Daughter of Fire and Ice (4 page)

‘You knew,’ he said quietly. ‘Didn’t you? You knew that I was going to kill him. You described it before it happened.’

I swallowed painfully. My mouth and throat were parched and sore.

‘I didn’t know it was you,’ I whispered. ‘But I saw his death, yes.’

‘I have heard of such things,’ he said. He stood up and went to where the saddle lay upon the ground next to Svanson. He untied the saddlebag that was fastened there and rifled through it. My own bag was in there, and he put it aside for me. He found bread and cheese and a flask of some strong drink. There were also two purses full of heavy coins. He weighed them in his hand, and put one into my bag. I said nothing. I felt nothing. I was numb with exhaustion and shock. I watched him tie the other purse around his neck.

‘You take the horse,’ he said. ‘I must go. Before I’m seen.’

‘Wait!’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t you know that his kin will hunt you down? How will you escape them?’

I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to be left alone with Svanson’s body.

‘I think they are going to have their hands full with the king’s army for some time to come,’ replied the slave drily. ‘They won’t have time to trouble themselves over me.’

‘You know the army are coming then?’ I asked.

‘I heard about it when Svanson did.’ The slave hesitated a moment and then he turned back and offered me his hand to pull me to my feet. It was still stained with blood, but I took it. And it happened again. The vision was not so blindingly vivid this time. But there was no mistaking it.

The slave standing in the prow of a magnificent ship, his dark hair streaming back from his sun-weathered face. He’s looking eagerly ahead at a wide, empty bay. A place unlike anywhere I’ve ever seen before. I’m standing beside him.

‘Do you do this all the time?’ I heard the man ask me. His voice sounded distant. ‘It must be very disconcerting for your kin.’

Now I remember your face. I’ve seen it before, but only in my visions. This is the face that’s bound up in my own future.

I released his hand, and reeled back from him, gasping. Sitting down in the grass, I put my head in my hands, sick and dizzy. I was shaking uncontrollably. My fate was tied up with that of a slave? It wasn’t what I’d expected, but I didn’t doubt it for a second.

The slave was standing watching me. I took a breath and gathered my scattered wits.

‘I’m exhausted and fasting,’ I told him. ‘It makes the future clearer. I saw us sailing together in Svanson’s ship. It’s our destiny to … ’

‘I don’t believe in your Viking destiny,’ interrupted the man angrily. ‘How can my sister have been destined to die? I was just a child when my family were captured. How can we have been destined for slavery? What would be the point of living?’

I shook my head silently, unable to answer this. ‘Perhaps it’s all been leading to this moment,’ I said at last, my voice barely above a whisper.

‘Why do you care?’ the man asked, unexpectedly.

I hesitated. How could I speak to him of the many times I had seen his face before? It would be throwing aside every rule of my world. Free women didn’t aid and abet slaves to escape, and they certainly didn’t accompany them.

‘You’ve spared me from a terrible fate,’ I said at last. ‘And I saw us. In the prow of Svanson’s ship. You were wearing his clothes and sword,’ I added.

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on for ever.

The man broke it at last.

‘You’re covered in blood,’ he said. ‘You have a cut on your forehead and it’s bled all over your face and hair.’

He picked up Svanson’s flask, shook some liquid onto his hand and knelt down beside me. He rubbed a little of the spirit onto my face. It stung as it reached my cut, but his touch was gentle as he wiped away the worst of the blood.

‘That’ll do until we find some water,’ he said. He smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back. He took a deep draught of the liquor and shuddered, then passed it to me. I took a mouthful, and it burned my dry throat unpleasantly.

The sound of footsteps approaching startled us both. We jumped to our feet, fear quickening our senses. I was painfully aware of Svanson’s body just a few feet away. We had lingered far too long. Now we would be caught red-handed. Literally. The slave pulled his knife out and moved in front of me, hiding me from view. It was an instinctive movement; an impulse to protect me.

But the man who ran into view, staggering, and as bruised and blood-stained as we were, was my father, and he was alone. With a cry of joy and relief, I pushed past the slave and ran to him, flinging my arms around him. There were tears pouring down my face as I hugged him, and I could hear him muttering in my ear, ‘Oh thank the gods! Thora, you are safe!’

Then his eyes alighted on Svanson’s dead body and he released me with a cry of shock. ‘What happened?’ he demanded, fear in his face.

‘Svanson was trying to kill this man,’ I said quickly. ‘He was defending himself.’

My father was grey with pain and exhaustion and had a huge lump on the back of his head, his hair matted with blood where the club had struck him. I reached for my bag to tend him, but he waved me away.

‘For Odin’s sake, dispose of this body!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’ll be sentenced to death for murder. The army are approaching; I ran from them all the way here. We’re trapped on this path. It only leads down into the fjord.’

‘Trapped?’ echoed the slave.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Svanson’s ship is down there. We can flee by sea. Father, I’ve had a glimpse of the future. I’ve seen it.’

‘Steal Svanson’s ship?’ uttered my father, blankly.

‘The ship is the only escape.’ I spoke decisively, knowing I was right.

Distantly, carried on the wind, the sound of many feet marching reached my ears. The others heard it too. My father wiped his hand down over his face. It was obvious that only his will was keeping him going.

‘Thora, I’ve failed you once already. For Odin’s sake, do as the sight told you,’ my father urged. ‘Your visions always lead you right.’ He put his arms around me and hugged me.

‘You’re not coming with us?’ I cried, horrified. I clung to my father’s arm and looked up at him imploringly.

‘No!’ said my father. ‘We can’t ride three. You’ll stand more chance without me.’ He saw my distress and clasped my hands. ‘Don’t fret, Thora,’ he begged me. ‘I know how to hide in the trees. I’ll be safe. Your mother and Sigurd need me.’

My father turned to the slave. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ he asked. ‘You’re Hoskuld’s storyteller. I’ve heard you speak and recite poetry more than once. Are you man enough to look after my daughter and win your freedom?’ he asked him, a trace of his fierce, proud self returning to his voice. ‘It’s a sacred trust.’

The slave bowed slightly, acknowledging that he knew my father.

‘I will protect her with my life,’ he said. He turned to me. ‘Though I don’t even know your name,’ he said, the faintest of smiles disturbing the solemnity of his manner.

‘I’m Thora Asgrimsdottir,’ I told him. ‘And you?’

The man looked at us both in silence, and then gave a short, rueful laugh.

‘It seems that I am Bjorn Svanson,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s dispose of that dead slave.’

My father and I swiftly put Svanson’s body into the slave’s bloodstained clothes, weighted it with a rock and threw it over the cliff, as he had threatened to do to us. The distant splash as it hit the water far below us made me feel sick.

The new Bjorn pulled fresh clothes from the saddlebags and dragged them on. The tunic was too long, it looked like a woman’s. As I picked up Svanson’s sword to pass it to him, I paused, recognizing it. I withdrew it a short way from its scabbard and ran my finger along the engravings on the blade. My father saw and gasped with recognition.

‘Foe Biter,’ he said, reaching for it.

‘That’s a fine sword,’ said Bjorn, suddenly interested. He leant forward to look more closely. ‘That’s not homemade iron. That’s traded steel. It must be worth a fortune.’

My father took the sword, touched it lovingly and then pushed it back into the scabbard. ‘Foe Biter was my sword,’ he said. ‘My most precious possession. Svanson took it from me.’ He held the sword a moment longer and then held it out to Bjorn. ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘I’m an old man and have no more use for such a weapon. I can no longer wield it with honour. Use it well, and defend my daughter. She is more precious to me than life itself.’

Bjorn took the sword almost reverently, buckling it to his waist. Then he clasped my father’s hand. ‘I swear to you, I will honour your trust,’ he said.

We could hear the sound of marching clearly now and my father shifted uneasily.

‘You must hurry, my children,’ he said. ‘May the blessings of Thor and Odin go with you. Thora, send me word if and when you can.’

I embraced my father, and found I couldn’t let go. I was clutching at him with all my strength. My healer’s training had taught me to conceal emotions, but that was all forgotten now. Tears ran unheeded from my eyes.

‘I can’t leave you, dear father,’ I sobbed. ‘Please, don’t ask me to.’

‘You must, Thora,’ said my father sternly. ‘You must survive. Go.’

When I still didn’t move, he spoke to the slave.

‘Take her with you now whether she will or not.’

I felt the man’s hand gentle on my shoulder but shrugged him away. ‘Leave me alone,’ I told him, and I sensed him backing off, giving me the moment alone with my father that I so desperately wanted.

‘I’ll go,’ I wept. ‘But father! Tell mother and Sigurd that I love them. And take this purse,’ I said, pressing it into his hand. ‘We found it in Svanson’s saddlebags. It’ll help you restore the farm. And one more thing,’ I lowered my voice to a shaky whisper, struggling to master my emotions. ‘This man, he is the face I have seen in my visions. This is meant to be.’

My father pulled back and looked into my face. A look of relief came over him. ‘Thank Thor,’ he said. ‘I’ve only ever heard good of him. And we have no choice but to trust him.’

My father led me to the new Bjorn, who’d caught the horse. He swung himself onto it, riding bareback. My father hugged me and kissed me one last time and then lifted me up behind him. Bjorn took my hands and drew my arms around his waist.

‘Hold on tight, Thora,’ he said, clasping my hands comfortingly with one of his.

‘Go swiftly,’ my father said and slapped the horse on the hindquarters. It took off along the path, leaving my father standing there alone, looking after us. I prayed he would escape the army safely. I leaned my face against Bjorn’s back and wept as we rode away. I felt as though my heart was breaking.

The path wound along the top of the cliff and then descended into the fjord. The horse was swift and sure-footed, but struggled to carry both of us, puffing and blowing as he cantered down the slope. Once, we paused briefly by a stream, to drink and to help one another wash the blood properly from our hands and faces. Bjorn was gentle with me. I could sense his deep sympathy although he said very little. The sun had set now and the long hours of daylight were fading from the night sky.

When we reached the bottom of the cliff, Bjorn reined in again. The shore was narrow and barren, a jumble of huge rocks and pebbles, where rough grass and a few pine trees had a precarious hold. Bjorn looked up and down the fjord.

‘This way,’ he said, turning left. ‘There’s a track along the shore, with animal droppings and hoof prints.’

I nodded, and shifted my position on the horse a little. I hurt everywhere and I was exhausted. It had been the hardest day of my life and I knew it wasn’t over yet. Around the next corner, we stopped abruptly.

‘Voices,’ I whispered. ‘And the bleating of lambs. They sound close.’ Our plan felt real now, and fear came flooding back.

I slid painfully off the horse and crept forward softly. There were two huge ships at anchor in the fjord before us. They were an awe-inspiring sight in the dim light. I’d heard tales of ships, but had never seen one before. They lay low and graceful in the calm, black water, the elegant sweep of their sides rearing into a fearsome figurehead at the prow. They looked like sea monsters. There were animals and people on board, and it was their voices we’d heard.

‘One cargo ship, one raiding boat,’ Bjorn murmured. ‘We’d have to steal both. If we left one, they could use it to pursue us.’

I looked at him, dismayed. ‘Steal two?’ I whispered. ‘But how will we manage that?’

‘I hoped you could tell me that,’ said Bjorn grimly.

My eyesight wasn’t as good as most people’s but I could see the glow of the fire further along the shore and the men sleeping around it.

‘If those are Svanson’s men,’ I said, pointing at them, ‘they’ll be dead drunk. They always are by this time of day.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ Bjorn asked.

‘The small boat there,’ I said, pointing to the rowing boat that lay beached on the shingle. ‘Can’t we just take it and row out to the ships?’

‘It couldn’t possibly be that simple,’ said Bjorn, shaking his head. ‘How do we do that without being challenged?’

‘I’m not sure they’ll even wake up,’ I said, looking at the sleeping men. One was snoring, I could hear him from where we stood.

‘Can’t you seek some more guidance from your gift of sight?’ Bjorn asked.

I shook my head. ‘It never comes when bidden,’ I told him.

He held out his hands to me anyway. I took them in mine, and closed my eyes, trying to reach that state of calm in which visions sometimes came to me. I could feel the roughness of his work-callused palms in my own, and the energy flowing between us, but I could see nothing of the future. I released him, shaking my head. My distress was still strong in me, clouding everything else.

‘But earlier, you saw something, you said,’ Bjorn asked. ‘What did you see?’

‘We were on board a ship,’ I told him, remembering. I pointed at the larger of the two ships at anchor. ‘That one. We were sailing into a wide bay. Mountains on one side, hills on the other. No place I’ve ever seen with my waking eyes. The sea was a luminous, clear green, and there were seabirds.’