Water swirled around like milk in a churn. They
rolled helplessly, caught in the crushing circular wash
that hollowed away the riverbed and, over the life
times of thousands of men, formed the fall. It was a pitiless force, not to be gainsaid by rock or tree or the
strength of so puny a thing as a man.
Bjorn sank, his sodden clothing and the burden in
his arms pulling him down. He recognized the lethargy stealing over him, draining his limbs of strength and
his mind of the will to continue the struggle. This was
the point in his nightmare where he gave up and let the water take him.
Let go, a whisper urged. Accept your fate.
It all felt
too hauntingly familiar. It was the last respite before
the gaping jaws of Jormungand flashed from the dark
ness to rend him. But this time he wasn’t alone. Rika
was in the path of the monster as well.
No.
If he were bound for Hel, he would go down
fighting, not drifting aimlessly in the deep like a piece of flotsam. A rush of determination surged through
him. He pushed off the bottom. Bjorn scissored his legs
and clawed upward with one arm slicing through the
water and the other tight around Rika’s waist.
When he reached the surface, he dragged air
into his lungs with a rasping gasp. He rolled onto his
back, pulling Rika’s body on top of his. With her head
resting on his chest, he sucked in another lungful of air, the heady draught sending strength back to his arms and legs.
The current took them again, gently this time, but Rika didn’t stir. Since they were near a
small island in midstream Bjorn flailed toward it. His
feet found the rocky bottom, and he struggled to stand. Cradling Rika in his arms, he staggered to shore.
He laid her down on the long grass. Her skin was
white, like the fine alabaster he’d seen in Miklagard
long ago, and her eyes were open, but she didn’t see.
Panting, Bjorn watched her chest, praying for some sign of movement. Nothing.
“Rika, no!” he shouted. His father had revived a drowned comrade once. What had he done? Bjorn tried to remember. He shook her, then pressed hard against her breastbone.
“Breathe,” he ordered.
He covered her mouth with his, willing her to rouse
to life. Her chest rose and sank. Then nothing. He
filled her lungs with his own breath again, but she was
completely still.
“No, not like this.” His was voice edged with panic. “
No, no, no!” With each chanted denial, he pressed
down on her chest. “Come, Rika, cheat the water with me.”
He fitted his mouth to hers again, to force his breath
into her. Her lips were warm yet, but Bjorn sensed he
was losing the battle with the death-dealing
Norns
.
“No!”
He balled his hand into a fist and brought it
down hard in the middle of her chest. Her body bucked with the force of the blow.
Then her eyelids fluttered. She closed her eyes and
Bjorn could see movement under the thin skin as her
eyeballs rolled in their sockets. Rika coughed and made a choking noise. Relief flooding him,
Bjorn turned her onto her side and pounded her back
as she expelled the water from her lungs.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Get it all out.”
When she finished, she rolled onto her back, gasping.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked.
“I hurt everywhere." She flexed her muscles, showing him that her limbs all still worked.
Bjorn ran his hands over her arms and legs. Then he
slid a hand up under her tunic to run his fingertips
over her ribcage, feeling the curved bones beneath her
smooth skin.
“Nothing broken,” he said. “Nothing I can feel, anyway.”
She placed a shaking hand on his chest. “Bjorn, you can’t swim.”
One side of his mouth turned up. “I think maybe I can now."
“You ... you went into Aeifor after me.”
Bjorn stretched out beside her and leaned on an elbow.
He cupped one of her cheeks in his palm. A bruise was already beginning to form on the soft flesh. “I saw my heart going down the river. My body had to follow.”
“Oh.” Her mouth gaped a
little
and her
chest heaved. “Love me, Bjorn.”
“I do,” he said, kissing her softly, and then pulling
back to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.
“No, I mean
love
me. Right now.” She grasped his
shoulders with both hands. “I’m begging you.”
“Rika, the river has pounded you so, I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said.
“I don’t care if it hurts.” She pulled his head down
and kissed him hard. “I want to live, Bjorn. I want to feel, pleasure or pain, I don’t care. I want to feel . . . everything.”
Rika pressed her mouth to his neck, tasting his skin,
salty and warm. Beneath her lips, she felt his pulse quicken. “Please. Show me how to love you.”
He gathered her in his arms and she melted into his
embrace. His hands slid over her skin, not clinically
this time, not looking for broken bones, but languidly,
trailing his broad fingers over the charged surface,
sending shivers over her. She mirrored his movements,
lightly tracing circles across his shoulders and then
down his chest. She loved the feel of him, hard and hot
under her probing fingers.
He found her mouth and poured himself into the kiss
while his fingers worked the catches on her brooches. She helped slide off her kyrtle and pull her sodden tunic up, grudgingly releasing his mouth for the
brief time it took to yank the fabric over her head.
Warm and strong, his hands molded to
her bare breasts, kneading and caressing. A sunburst of sensation flooded through her, heating her blood,
and sending it singing through her veins. Low in her
belly, a small throbbing began, just the hint of an ache.
She tugged at his leggings and slid them down his
hard thighs. He was ready, but when she touched him,
he shuddered and pulled her hand away.
“Not yet.” His voice was husky as he struggled for control.
He rolled her down onto the grass. It was cool and
soft against her skin, the long blades tickling at her.
She raised her arms over her head, as he began an ex
ploration with his mouth, down the side of her neck,
grazing her collar bone, and plundering her breasts.
She arched her back, thrusting the swollen tips to
ward him. Could he feel her surrender? She was his,
totally and completely. Whatever he wanted from her was his to take. If he asked for her soul, she’d rip it out
and hand it to him without a qualm.
But when he raised his head to meet her eyes, Rika
could see that Bjorn was not intent on taking. His
dark eyes glowed at her, his smile radiated love. From
every pore, from every finger-width of his skin, he
wanted to give.
S
o he did. Waves of pleasure washed over her
under the skilled art of his hands and mouth. He found and teased every tender spot, nuzzling her
navel, running his tongue over the soft creases of her
knees and elbows, exploring the dip of her back. As
adroitly as he ever guided his longship through a
storm, he led Rika through troughs and peaks of ex
quisite torment.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked between
gasps when his teeth grazed her nipple.
“Time enough for that later,” he said hoarsely. “This time is for you.” His mouth moved down to the red crescent of curling hair between her legs.
She writhed under his lips. Moaned his name. Clutched at his shoulders to pull him close. Her world
spiraled down to disjointed elements. Hot. Slick. Need.
When he finally relented and entered her, she felt
like a safe harbor, rejoicing as he slid in, welcoming him home at long last.
He bit his lip, straining to hold back, but she urged him on, and he thrust in, shredding her. Pain exploded in her mind. She didn't care.
He was hot and hard and strong. The wonder of
holding him inside her was too much bliss for her to
contain and she cried out at the joy of it.
They joined hands, fingers entwined as their bodies
moved together, heart on heart, skin on skin. Slowly at first, then with gathering urgency, they surged into
each other, like two turbulent rivers meeting at a wild fork, colliding and bruising, straining to become one.
The line between pleasure and pain blurred, but all that mattered was the need.
Rika had no memory of cresting Aeifor’s falls, but
Bjorn felt the eerie sensation of time repeating itself as
they hovered at the edge, and then plunged together in spasms of ecstasy. All sense of themselves burned away in a blast of fiery rending, their spirits shattered and stripped away.
When it was over, one shining new being shivered between them. The soul they now shared.
The warm sunlight teased Rika’s eyes open. Something
heavy pinned her to the ground. It took her a moment to realize that it was Bjorn. Before sinking into ex
hausted oblivion, he’d hooked a leg over her thigh and
draped one long arm across her chest. His hand still cradled one of her breasts, claiming it possessively.
Her nipple hardened in response to the nearness of his
fingers.
Every joint in her body felt loose, as though she’d
been stretched out on a Frankish rack. The bruise on her cheek ached and when she put a tentative hand to it, she winced. The tender skin was pulled taut. No
doubt when she tried to move, she’d find other hurts,
but for now it didn’t matter.
She was alive.
And more joyously alive than she’d ever been in her entire life. Feeling anything at all was a gift beyond
measure. She’d not complain over a few aches.
Rika eased herself away from Bjorn, taking care not to wake him. She gingerly walked down to the water’s
edge and waded into the shallow eddy. The water was
deliciously cool. She slid in up to her chin and let the river caress her.
A songbird trilled overhead, his mating call both
piercing and sweet. The air around her was alive with the fresh scent of growing greenery.
How was it she’d never really paid attention to her
senses before? Too wrapped up in stories and sagas, in
the lives of gods and heroes, she supposed, to actually
get involved with the real business of living.
No matter what happened now, she’d remember this
day till she died. It was the day she came fully to life.
Please, gods, help me to remember it through the troubled times ahead.
“Ho there, elf-maiden,” Bjorn called to her.
She turned lazily in the water to see him sitting up, grinning at her. She ached to plant a kiss on that dev
astating dimple in his cheek. Her heart skipped like a
spring lamb.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Now that he mentioned it, the juices in her stomach
began to swirl. “
Ja.”
S
he rose dripping from
the water, delighting in the sun kissing her bare skin.
His eyes darkened as she walked toward him.
He wanted her again. A surge of joy flooded through her as she knelt to kiss him. Perhaps he’d show her
how to love him this time. Was it possible for her to
give him delight with her mouth as he’d given her? An
ocean of possibilities, a saga of epic proportions, delicious ways of loving this man surged in her imagina
tion. She felt slightly light-headed. Rika slid her hands
over his chest, feather-light across the deep purpling
bruise on his shoulder, and then down to rake her nails
across his flat belly. She loved the feel of his skin,
smooth and warm with the hardened muscles just be
neath the surface.
“Food first, my love.” He snatched up her hand and
pressed a kiss into her palm. “We need to keep up our
strength.
I’ll
set a snare, but for now, we’ll make do
with a bit of foraging.”
He stood and stretched, his naked body glorious in
the full sun, though Rika noted the mottled bruising on
his legs and arms. Large indigo splotches marred one
shoulder. The wild ride down Aeifor had branded
him across the broad spread of his back. She knew by
the ache of her skin that she was similarly marked.