Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (48 page)

A silence fell, catching her attention.

Brandr raised his voice. “It is time!”

He handed the reins of his horse to Alwin, who bounced with excitement.

Together with his brothers, he strode to fare well his sister and mother. He caught Signe up, lifted her high and pretended to drop her. She screamed with laughter. He hugged her fiercely, kissed her cheek and passed her to Nicolaus. He turned to his mother, hugged her and kissed her cheek as well, and accepted from her a token. One by one, his brothers did the same. She had a quiet word for each of them, even Hakon and Brandr, and for the first time, a hint of emotion touched her face.

Saint’s bones! She does love her sons!

The realization stunned Lissa, but flooded her with joy. She hoped Elsef’s sons knew it.

Then her eyes widened as Elsef turned to fix a steady gaze upon her, but this time, while there was no warmth in her look, neither was the earlier hostility present. She held her gaze, as if she sought to speak without words.

In a flash of intuition, she knew what Elsef asked: a mother’s plea to a new daughter-by-law to take care of her son. She softened her expression and offered a barely discernable nod.

Elsef’s eyes blazed. She responded in kind, and turned to walk away. In moments, she was lost in the crowd.

“Are you ready, lítill blóm?” Brandr stood before her.

The anticipation of the moment caught up with her and she grinned. “Já, I am ready, my love.”

The words were spoken, perfectly accented, in his tongue.

His eyes widened. He caught her hand and nigh dragged her to his horse. “I want you close! You will ride with me for this first stage of our road.”

So saying, he lifted her up and mounted behind her, urging his horse through the gate to cheers and waves. Behind them trailed the riders, the walkers, the wagons and the herd animals. No one looked back. The final journey homeward was begun.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The trip was more or less a re-tracing of their steps as they roamed westward, though they passed Colneceaster about a day’s jaunt to the north. The good weather held. The children and the wagons held them to a leisurely pace, which was good for Karl, but still they made good time. The third day out there was a minor fracas with an outlaw band, easily repulsed by the warriors among them. Twice in days after, they were challenged by freemen jealous of such a large company crossing their property. When these learned the brothers were the sons of their jarl, Óttarr Grimarson, known throughout the land as powerful and wealthy—and vengeful—they accepted Karl’s word they were only passing through, and withdrew without further provocation.

On the tenth day, Lissa, who spent most of their passage walking and chatting with Tofa, Bryda and Siv, chose to ride for a time behind Brandr. She had noticed he appeared to be sulking, though she doubted any but she or his brothers would notice. Curious, she poked and prodded until she learned why.

“Brandr, you have said we must journey for some seven days, or ten days because of the wagons. Does that mean we draw nigh to our destination?”

“I do not know.”

“This place we go to, will we have to fight for it?”

“I do not know.”

“I pray we do not, though I know Thorr is said to be a warrior god. Such as he would care not if a home must be taken by force from another.”

“A man who cannot hold what is his, loses his right to keep it.”

She was silent for a moment, digesting this. She did not agree, but he had said something similar before. It was a belief of his people, and one she would have to accept. “Your mother loves you.”

“I know.” He swiveled so he could look at her. “That is an strange thing to say. Why do you make mention of it?”

“I was not sure if you knew.”

“Humph.” He swung back around. “She cares for us all, but knows it is not wise to admit such to my father. He would see it as a weakness, and use it against her.”

“He was very wroth when we left. Tofa said it greatly angered him to be forced to give over so much wealth to you. I have heard of thegns who punished their people when they were angry. Is your father one who would do that?”

“Nei. He has no choice but to respect the decree of Thorr and the godi’s instruction. Besides, he has lost but little of his wealth.”

“I do not understand. He owned the Hauss until the godi declared it yours. Sindre told Siv he gave you a fortune in silver and gold, more than enough to buy land and horses. All but two of the thralls who accompany us belonged to him. Hakon says we bring with us nigh a third of the wealth of Ljotness. That is a great deal.”

She thought he would not answer, then, “You must say naught of this, Lissa, to anyone. If it became known, it would shame my father, but you should know. I returned to my father a portion of the gold and silver he gave to me, enough to pay for the supplies we have taken. I did not wish to feel indebted to him. There remains enough for all our needs, and my father is less aggrieved. He did not wish me well, but neither did he curse me. It is enough.”

At his admission, she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, letting her cheek rest against the straight, proud line of his back.

“You are a good man, Brandr Óttarrson. I am honored to be your betrothed.”

She felt the hard muscles of his back relax the slightest bit.

For a time, they rode in silence. Then he said, “You have been much in the company of the women since we left.”

Ah! Now we come to it. He has missed me, but does not wish to admit it.

“I have, yes. Does that displease you?”

“Nei! It is only that I have seen little of you.”

“Then I will spend more time in your company, my love.”

“Mmmph. You may do so, if that is what you wish.” The muscles relaxed a bit more.

She leaned away, but his big hand came around and his palm pressed her to his back once again. “Stay the way you were. I like the feel of your…I like the way you lean against me.”

Sudden awareness of her feminine power thrilled her. She smiled, inhaled the intoxicating aroma of his manly scent, and tucked herself closer.

∞∞§∞∞

That night, they made camp at the heart of a little wooded valley Turold said was two days north and east of the town of Heorutforda, which was on the Saxon side of the River Ligean.

He lay stretched on his back, waiting for…he knew not what. His night had been restless, and mostly sleepless, and his whole being seemed keyed to the need to be up and on his way. Beside him, Lissa was also awake, and just as tense. It was Ótta, the hour before dawn when the night was darkest, but abruptly, he could no longer bear to wait for morn.

“Lissa,” he whispered, “do you feel it, the need to keep going, that our goal lies just beyond the horizon, waiting?”

“Like we must reach it, or reach for it, now? That today is the day? Yes, I feel it. We should rise, and go.”

Her words were barely formed before he was on his feet, pulling her up beside him. The whole company seemed to sense it, because despite the full darkness, they stirred immediately upon his rising. No one spoke, nor made a sound of complaint. As one, they did not wait to break their fast, but gathered their belongings and followed him.

The urge to hurry, to waste no time was upon them. They pushed on, and on.

Brandr could almost hear it calling, just in front of him. Lissa’s grip on his hand tightened and he knew she felt it, too. It touched upon their faces almost as if made of that which was solid. It lured them, enticed them, pulled them on, so that by the time they climbed their way out of the valley and worked their way through the forest at the height, they were as close to running as one could get while still stumbling their way through a dark wood. They burst out of the trees as the sun rose and come to a staggering halt.

Brandr stood on the crest of a lofty hill, his company ranged behind him.

His first thought was that he was glad he had obeyed his instinct and roused them so early from their slumbers. His second was that he could scarcely believe his eyes. He looked out over the bowl of a vast, sweeping vale that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see in every direction. Across from them, a sizable village nestled in orderly fashion against the southwestern flank of a high, wooded escarpment. Farmhouses speckled the landscape. Trees grew everywhere, and their greenery surrounded the stone structure of a church, comfortable within its walls.

Neat lines of stone fences separated fields of ripening grain from green pastures where grazed sheep and fat cattle who greeted the morn with soft, contented lows. Birds wheeled and dove for the sheer joy of being alive, filling the sky with their song. The air was fresh and new as the slow sunrise. A soft wind tickled their hair, tugged at their clothes and brought with it the smell of growing things.

Below them, the eastern foot of the hill still lay in shadow, but the first crystal light of the morn washed across the western slopes and illumined the village beneath skies of rich, unblemished blue. The tolling of the church bell rolled lazily across the valley and up the incline toward them, calling those who would, to worship. The sound called to them, just as surely.

A powerful sense of homecoming, of welcome, of rightness, suffused Brandr. He felt within himself a welling of peace, a relaxing of the tension that had for so long held him in sway.

“It is so beautiful, and looks so peaceful, so welcoming.” Awe limned Lissa’s tones. She suddenly grasped his hand, her beautiful golden-brown eyes wide. He knew her excitement, for it filled him, too. “Brandr, I think this is the place.”

He nodded. “Já. I think you are right.”

“This is it,” Bryda said from behind him. The others had crowded round. A single glance at their faces told him they agreed.

They had found it, this place where they belonged, the home to which they had all been drawn. Their long and arduous journey was finally over.

“Brandr. Look there!” Lissa pointed to the far northern side of the valley, to where a broad stretch of land lay untouched, lush and green, seeming to dream, to wait as if just for them. Her hand trembled within his. “Is it big enough, do you think?”

He had already noted it, and hope had leapt in his heart. It swept in gentle rolls across fully half of the bowl, watered by a pond fed by a wide, tree-lined brook that edged the whole half, and separated it from the rest of the valley.

“Já, it is large enough.” The words came out in a distinctly breathless croak. He pointed diagonally, across to the northwestern section, opposite the village. “There is…there is plenty of room for the settlement against that far section there. See, that deep hollow in the contour of the ridge?”

Behind him rose murmurs of agreement.

In long ages past, a concavity had been gouged in the rise of the slope. Spacious and open, but sheltered by the wooded arms that enclosed it on either side, it unfolded to a wide flat where stables and outbuildings could be situated, with the grassy pastures beyond.

Disbelief softened his tone. “It seems impossible, but it does not appear anyone has claimed it.”

“That is because it waits for you, my son.”

He whipped around, Frækn already in his hand, aware of the sharp sound of other weapons being drawn, and the rustling of cloth as many turned.

“You have no need of your weapons. You are expected, and well come.”

A tall man in the black robes of a monk stood beaming at them. “I have been coming up here,” he said, “to wait for you for many morns, now. I wanted to be the first to greet you when you arrived.” His smile stretched into a grin. “Aye, I know how it must sound, but it is the truth.” His hand lifted and he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the valley. “This is the settlement of Ailwic. You will soon discover that all here eagerly await your arrival. We have known for some time you were coming. The vision said you would bring wealth to the valley and and the village, of which you may all now count yourselves a part.”

Brandr felt Lissa’s soft fingers on his wrist, above Frækn’s hilt. “Put it away, love. He is right. We have no need of it here.”

“My name is Albold,” said the monk. “Erwin—that is, the village priest—had the same dream, that shortly after midsummer, a group of people would come from the east, led by Northmen. They would bring prosperity and protection. In the vision, they will build homes on the north side of the valley.” He moved to stand beside Brandr, who could think of not a single word to say. “I do not live here. My home is Quiet Hills, a small abbey southeast of here, where I am abbot. I am here only to insure the fulfillment of the vision. I am sure you are all travel weary and hungry. If you will follow me, I will take you to meet…,” he smiled, his gaze sweeping them all, “your destiny, which is the will of God.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Half-Month of Hagalaz, the Hunting Moon, called by the Saxons the Month of Hunting with Falcons - Fall - 882

The Valley of Ailwic in Eastseaxe - Danski Mierce in Guthrum’s Kingdom - Angelcynn

The air held a distinct chill in this quiet time of year, when the leaves changed to scarlet and gold and the people of the valley prepared for the coming winter. Lissa, warm in a fur-lined cloak over a light green smokkr topping a dark forest green serk, walked hand in hand with Brandr beneath the maple and oak trees lining the bank of the gently burbling stream.

Brandr glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Are you very sad, lítill blóm?”

She supposed she should be, for this morn, they had said fare wells to dear ones she had grown to love.

“I am, but it is a good sadness, and I would not hold them here longer, when they were so anxious to go.”

“Já. Though why anyone would wish to leave this valley, I cannot fathom.”

She smiled. He looked so handsome in midnight blue trousers and overtunic that matched his eyes. Yet, most pleasing to her was that here, in their valley, he did not feel it necessary to wear his ringshirt and other war gear. Howbeit, he never went anywhere without Frækn, for as Hakon was wont to say, ‘one should never leave home withone one’s weapon, for one can never foresee a fight’.