Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (47 page)

He started for the cart, then turned, a grin on his face. “I almost forgot! One final thing, Brandr Óttarrson. You are to name your firstborn son after me.”

Brandr blinked. “Was that part of your vision, elder?”

“Nei. It is but an old man’s vanity.”

Brandr gave a bark of laughter. “It shall be done!”

Then his brothers and Sindre were talking all at once, and laughing, and pounding his shoulders and slapping his back, and helping themselves, despite his gritted teeth, to unsolicited kisses from Lissa, though they wisely kept them brotherly.

The godi’s aids helped him into the cart and soon his little procession had rolled out the gate to the road leading back to his home in Weala Tun.

From the corner of his eye, Brandr watched his father turn, head high and spine straight, Elsef at his side, and walk away into the darkness. The regret he felt at that moment was overshadowed by the joy in Lissa’s eyes, and soon forgotten in familial warmth and the well wishes of many friends.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The following morn in Sindre’s house, the fortieth since leaving Yriclea, after breaking their fast with
smorrebrod
and sour milk, Brandr and his brothers held a private, familial
thing
of their own. Several of the leading townswomen had arrived early to take Siv and Lissa to enjoy the baths, and be introduced to the other women. Sindre, Turold, Oswulf and Bryda had gone to the harbor, taking Alwin with them. The youngling had expressed a desire to see the great dragon ships up close, and Sindre wished to show off his new son.

Karl, comfortably installed in a well-padded chair, his leg stretched before him, officiated their council. “Now that you leave in proper honor, Bjarki, with the blessing of Thorr and the godi, there are many preparations to make. Is it still your intent to breed warhorses?”

“Já, Vard, that goal has not changed.”

“Gríss, do you and Uncle still determine to go with him?”

Hakon nodded. “We do.”

“It is good.” He turned to Rathulf. “Thegjandi, you will take responsibility to oversee the preparation of supplies.” His gaze switched to Brandr. “Have you yet a specific destination in mind, Bjarki, a place where you would wish to settle? Or will you simply walk until you find it?”

Brandr dropped his eyes, letting go his outer focus as he searched his heart. He already knew his answer, but wished to confirm the sure sense of direction that had come to him in the night. The others waited, silent.

The answer remained the same. He blinked and looked round at them all, meeting each gaze. “West. Toward Mierce. A walk of some seven days, and we must leave on the third day from now. That is all I know.”

“Hmmm. Father will try to usurp your right to the Hauss, since you will not be here to command it.”

“Then I will swear before witnesses I have given you right to command it in my stead. You have done so before.”

“Já, that is wise.” He grinned. “You realize you will now owe Father for dock and harbor fees?”

Brandr’s brow rose.

“Worry not, Bjarki. I will pay them for you, until such time you can manage the cost.” He stroked his beard. “Seven days. That would be at least ten days with wagons, more if it rains. Thegjandi, they will need food animals, foodstuffs enough to last two months, and supplies and tools for building and farming. In my name, assign a thrall to insure Siv, Lissa and the other Saxons are allotted clothing suitable to their stations. Snurre,” he said to Nicolaus, “They will also have need of skilled laborers. I place you in charge of this. Ask for volunteers to accompany them. Above all, they will need a smith and a carpenter. The apprentices to both are well trained. Perhaps they would be willing to accept the challenge. Gríss, you will command the thralls who pack their belongings.” He grinned at Brandr. “Your responsibility, Bjarki, will be to keep your woman happy. That should keep you busy enough for the next few days.”

Guffaws circled the room.

Karl raised a hand. His deep blue eyes fixed on Brandr. “There is one last thing.”

“The wedding.”

“Já. What are your thoughts on this matter?”

“We will not wed here. Our parents shame Lissa with their behavior. They openly despise her, and though she has said naught, I am aware she feels deeply their disapproval and aversion. Also, we wish to blend Danski and Saxon traditions in the ceremony, and there is no priest of her people nearby.”

“It was my thought you would make this decision. I wish it were otherwise, but I cannot fault your reasoning.” A droll light appeared in his eyes. “For that reason, I have decided I will accompany you to your new home, long enough to see you married and settled. Thegjandi may do as he wishes, but I, for one, would not miss this wedding for any amount of silver.”

Rathulf whooped his approval.

Brandr’s heart leapt, for he had not dared to hope to have all his brothers present when he wed Lissa. “Vard! Brother, I am pleased, and honored. Though,” and he sobered, “Father will not be.”

“He has no need of us here at this time. It will not cause him injury to bestir himself to oversee the summer harvest, and he has already said he has no plans to send us í-víking. We will return before winter.”

∞∞§∞∞

So it was settled.

The next two days saw them embroiled in ordered but hectic activity. Brandr worried Lissa had little to do, but she willingly spent much time with the women. This pleased him, for though some aspects of the women’s lives were very similar, they also had many differences, and he wished her to learn their ways.

She had come to him last eve, quite excited about an exchange of sewing stitches. Also, one of the finest of the Ljotness weavers, a Saxon thrall named Tofa, had begun to teach her the rudiments of weaving. Tofa’s husband, also a thrall, was a master carpenter, which set Brandr to thinking. He took his notion to Karl, who promised to consider it.

His father said naught to anyone of his thoughts. He went as usual about his daily tasks, but his expression remained dark and closed, and what words he spoke were curt.

Of Elsef, Brandr saw even less. She took herself from the room when he brought Lissa to spend time with baby Signe, and at meals, both she and his father had little to say, and naught at all to him or Hakon.

He ordered all his belongings removed from the house to the home of Sindre.

On the day before their departure, after the noontide, he took Lissa for a walk along the harbor beach. The tide was out, and sandpipers sought meals among the wet sand and the tide pools, while sand martins and seagulls winged overhead. Above them, the sky was bright and clear, and a gentle sea breeze stirred their clothes. Brandr kept his eye on the dark clouds that crowded the horizon. They had hovered there, menacing, since the night the sign was given, but came no closer. It was as if Thorr merely wished to remind them all he was the authority behind the preparations.

Lissa raised a hand to push a strand of golden hair out of her eyes. Regret edged her tones. “Brandr, I am sorry you must leave your home because of me.”

He bit back an aggravated retort. He was aware guilt plagued her, but had hoped she would not yield to a situation not of her making. This was the first time she had mentioned it. He squared his shoulders, intending to deal with it, for once and for all.

He stopped and turned her to face him, with her back to the slopes of the cliffs. “Hear me, woman! Did I not say to you Father makes his own trouble? I will not have you burden yourself with blame that is not yours.”

Her little face scrunched into a grimace. “Can you deny that naught of this,” she waved her hand in a sweeping gesture toward the frenetic activity in the town, “would have happened, had I not come here with you, or if you had chosen to keep me as thrall and marry a wealthy woman as your parents wished?”

The question gave him pause, for her observation was astute. Had he not met her, or at least, not fallen in love with her, it was probable he would have, after a token protest at being left out of the negotiations, agreed to marry Abi Bergthorson’s daughter, Thyri. He had met the girl. She was beautiful, healthy and knowledgeable of her role in life. Her father was a powerful jarl and she came with a substantial dowry. It did not hurt she was also a likeable and biddable girl. She was eminently suitable as wife to an heir and future jarl, like Karl, and thus, much more so to a second son. He could do far worse and knew it, and regretted that the actions of their respective fathers brought embarrassment upon her. Mercifully for them all, Thorr’s interference wiped away the stain of any possible insult against her. Thyri would have no trouble finding another suitor, one more suitable than he.

Nei, had his lítill blóm not conquered his heart, he would have settled down with his parent’s choice and become naught more than a ship’s captain.

“I do not deny your words,” he said, “but Lissa, does it not ease your heart Thorr himself approves our marriage?”

She looked at him askance. “I suppose it does appear so.”

“But?”

“I am a Christian, Brandr. I do not think I believe in your gods, though my lady believed there were many things beyond our knowledge.” She sighed. “I wish I could seek her thoughts on this.”

He took her hands in his. “My people believe the moment of every person’s birth, and their death, is decided beforehand by the Nornar, the three women of destiny. Once those moments are decided, they cannot be changed, not even by the gods. Because this is so, it is foolish to concern oneself about death, because no one will die before the appointed time.

“In much the same way, I believe important events of our lives may also be ordered, as the gods see fit. It is clear to me Thorr has appointed our union, and the godi confirms this. Thus, it is equally foolish to feel aught but pleasure, and perhaps wonder, that we have been so chosen. It is a great honor, lítill blóm. Father and Mother understand this, and they will accept it, though they will not choose to like it. So again I say, take not upon yourself this burden of guilt, for it is misplaced. We are
meant
to be together, we are
meant
to leave Ljotness and make our way to the land of Mierce. It is destined, lítill blóm!” He grinned, and gently lifted her chin with a finger. He held her gaze. “One cannot fight destiny, after all!”

He waited as she searched his eyes for the truth he believed. Finally, she nodded. “Your words have much merit, my love. I will think on them, and try to see them as would my lady, and I will do as you say and set aside remorse.” Her gaze abruptly left his to focus on the open sea. Her eyes widened in an expression of astonishment. “Look!”

He whirled, wondering what enemy had crept upon them unaware. Then he saw it, too.

“See you!” Lissa cried. “That line of dark clouds on the horizon is receding. See how quickly it goes!”

Together they watched as within the space of a few long breaths, the ominous line broke apart and dispersed. That the men working at the boats were aware of it was clear by their shouts and the way they pointed at the skyline. Some turned to stare at them, wonder in their faces.

He laughed. In a very short time, the whole town would know of this newest strange event. “Did I not tell you, Lissa! As soon as you accepted the authority of Thorr in this matter, he laid aside his hammer. Now he goes to rest before he prepares to hallow our wedding!”

She gasped, and gave a startled squeak when he put his hands to her waist, lifted her high and swung her round and round, grinning at her all the while.

“Brandr, put me down!” Laughter limned her tones. “I grow dizzy.”

He did, but he caught her to him, trapping her lower limbs between his own, and kissed her until her face was a mask of flagrant pleasure, her eyes were golden smoke and her body was utterly responsive to his touch. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, swollen from his kiss.

A tiny, languid smile tugged at the corners of her mourh. She cradled his face in her hands and pulled him down, her lips to his.

He forgot about plans, portents, preparations and everything else but the sweet igniting of love for the woman in his arms.

∞∞§∞∞

The long, sonorous notes of the town’s blowing horn sounded the next morn to signal the gathering of the people to send their friends and kinsmen on their journey. The sun had not yet cleared the horizon. There was much laughter, much back pounding among the men and hugs among the womenfolk, and a great deal of organized confusion. Lissa surveyed the gaiety with a bemused air. The entire village had turned out to see them off, all except the jarl. Elsef was present, standing off to one side, a small basket of woven reed on her arm.

Baby Signe, watched by the nurse, ran circles around her mother, her tiny legs pumping as fast as she could go. The circles got tighter and tighter until she suddenly stumbled, staggered and would have fallen had the nurse not snatched her up. She laughed, clapping her hands as she wove back and forth, clearly dizzy, in the thrall’s arms.

All was in readiness. Brandr, Karl, Hakon and Nicolaus stood beside their mounts, waiting for Karl to issue final instructions to the warrior who would command his men while he was gone. Of the brothers, only Rathulf chose to walk. Like Sindre, he disliked horses, and preferred to take himself about on his own two feet. Everyone else would walk, as well, though a place had been made for Bryda in the lead wagon, should she need it, as comfortable as could be devised in the ungainly conveyance.

Lissa had been surprised at the final count—twenty-four—of those who chose to accompany them. Two graybeards had joined their quest, one of them the experienced smith. The rest were young, and seized with the sense of adventure promised by a new life in a far off place. It greatly pleased her that also among them were Horik, the master carpenter, her new friend Tofa, and their young son. At Karl’s request, their owner had set them free and given his blessing to their new life—along with a generously filled bag of silver. Along with Alwin, two other children were numbered with the company.