Oath Breaker (Sons of Odin Book 3) (6 page)

Chapter 10

The days passed quickly, the final autumn leaves dropping from the trees, as the family settled in fully to life on the island. Selia made sure to keep herself busy when Ulfrik was near. His rebuke still smarted, and a flush heated her cheeks whenever she thought of it.

But thankfully, he held his distance. The day Selia had argued with him in the clearing was the day he and Ainnileas had begun building the house. Neither had consulted her or asked for her opinion in any way. Instead, Ulfrik simply began felling trees, and her brother had jumped in to help. They had worked on it unwaveringly since then, with Ulfrik returning to Dubhlinn every so often for supplies or some necessary tool.

No one had bothered to confirm that Selia indeed wanted to remain on the island after the babe was born. She’d made it clear her ultimate plan was to sail to Iceland, so this presumptuousness on Ulfrik’s part irked her.

But he’d been coolly polite to her since their argument, accepting her faltering apology, all but ignoring her otherwise. He was good to the boys and kind to Eithne, engaging everyone
but
Selia. She suspected he was doing it on purpose to make her feel even worse than she already did.

But she needn’t have worried about Ulfrik pining for her, or worse, cornering her with another reprimand of how she had offended him. He and Ainnileas left the cave every morning and returned only when it was nearly dark; both dirty, sweaty, and laughing in the chummy way that set her teeth on edge. Ulfrik always resumed his masked expression whenever he looked in her direction or spoke to her. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

On a day when a torrential rainstorm kept everyone inside, Selia sat with her spinning near the fire pit as Geirr, Faolan and Eydis argued over their game of rocks and sticks. Ainnileas and Ulfrik sat on the other side of the fire, carving something or other from small pieces of whalebone.

The children’s voices rose as their argument escalated, and Eithne hushed them from where she stirred a pot of stew. Eydis stomped away from the boys with a huff of disgust and approached the men, sitting on the ground. She watched Ainnileas work the knife for a few moments.

“What are you making?” she asked.

Ainnileas smiled at her. “Tafl pieces,” he replied. “Did your mother teach you to play tafl?”

The little girl shook her head. “My father—” she began, then stopped herself as a dark flush crept over her face. “I mean, Bolli did.”

Ingrid, who had been feeling poorly for several days and was now reclining in her pallet, sat up with a scowl to reprimand her. “
Eydis
.”

Eydis’ eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she whispered.

Ainnileas laid the piece down to reach for the child’s hand. “Do not be sorry,” he reassured her in his broken Norse. “I am sad I was not there when you were small. Bolli is a good man to be a father to you when I could not.”

Eydis wiped her tears away and picked up the tafl piece, turning it over in her hand. “I want to learn to carve,” she said to Ainnileas. “Will you teach me?”

“Of course not—” Ingrid began, but stopped as Ainnileas turned to her with a shushing gesture. She looked away, visibly pouting.

Selia bit back a smile, enjoying how quickly Ingrid was now silenced. If only it had been that easy on board Gunnar’s ship.

Ainnileas flashed his dimples at his daughter. “I will teach you, Eydis. But you have to be very careful with the knife, so you do not frighten your mother.”

“She cut herself, once,” Ingrid snapped, unable to keep quiet, even for Ainnileas. “She nearly cut her thumb off.”

“She will be more careful this time. Won’t you, Eydis?”

Eydis nodded. “I don’t want to make tafl pieces, though,” she declared. “I want to make a bird.” She reached in the pouch attached to her belt, pulling out a small object. “Like this.”

Ainnileas took it from her, turning it over in his hand. The boys, listening to the conversation, stopped what they were doing and came to see. They exchanged a look, snickering.

“It’s the stupid bird Leif made,” Geirr scoffed. “It’s not even very good.”

“She only likes it because
he
gave it to her,” Faolan agreed.

“Who is Leif?” Ainnileas asked. When no one answered, he turned to Ingrid questioningly. “Who is Leif?” he repeated.

She shrugged. “Just a boy from the ship. Leif Gunnarson.”

“So his father is the man who would have you for his mistress?” Ainnileas hissed, his expression darkening.

Ingrid turned to him with a hiss. “If I wanted Gunnar Klaufason I would have taken him up on his offer. And he wanted me for his
wife
, not his mistress.”

“‘Leif, you’re so handsome,’” Faolan said to Geirr in a mocking, female voice, ignoring the adults’ argument. “‘I want to marry you.’”

The boys burst into laughter, pleased with their joke, but Eydis’ lip trembled. She snatched the bird away and shoved it back in her pouch. “Never mind,” she mumbled.

“Boys, stop being cruel to Eydis,” Selia scolded. “Or you can both go to bed right now.”

Ulfrik smiled at the little girl. “I think your bird is beautiful. If you want your father to help you make another one, perhaps the boys could help me finish the tafl pieces.” He turned to Geirr and Faolan. “We could play tonight if we finish these last pieces. Your mother was an excellent tafl player, if I remember correctly. I owe her a game.”

Selia concentrated on her spinning, unwilling to look Ulfrik in the eye. “I haven’t played tafl in years.”

Ulfrik put his carving down. “Years?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

After Alrik’s ultimatum that she could no longer play with his brother, she’d played a few times with Alrik but found it unsatisfying. She’d had little time for games after the boys were born, and so had simply stopped playing.

“I was busy, I suppose.” She sighed. “As I am still. If the boys want to learn, you can teach them.” Selia rose, leaving her spinning, to help Eithne with supper.

Geirr and Faolan crowded around Ulfrik, and he handed them both pieces of whalebone. “Now, you have to go slowly,” Selia heard him say. “Only take off small slivers. Too much and you’ll ruin the piece.”

She turned a bit so she could watch them. He demonstrated proper form, the boys staring intently. Selia’s throat constricted as she gazed at her children, so starved for male approval. Other than fighting skills, Alrik hadn’t taught them much. He’d revealed little patience for the boys’ lively behavior, and would shout at them and cuff their ears if they got too loud in their play. Geirr and Faolan learned early in their lives it was easier to avoid their father than to try to engage with him.

Selia’s breath caught in her throat as Faolan smiled up at Ulfrik, his little face so eager. She turned away, unable to bear the guilt that welled inside her.

She’d waited too long to leave; that was achingly clear now.

Eithne studied her with a worried expression, finally reaching out to cup her face in a way she’d done when Selia was small. “What’s the matter, my girl?” she whispered.

Selia fought the urge to nestle into the woman’s ample bosom as she’d done as a child. She met Eithne’s gaze, then looked away, shaking her head.

After supper, Ulfrik set up the tafl board at the table, carefully putting the freshly carved pieces on the squares. “Come, Selia,” he said as he motioned to the board. “Help me teach your boys how to play tafl.”

Geirr scoffed. “You’re making that up. She doesn’t know how to play.”

Ulfrik turned to him. “Of course she does. She’s one of the best players I’ve ever faced.”

The boys looked unconvinced. Ulfrik regarded Selia for a long moment. “Play with me. Show them.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, she relented and sat down across from Ulfrik. “I haven’t played in so long I don’t think I remember the rules,” she hedged.

Ulfrik raised an eyebrow at her as he moved his first piece “Excuses,” he rebuked.

Selia chewed her lip as she stared down at the board, choosing a piece to move. Everyone gathered around to watch, even Ainnileas and Ingrid. The game began slowly, move by move, but the pace intensified as Selia’s confidence returned.

She
was
a good tafl player. And she enjoyed playing very much. Why had she convinced herself otherwise? As Selia executed her strategy, her sluggish mind came to life. Ulfrik moved his piece and she laughed out loud, pleased he had fallen for her trap. She moved her piece in for the win.

His eyes looked rather sad as he met her gaze over the board. As she took in his expression, Selia was certain he’d let her win. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Selia. I’ve missed it.”

Selia’s smile faded. “I’ve laughed.”

“No you haven’t,” Geirr said. “Not since we left . . .” he trailed off, clearly not wanted to mention Alrik. “Norway,” he finished, red-faced.

“It’s been longer than that,” Faolan added.

Selia pushed away from the table, looking at the faces of her children. They were right. It had been a very long time since she had laughed. Since she had enjoyed herself at all, for that matter.

How long had it been since she’d sung? Years ago, when the boys were small, she would sing them to sleep at night. And when they’d been ill. But she hadn’t sung to Faolan when he lay insensate from the hand of his father. Selia hadn’t even thought of it.

A spark of anger rose inside her, sputtering, before roaring to life. Alrik had brought them all to this. He had taken so much from her and the boys, leaving them deeply scarred. But it was time to end the misery. He’d held them captive for long enough.

Her children deserved more than a shell of a mother. And she herself deserved more than the melancholic existence she’d allowed herself to fall into.

Selia let out a harsh breath, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She would live her life again. She just needed to relearn how to do so.

Chapter 11

The boys began spending more time with Ulfrik after the day of carving tafl pieces. It was as though he had proven himself to them as he’d sat with unwavering patience, helping them master the craft even though they ruined several pieces of whalebone before they got the knack of it.

Selia’s conversation with Dagrun plagued her as she observed the boys with Ulfrik. Should she tell Ulfrik his sister believed Geirr was his son, and not Alrik’s? Or was Dagrun right in her assertion it would be cruel to tell him if Selia didn’t plan to stay with Ulfrik? True father or no, she couldn’t leave Geirr with Ulfrik and sail away to Iceland any more than she could leave Faolan. If she told Ulfrik what his sister suspected to be true, then she would be making a decision to stay with him and allow him to be a father to his son.

One blustery day as Selia carried the pails of milk home from the barn, she heard the boys’ raised voices up ahead. When she’d left, they had been sparring with their wooden swords, spirited and happy. Now they were arguing, and Faolan’s voice had an edge to it that caused Selia’s hackles to rise. She’d heard that tone before.

“You don’t know what you speak of, Geirr! Never say that again!”

Selia quickened her steps as she rounded the path. She dropped the pail, spilling the milk, when she saw Faolan leap upon his brother.

She rushed to them as the boys rolled on the ground. “Stop!”

Faolan snarled wildly, throwing punches, kicking and trying to bite. Geirr, although much larger, was having difficulty defending himself from such a vicious attack.

“Faolan!” Selia shouted, gripping his shoulders. He howled with rage as she attempted to pull him away from his brother. Faolan whirled with a crazed expression, slinging his fist in her direction. The impact of his hand to her face pushed her backward into the dirt.

Selia sat stunned as time seemed to slow. Her mouth throbbed and she tasted blood. Faolan’s eyes, so like his father’s, glittered feral and unfeeling. Like an animal.

Like a berserker
.

Before she could react, someone rushed past and snatched Faolan from the ground. Ulfrik.

He held her squirming son firmly under his arm, as Faolan’s feet kicked viciously and he screamed in rage. Ulfrik extended his free hand to help Geirr stand, then clasped her arm to do the same. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, shaking and unable to speak. The horror of it was too much; her worst fear had just materialized. Her son was a berserker. She wiped her hand across her mouth, leaving a smear of blood on her fingers.

“I’m going to take him away to talk to him. We’ll be back shortly.”

A strangled sob escaped her as she stared at her struggling boy, then back to Ulfrik. What could he possibly say to her son? Faolan was a berserker, just as his father and grandfather before him.

He had been marked by Odin. And it was her fault. She hadn’t left Alrik soon enough to save her child from the curse of Ragnarr.

Ulfrik’s gaze softened as though he sensed her uncertainty. “Everything will be all right, Selia. I will make sure of it.”

Ulfrik carried Faolan away from the cave, deeper into the woods. The boy continued to kick and scream, as Ulfrik made his way down the embankment toward the beach.

He stopped just short of the sea, then held Faolan out, dangling him over the water. It was a chilly, overcast day, and the water looked gray and very cold.

“Stop squirming or I’ll throw you in,” Ulfrik said matter-of-factly.

Faolan’s wild flailing slowed, then stopped. His blue eyes glittered in anger. ”Let go of me,” he spat.

The threat of a cold swim seemed to have stopped Faolan’s fit of temper. This was encouraging.

But the fact remained he’d hit his mother and pushed her into the dirt. Ulfrik had a strong urge to give Faolan Alrikson the thrashing of his life.

Instead, he strode to a dry spot of beach, forcing the boy to sit beside him. Faolan tried to wriggle away, but Ulfrik stilled him with a look. “I suggest you settle and talk to me, Faolan. I would like nothing better right now than to put you over my knee. If you make me chase you, I think it will be quite some time before you can sit down again.”

Faolan’s scowl deepened, but he sat still, at least. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my father.”

“You’re right,” Ulfrik agreed. “I’m not your father. But I am your father’s brother, and I grew up watching him bring nothing but misery to the people who loved him. I will not stand idly by and watch you do the same.”

“I’m nothing like him,” Faolan growled.

Ulfrik leveled his gaze on the boy. “Alrik said he was nothing like our father, too. But he became a drunken, mad bastard just the same. Is that what you want for yourself?” Faolan seethed silently, and Ulfrik continued. “You hit your mother, Faolan. You made her bleed.”

Faolan turned back to him with a horrified expression. “You’re lying! I would never hurt her!”

The look on Faolan’s face couldn’t be faked. Ulfrik’s heart sank—the child surely was a berserker. Once lost in the rage, a true berserker would have little to no memory of what he’d done.

Ulfrik spread his hands. “I wish I was lying. But I saw you hit her. You were fighting with your brother and she tried to stop you.”

Tears welled in Faolan’s eyes, and he loosed a soft sob as he gazed upon the sea. “Did I hurt her?” he whispered.

“I think you did more than hurt her. You broke her heart.”

The tears fell in earnest now. Faolan made a move as if to rise, but Ulfrik grabbed his arm. “I need to see my mother,” the boy protested tearfully.

“In a moment. I’m not through speaking with you yet.”

Faolan slumped on the ground, jerking his arm from Ulfrik’s grasp. Ulfrik studied the child Alrik had fathered, the child he’d wanted as his successor. Alrik had marked him already. Teaching the boy to control himself now might prove impossible.

Was Faolan so much like his father that he couldn’t be helped? Or could he learn to rein in his temper, as Ulfrik himself had?

“When Alrik and I were young, we lived with our grandfather and our sister, Dagrun. Dagrun loved us, took care of us like a mother since we were both motherless. When she married a few years later, we went to live with her and her husband.”

“I thought you lived with Hrefna,” Faolan grumbled.

“Not yet, we didn’t. Elfrad Audunarson had a farm in Norway then, and we moved there so our sister could care for us. We had only lived there for a short time when Alrik got in a fight with a boy from a neighboring farm. Dagrun tried to break up the fight, and Alrik hit her. That is how she lost her tooth.”

“Oh,” Faolan breathed.

“Mind you, Alrik loved our sister more than anyone in the world. She saved our lives when we were very young. He would have given his own life to protect her. And yet he hit her so hard she lost a tooth. Elfrad sent us away that very afternoon, and Alrik hasn’t been permitted to see Dagrun since.” Ulfrik looked searchingly at the boy beside him. “Is that what you want to become, Faolan? A man who hurts the people he loves the most?”

“But I didn’t mean to hurt her—”

“That matters little. I know Alrik didn’t mean to hurt Dagrun. I know he didn’t mean to nearly kill
you
the day your mother tried to leave him. Yet he did. The truth remains, you will end up like your father if you do not learn to control yourself. Or even worse.”

Faolan pouted in silence for quite some time. “What would you have me do?”

“I will tell you something I’ve never told anyone before.” The boy glanced up to meet his gaze, and Ulfrik stared intently at Alrik’s child. “The darkness that dwells inside your father, and inside you, is inside me as well. I must control it at all times. It is not an easy task, and it will not be easy for you, either. But it can be done.”

“You are a berserker?” Faolan whispered, a look of awe on his face.

“Yes,” Ulfrik replied. “I do not carry the mark of the wolf as you do. But it paces inside me, nevertheless, craving nothing more than to be released. There are times it claws me to shreds to get out. You must decide, Faolan—will you control the wolf, or will you let it control you?”