A Flame Put Out (15 page)

Selia shivered. It had been horrible enough to imagine Geirr as the future Hersir. She had come to love the boy as though he were her own child, and in return he loved her as a mother, not a stepmother. Geirr of course knew Selia hadn’t given birth to him. He knew his mother had been a slave and had died the instant he was born.

But that mother was only a ghost, and Selia was real and warm and alive. In Geirr’s young heart, Selia was his mother. His unwavering devotion rivaled Faolan’s.

Selia still struggled with the bargain she had struck with Muirin, to claim Geirr as Alrik’s son and make him the future Hersir. How could she have known she would come to love the boy as much as she loved Faolan?

But the past couldn’t be changed. And knowing she had at least saved one of her children from a future as a Vikinger was some comfort, albeit small.

But Alrik had taken even that from her. Now both of Selia’s sons would sail across the sea on twice-annual raids. And eventually, Faolan would be the man giving the order to kill.

She should have known this would happen. Whenever Alrik tried to show the boys some sort of fighting skill, Faolan would focus intently, watching every move of Alrik’s body, and then practice it to perfection. Geirr would start by watching his father, but eventually lose interest and instead focus on something else entirely.

If Geirr’s attention targeted a flock of birds flying in the sky, or a woolly worm crawling along a nearby branch, Alrik would erupt with fury.

Geirr’s lack of concentration frustrated his father beyond measure, who frequently claimed the boy was untrainable—a simpleton. But Selia had always protected her children from Alrik’s rages. More than once she had stepped in between Geirr and his father when she felt Alrik’s anger approach a dangerous level. This interference in what he saw as his parental right to discipline his sons was never received well, and had caused friction between them.

But what Alrik didn’t seem to understand was that for all Geirr’s seeming inattention, he actually grasped the skill being taught, often before Faolan did. For whenever Selia watched the boys sparring, Geirr’s lithe young body eased effortlessly into the drill. He moved like a dancer, strong and nimble, and even the scar on his leg couldn’t make him falter.

Faolan needed, and craved, the constant practice and repetition. Geirr did not. The movements seemed as natural to him as breathing.

Faolan stirred and rolled onto his side. The blanket slipped a bit, revealing the fresh marking on a reddened area of his chest. The tattoo was smallish but its lines flowed crisp and dark. As Faolan grew, the mark would fade and stretch out over his breast just as Alrik’s had.

Selia stared at the despised symbol, a choking bile rising in her throat. What was done could not be undone. Her son had been marked for life as a shape-shifter. A berserker. But having the tattoo would not make Faolan like Alrik.

I will find a way to stop that from happening.

She pulled the blanket up around her son’s small shoulder and drew the curtain closed.

Chapter 15

The farm returned to its normal rhythms with the departure of the guests. Selia was not on speaking terms with Alrik, however, and as expected he had gone away to avoid another argument with her. As soon as he left, Selia sent a thrall to inform Ingrid that it was safe to come for a visit.

The birth of Ingrid’s daughter Eydis had been a difficult one, the babe sickly and small. Ingrid had kept the fragile child secluded and had allowed no visitors other than Hrefna.

It had infuriated Selia to be prevented from seeing Ainnileas’ daughter. Her own flesh and blood. Ingrid was selfish and cruel for doing so. But for Selia to insist on seeing the child would only draw suspicion. Everyone knew there was no love lost between her and Ingrid, so why would Selia have reason to visit her stepdaughter?

Hrefna brought back frequent news of Ingrid and little Eydis, but it wasn’t until Hrefna became ill that Selia learned the real reason for Ingrid’s reluctance to have visitors to Ketill’s farmstead. With Hrefna’s inability to travel in her weakened condition, out of frustration Ingrid finally sent word to Selia. The next time Alrik left the farmstead, she would come for a visit.

The hatred between Ingrid and her father ran deep, but even for her this seemed extreme. Selia could only shrug it off. Ingrid was as stubborn and unforgiving as Alrik himself, and there was no point in arguing with either of them. So when Alrik had gone hunting with the first thaw of spring, Selia sent for her stepdaughter.

Selia’s first opportunity to meet Eydis occurred late that afternoon, right after Alrik left. Ainnileas’ daughter was a tiny slip of a child, much smaller than Geirr and Faolan, though the children had all been born fairly close together. The shy little girl had clung to her mother’s skirts, with her eyes lowered and her face partially hidden from view by the hood of her cloak. But when they entered Hrefna’s chamber to visit, Eydis ran to her great-aunt without hesitation.

It was then that Selia got a good look at Eydis, and she had nearly fainted in shock. Eydis’ hair, a beautiful red-gold, glittered over her shoulders like a glorious sunset. It had been the hair color of Hrefna’s sister—Alrik’s mother—and a color common to the Finngalls in general.

But little Eydis’ face looked nothing like that of the Finngalls. Her face was all Ainnileas. And Selia.

The big gray eyes, the arched brows, the curve of the chin, the smile, even the manner in which she held her head. Selia had watched as Eydis stroked Hrefna’s cheek with a hand that was shaped exactly like her own, and her stomach lurched in apprehension.

Mouth agape, Selia had turned to Ingrid, who watched for Selia’s reaction with a defiance on her face. “I see why you haven’t come for a visit,” she whispered shakily.

Ingrid’s expression revealed a similar concern. “It’s becoming more difficult as she gets older. I have to hide her from anyone who has ever met you. Or your brother.” The last was flung with resentment.

Though she understood, the accusation smarted, and Selia had swallowed painfully. The child’s face was an announcement to the world of who had fathered her. If Alrik ever met his granddaughter, or spoke with anyone who could put the obvious pieces together, Ainnileas was as good as dead.

“What about Bolli? And Ketill?”

“They love her as their own. But they see the danger and so they keep my secret.”

A peal of laughter had erupted from the little girl as she sat on the bed with Hrefna. Selia sucked in her breath
. She even laughs like Ainnileas.
“What are you going to do?”

“I will keep her hidden, as I always have. Ketill says when it is time for her to marry he will find a man who lives far from here.” Ingrid’s voice had trembled at that.

To keep Ainnileas safe, she would have to send her daughter away to live with strangers. By law, she could be married at the age of twelve, just six summers from now. There would be a strong probability the girl would never see her family again.

Regardless of the discord between Selia and Ingrid, there was little Eydis to think of. Selia had laid her hand on her stepdaughter’s arm and squeezed reassuringly. “I will help you any way I can, Ingrid.”

Ingrid and Eydis arrived after the crowd of the gathering had cleared and Selia sent word that Alrik was gone. He had decided to journey to Bjorgvin to visit with Gudrun, no doubt as good a reason as any he could think of to get away from the farmstead and Selia’s icy glare.

Unlike most women, Ingrid and Eydis traveled alone, which did not surprise Selia. Ingrid was crafty, strong, and as deadly with a dagger as any man. Anyone foolish enough to come upon Ingrid with wicked intentions might not live long enough to regret it.

Selia was returning from the dairy as they appeared over the ridge. Eydis had her own diminutive pony, and she trotted along behind her mother’s horse. The morning sun glinted bright in the little girl’s hair and her cloak stirred in the breeze. She held the reins expertly in her tiny hands and Selia couldn’t help but smile.

Ainnileas was a terrible horseman, and preferred the wagon to the saddle. Selia herself had never ridden a horse without Alrik holding on to her, always fearing she would fall if one of her spells came upon her. Little Eydis was already a better horsewoman than Selia and Ainnileas put together.

Selia met them at the barn and lifted Eydis from the saddle. Just touching Ainnileas’ daughter sent a thrill of happiness up her spine. She put her arms around the child and breathed in the scent of warm sunshine in her hair.

Eydis returned the hug. After her initial shyness, the girl recognized a kindred spirit in Selia, and they had spent a good deal of time together at Ingrid’s last visit. Selia and Eydis enjoyed many things Ingrid felt was a foolish waste of time. Hair plaiting into intricate knots was a particular favorite, and Selia had worked Eydis’ gold-fire locks into a magnificent pattern of braids.

“Will you fix my hair again, Selia?” Eydis asked, smiling up at her.

“Of course. You will look like a princess when I’m finished with you.”

Selia and Ingrid walked together toward the farmhouse with Eydis skipping ahead of them. “How is Hrefna?” Ingrid asked.

“She’s tired from the gathering. She hasn’t been out of bed.”

Ingrid grunted but didn’t respond otherwise. There was a shout from the beach as the two boys noticed them. They ran up to greet them, making as much racket as possible along the way. Eydis stopped her skipping and watched them, looking a bit guarded. She still wasn’t accustomed to the rough ways of her kin.

The boys reached them, laughing and out of breath. “Hello, sister,” Geirr said to Ingrid, and Faolan giggled.

“Hello, niece,” he said to Eydis.

Ingrid shook her head at them. When the boys had met Ingrid and Eydis for the first time this past spring, Selia had a difficult time explaining to them this grown woman was their sister and they were both therefore uncle to her child, Eydis. Geirr and Faolan thought this tremendously funny.

“Hello, boys,” Ingrid said. “Have you been fishing?”

The boys were barefoot and soaking wet from the knee down. “How did you know?” Geirr wondered.

Ingrid gave a sideways glance to Eydis as if to imply that Geirr was not so bright. Eydis pulled at Ingrid’s hand with excitement. “Can I go fishing, Mother?”

Ingrid glanced to the docks where one of the thralls waited for the boys to return. Both Geirr and Faolan were excellent swimmers, but Selia wouldn’t let them go out on the boat alone.

“No.” Ingrid moved Eydis back behind her. “Not now.”

Eydis nodded and raised the hood of her cloak, knowing better than to argue. Selia’s heart ached for the little girl. Did she understand the danger of her face? Had Ingrid told her? If one of the thralls got a good look at Eydis, how long would it take for the rumor to spread that Bolli was not her father? Most of the thralls currently on the farmstead had been here the summer Ainnileas had come, and would remember how besotted Ingrid had been over him. A quick calculation would prove the truth of Eydis’ parentage.

Hrefna and Selia had told the boys Ingrid and Alrik didn’t like each other, and he would be very angry if he knew Ingrid had visited. Under no circumstances were they to tell Alrik of the visits or of the fact that they had met Eydis. They both had nodded solemnly and vowed to keep the secret.

Geirr and Faolan had seen Alrik at his wild-eyed worst. They had no desire to bring that wrath down upon their newfound sister and niece.

The breeze picked up suddenly, whipping the women’s gowns around their ankles and Eydis’ hair over her face as a few fat raindrops splattered on the ground. The sky grew dark over the water and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Selia frowned as the clouds moved in. A storm was coming, and fast. Ingrid and Eydis were lucky they had made it to the farmstead in time. “No fishing, boys.”

“But Mother—”

“No.” Selia gestured firmly. “In the house, now.”

A bolt of lightning struck the water. Eydis clung to her mother’s skirts and the boys snickered nervously. Selia gave them a push and they all hurried toward the house. The raindrops came down a bit faster, still warm, then suddenly the heavens opened up a deluge that quickly turned cold. They ran through the rain and into the house, and Selia slammed the door on the storm. The boys laughed and shook themselves like dogs, flinging water everywhere.

Keir came in from the kitchen and looked from one to another of them as they dripped puddles on the floor. She moved toward the hearth to stir the coals.

Ingrid pulled Eydis behind her. “Go back to the kitchen,” she ordered.

Selia huffed impatiently. “It’s Keir. She can be trusted.”

“No,” Ingrid insisted, waiving Keir away. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry, Keir,” Selia said to the slave. “I’ll call for you if we need anything.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Keir replied. She lowered her gaze and left the room.

“That was very rude, Ingrid,” Selia remonstrated when the slave had left. “You hurt her feelings.”

Ingrid uttered a dismissive laugh. “She’s a thrall.”

Selia bristled. In a strange way, she and Keir had bonded during Faolan’s birth. Keir was a kind and loyal woman. Ingrid was nervous about anyone seeing Eydis, and rightly so, but that didn’t excuse her discourtesy.

“You stir up the fire, then,” she snapped. “I’ll get dry clothes for the children.” Selia rummaged through the boys’ chest of clothing. She pulled out outfits for both of them, as well as one of Faolan’s tunics for Eydis while her gown was drying.

The boys stripped naked and began a game of chase around the hearth. Laughing, Faolan darted one way then quickly another, causing Geirr to over-correct and stumble. Faolan pounced on him and they wrestled on the floor. Eydis gaped at the boys in prim disapproval.

“Enough!” Selia cried. She grabbed Faolan by the back of his hair and pulled him away from his brother. “We have guests.”

Faolan twisted away, still laughing. Selia shoved the dry clothing at him. “Both of you go into my bedchamber and get dressed, now.”

Geirr leapt from the floor, flaunted his buttocks at his brother, and ran into the bedchamber. Faolan shouted and followed after him. They slammed the door and Selia turned back to Ingrid and Eydis with a sigh. “I’m sorry. They’re not used to having little girls around.”

But something had changed, for Ingrid’s face drained of color. She stared at Selia for a long moment before handing Eydis the tunic and pushing her toward Hrefna’s bedchamber. “Go see if Hrefna is awake. And change your clothes while you’re in there.”

Ingrid watched her daughter skip away and then rounded on Selia angrily. “I cannot believe you let my father mark Faolan.”

“Let him?” Selia sputtered. “I didn’t let him! Alrik only told me after it was done.”

“You let him do anything. He almost killed you and you still came back to him. But I would think you’d have more sense than to let him mark your child like that—”

“
Ingrid
.” Selia had fast grown frustrated. “I told you I didn’t let him. And Alrik is mistaken. Faolan is not a berserker. He lost his temper and got into a fight with another boy, but that does not mean he is a berserker. I will find a way to make Alrik understand. That tattoo means nothing.”

“Is that what you think it is? The badge of a berserker?”

Selia paused. “Well, yes.”

Ingrid regarded her as though she were dim-witted. “You really are a stupid girl, aren’t you? That tattoo is a shadow spell, meant only for great warriors. Whoever bears the mark will be able to draw forth Odin’s power during battle. He will have the strength and the cunning of the wolf. But a man who is too weak to bear the mark will die. Only a true berserker can attempt it, since the wolf is already in his nature. But even some of them will be unable to survive the weight of the spell. They will slip into madness. Like Ragnarr.”

Selia sat down hard on one of the benches, heaviness in her chest, a constriction that made it difficult to breathe. This was so much worse than she could have ever imagined.

What had Alrik done? Why would he dedicate his son to Odin, a god who had brought him only misery? Odin deserved nothing more from this family.
Nothing
.

Selia remembered the rabbit she had refrained from killing in Odin’s name. In her mind’s eye she saw the raven cawing at her from the branch, and the squeezing pressure around her belly that came next, as though it had laid claim to her babe. To Faolan. The tightness in her chest felt like that now; the evil claws of Odin’s raven.

Odin had won. The sacrifice had been made after all.

Selia burst into tears.

Stony-faced, Ingrid watched her cry. “You are a simpering fool,” she sneered. “You had a chance to escape my father and you didn’t take it. If you had left, he would have killed himself with drink and I could have been with Ainnileas. You are a stupid, spineless woman and now you have the nerve to cry about it? You deserve everything you’ve gotten, Selia, and if anyone feels sorry for you then they are as foolish as you.”

Selia cried harder. “I hate you, Ingrid!” she choked out. “I’m glad my brother left you.”

Ingrid’s laugh held bitterness. “I will find him again once Eydis is married. I will leave and I will find Ainnileas. We’ll be together and there won’t be anything you can do to stop it. And you can stay here and rot with your mad husband.”