witchcraft my entire life but pretty damn close since Mom was teaching me spells in the cradle. Most babies got The cow jumped over the moon; I got sung to about drawing it down. Not that I’m complaining since it’s really helping me out these days but I’ve just never seen the gods as a big part of my life.
