Lord of the Runes (2 page)

Looking to the north, he cracked a dry smile. He had access to hundreds of the best warriors in Norway. It would be a long, dangerous journey to get to them. Because of his failures, the gods were challenging him to redeem himself. He would see this through.

Wincing, he rose and climbed down and to the east, around the flat land where Haardvik was. As he moved, he opened himself to the woods, the air, the sounds of everything around him. He'd done it often enough when he was still young and full of belief in the gods, relying on the ways his mother had passed on to him. She'd taught him to be one with the things beyond what he could see and hear and touch. But then he had put all of that behind him, embracing instead the sharp reality of steel and the calm certainty in his own prowess.

Now, weaponless, he would have to depend on what lay within him, even if he had rejected it long ago. The forest closed in around him, the darkness of the twilight covering him. The spirit of the land had never left his heart. It remembered him.

A twig snapped, too near. He pressed himself against a tree. The sound of horses walking through the leaves came to him and he stilled.

“With that white hair, the little bitch won't be hard to find.”

The outcasts spoke of his fair-haired sister. His heart sank. They had seen her, knew of her, and were looking for her. His sword hand fisted. They rode past him, making crude comments while he flattened back against the tree trunk. Holding his breath, he waited until they were gone. It went against everything he was to allow them to live, but he had no weapons. Even though he could kill without them, the sounds would bring others and he would be outnumbered. Stealth, not engagement, was his best course now, for they didn't know he had survived and that would gain him an advantage.

A flash in his mind made him pause. So familiar and sweet. He reached for it and the image of the sacred grove crossed his awareness. Of course she would be there, waiting for him. He moved a short way up the mountain to the clearing where his ancestors had worshipped the gods for centuries.

“Silvi?” He kept his voice low.

His younger sister stepped from the trees, leading a horse. Sacks, blankets, and a sword hung from the saddle. The dark hood of her cloak fell back and her white-blond hair blazed like a beacon. “There you are.” She dropped the reins and held out her arms.

He strode to her and crushed her against him. “I sensed you in my mind, like we used to do when we were young.”

“Mother knew you were still alive.” She leaned back to look up at him. “She sent me to find you.”

He didn't ask how they held the wisdom they did. Such gifts from the gods were best left unquestioned. “I heard Mother's thrall tried to get you to safety. What happened? Where is she?”

Silvi gently broke his hold on her, stepping away. She could never touch anyone for too long a time. As gentle and sensitive as she was, living in the world was too painful for her. She kept herself apart, from fear of taking on the sorrows of others.

Her gaze darted away from his. “The outcasts caught us and brought us back. By that time, the fighting had stopped or else we might have been killed before they learned that Mother is a rune mistress. She swept into her chamber and put on her regalia, her blue cloak, fur boots and gloves, her glass beads. And of course, she had her rune staff. When they saw her come out, they nearly shat themselves.”

He smiled. “They had no way to know they would tangle with a woman of power. Her rank will see her safe. But what of you? You're not initiated.” It was well-known what happened on raids, and his breath caught.

She gave him a slight smile, her strange silver gaze sad. “No man looks twice into my eyes, Eirik. Except you. I will be well. The runes have said so.”

“The runes.” He laughed, short and harsh, anger curling through him. “What good are they? Did they warn you of this? Did they warn me of—”

“They
did
tell us. Of Father's death. Mother saw it weeks ago. Since he was ill with the wasting disease, we thought they were foretelling his death from that. We had prepared ourselves for it. Not for this.” Her pale eyes filled and she turned away.

Whether she wanted his touch or not, he wouldn't let her grieve alone. He pulled her against his chest and she leaned back, shaking in her silent sorrow.

“And we no longer have Star Slayer. Father wielded it and it was lost in the battle.” One of her tears splashed on his arm.

“I had it,” he said. “I took it, still warm from his hand after he died.”

“Then you do have it.” She whipped around to face him.

The hope in her eyes cut him as no blade ever could. “I lost it. I slew the
nithingr
, the coward who killed Father, but he pulled me over the fjord cliff with him and we both plunged into the water. When I hit, I must have been knocked senseless for a moment. I dropped it. It's gone.” He didn't want to look at her, but he did.

Her eyes lost focus for a moment and he held his breath, waiting for what she would say, what the Sight would tell her.

“Then it's beneath the waters, safe from those who would defile it with their touch. Hidden.” She looked at him, her gaze clear and sharp once again. “As you must be. No one must know you're alive.”

“I know. Were you able to find out anything about them?”

“Their leader, Hakon, plans to stay here for the winter. In the spring, he's going to take revenge on his own family, who he says betrayed him years ago. They live in the
fjells
to the north, where the glaciers are. Then he'll take their wealth and homestead for himself.”

He'd been right. That was why they hadn't destroyed the village. “I'll journey to Vargfjell, Rorik's holding in Trøndelag and get his help. In the years I've been fighting and raiding with him, I have come to know him well. As our cousin, he won't let this outrage go unanswered. It's a matter of family and honor. He has great wealth, more than most kings, with four-and-twenty longships, and the men to crew them. Several hundred of the best warriors follow him. When he dropped me off here days ago, he was to head home for the winter. I'll go to Vargfjell, and return here with him to have our revenge. Then, I vow, I'll retrieve Star Slayer from the waters and we'll rebuild our village and our lives.”

Her eyes widened. “To get the sword—that's impossible. It's said the fjord bottom follows the mountains down to the depth of a hundred man-lengths. Even the god Njord might not be able to find it, though he rules the sea.”

He shook his head. “In the waters below the cliff, there's a shallower ledge. I know it from when I was a boy. I pushed off from it to gain the surface today. If the sword fell with me, there's a chance it rests there still. If it was thrown out farther, it's in the depths and Njord is welcome to it. For it means the gods have chosen to take it back from us.”

She bit her lip as she studied him. “Mother has doubted your sanity ever since you dove off the cliff in your youth. She might be right.”

He took her hands, his fingers enveloping her small, slender ones, and pressed them. “Don't you see, Silvi? That blade has been passed down to us from the early times, when the gods walked with our ancestors. It's a link with all we are. It gives us the right to bear the rank of jarl. I have to try to get it back, or how can I take my inheritance? I won't accept the title if I don't retrieve it, for without it, I'm not worthy.”

Silvi slipped her hands from his. She looked into the growing shadows and her eyes became distant again. He braced himself. Why had he been cursed—no, blessed—with a sister who had the Sight? “When you find the sword again, it won't be for the reason you think. And you'll give it up for the sake of a woman a handful of days later.”

How could that be? “It would mean I've given up Haardvik, and that will never happen.”

The gelding pricked his ears and lifted his head. Another horse nickered not far off in the woods. If theirs answered, it would disclose their location and he would have to fight, bringing all the outcasts down on them. He would never make it away from the fjord to find help. He locked his gaze with Silvi's and they moved back into the shadows of the trees. He reached for the sword hanging from the saddle, steeling himself for battle.

But Silvi set her hand on his arm and shook her head. She whispered to the horse, cupping her hand over his muzzle. He closed his eyes and chewed, relaxing. Harsh voices threaded through the trees. Eirik tensed, still gripping the hilt.

Three outcasts rode through the sacred grove. They were dirty and unkempt, their weapons bloodstained with the lives of his people. But though his gut screamed to slay them, he could only let them pass.

As they vanished into the woods, he released the sword—his father's personal sword. He raised his brows in question.

She touched the scabbard. “Weeks ago, when Father knew he was dying, he told us to leave the sword for you, not to burn it with him. We'll send him to the afterlife in the flames as is his right, no matter what the outcasts say. We have a fine sword for him so that when he fights tomorrow in Valhalla, he'll be well armed. Even now, he drinks with the gods.” She sniffed as her eyes moistened again.

“Drinking and fighting, his two favorite things.” They shared a slight smile, then he took Silvi by the shoulders. “There's no time to waste. The bastards infest the woods and it's only a matter of time before they find us. We have to leave now.”

“No, Eirik, I must stay here. They said if any of us leave, they'll kill one villager for every measure of the oil lamps that we're gone. Even knowing this, Mother sent me, and we've likely lost one or two of our people already since I left to find you and get these supplies to you. I can't stay away.” Her voice shook.

His stomach tightened as though he'd been punched. How could he leave his beautiful, otherworldly sister here? “You did well, Silvi.” He kissed the top of her head, letting none of his turmoil show. And yet, she was right. “Father would have been proud of you and Mother. We cannot allow the welfare of a few to overshadow that of the many.”

“Already we have lost over ten warriors and as many villagers.”

So great a number? His jaw tightened with rage, but he couldn't falter. “I may not be back until the spring, even if I can get through to Rorik now. Though the sea stays free of ice in the winter, most of his men will have dispersed to their homesteads, as many of ours did. And he will have beached his longships to repair them in the season of storms. We'll likely have to wait, as will you.”

“I know, Eirik, but we won't be idle. Swords are not the only weapons we have, for the mind is also powerful. These men are ignorant and superstitious. They'll fall prey more easily to fear. Mother and I will use that to our advantage.”

“Be careful. Fear may be a weapon, but any blade can turn on the one who wields it. Unease makes men dangerous. Let them eat and drink until they are so fat they cannot walk and so drunk they cannot think. It will make their bellies a larger target for our blades when we return to slay them.” He drew her into his embrace. “I should just throw you on the horse and take you from here.”

“Then they would come after me and discover you. This way, you can travel unimpeded. It's for the best.” She pulled back from him. “Besides, Mother had a vision that I would one day be at the great temple in Uppsala.” She waved her hand toward the clearing. “Does this look like Uppsala to you?”

He gave her a smile he did not feel as he pulled her hood up over her hair. “No.”

“Then I will survive to go there to be one of the
hóvgythiur
, as I've always known I am destined to be. Now go. And may the gods watch over you.”

He gritted his teeth. She would never be one of those temple priestesses if he had anything to say about it. “The gods will be too busy watching over you to worry about me. I've fended for myself quite well without their intervention. All I need is my own skill, a good sword, and a fast ship.”

Instead of chiding him for such talk, as she always had, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I'll watch for the lengthening of the days and imagine that, somewhere in the world, there is still light.”

He tightened the girth of the horse's saddle. When he turned back, she was gone, disappearing before he could weaken and take her with him. He slammed his fist into the trunk of a nearby tree and the pain centered him. What manner of man was he to leave his own sister behind? But she knew, as he did, that it was for the good of their people.

With the darkness of the coming night settling around him, he changed into the dry clothing she had brought him, mounted, and rode into the sacred grove. Reining in the horse, he looked at a solitary rune stone that stood at one end, as it would for centuries more. In the center of the carving stood Yggdrasil, the World Tree, and runes traced around it, made by his own hand. He didn't need to read the words he'd chiseled into the stone. They were seared into his mind.

Everything. He would leave everything behind. All he knew and loved. It wouldn't be the first time. But he would return, whether the gods willed it or not. And when he had exacted his vengeance, he would carve a rune stone to honor his father, so that he, too, would never be forgotten. For Eirik had failed him, his family, all of them. This day. But come the spring, he would not.

Voices erupted from the south, in the direction of the village. Had Silvi allowed them to see her, to draw them away from him? He fought the impulse to go to her. She made the sacrifice for him, and for their people. If he went after her now to protect her, everything she had done, as well as the deaths of the villagers, would be in vain.