Undercurrent (19 page)

She pushed up from the unsteady bench just as cheers arose and people scattered. Kids ran toward the food, Kier’s pickpocket son leading the pack. Today’s guests better check their money pouches before leaving. She drifted toward the opposite edge of the yard, where she gained a clear view of a man throwing rocks into the river with one hand, while holding the other clenched at his side. A bloody one. At least now he had his knife sheathed.

Music began as she crossed the length of the yard to the river’s edge. Flower petals hadn’t made it this far, nor did most of the happy chatter. “You all right?”

Alarik said nothing. Not even an acknowledgement. He bent, picked up a few more pebbles, and tossed them into the muddy water one by one.

“
I could be wrong, but I don’t think a wedding ceremony should include self-mutilation even in the dark ages. And I’m pretty sure Anna didn’t plan rock throwing as part of the festivities.”

He cast a sideways glance. “Who can know what you say? You speak nonsense.”

“
You know what I’m talking about.” She reached for his hand, but with a slick coating of blood still fresh on his skin, she pointed instead. “What’s that all about?”

The last of his rocks plunked into the water. His shoulders straightened, and he faced her. “Nothing to concern you.”

So this was his thanks for her show of friendship? “Fine. Be that way. I was only offering to listen.” She held her head high and spun away, his laughter as grating as Tammy’s had ever been.

“
Your temper grows as short as the day’s light, woman.”

She whirled back. “Well, at least I don’t hide my feelings beneath a knife’s blade.”

He stepped toward her, but she wouldn’t back down now.

“
Do not speak to me of feelings. You know nothing of the ways of a man. I doubt you even know yourself. You, woman, are more unsettled than I.”

She snapped her head away, hating the knowing look in his eyes and the way his words burned like acid at the back of her throat. “At least you’re living in your own time. I don’t know why I’m here or how I even got here in the first place. And how do I get home?” She swallowed the rest of her unanswered questions. Why bother?

“
Speak to Ragnar of such things, not me. Mayhap his Jesu would be a comfort to you.”

He couldn’t be serious. She glanced up, but for once, he wasn’t laughing. Solemn lines creased crinkles in his brow. Did this pagan really think she needed religion? “Save your breath. I already know about Jesu.”

“
Ahh, you know about him.” Only one of his brows rose. “But you do not know him as Ragnar does.”

Her melancholy faded. Fast. “What would you know about what I believe?”

He offered half a smile as he shook his head. “What I know is that Ragnar’s faith runs deeper than a fjord and will withstand any storm. I daresay you and I cannot boast such a claim, ja?”

She snorted. Smug, arrogant man. “I grew up in the church. I’m every bit the Christian Ragnar is.”

“
I know naught of such things, but of this I am sure, you are as different from Ragnar as Odin is from Jesu.”

That didn’t even deserve a response—not that one would’ve made it past the anger clogging her throat. She turned so fast her sandal caught the hem of her long skirt and she tripped. A stab shot up from her ankle. Shifting her weight lessened the pain almost immediately, but her emotions would not be so easily righted.

“
Take care, woman.” Alarik’s voice followed after her. “There is one thing you can be certain of. We leave for Rogaland before week’s end.”

Certain? Not really. She straightened her skirt and kept walking. As much as Alarik or Ragnar might think so, they didn’t own her. What if she didn’t want to go?

As the beat of the hylsung increased, Ragnar’s breaths filled one hole then another. He moved the panpipe back and forth against his lower lip. How long had it been since he’d made such happy music? His cramped jaw and aching cheeks answered—too long. Focus now, focus. No time for a wandering mind during this fast tangle. One sour note had already earned him a skewed glance from the fiddler, and the blame could not rightly be cast on his finely carved instrument. Kier’s craftsmanship and time spent on this beauty far exceeded the benches he’d slapped together for the event. Hardly a concern, though, when most guests circled and dipped to the lively rhythm.

At the finish of the set, his lungs heaved as much as the dancers’, but what better way to break an honest sweat? He tapped the pipes against his thigh, releasing excess moisture, then tucked it behind between belt and tunic.

“
I bested ye then, in that one, did I?” The fiddler leaned close, his breath coming through stubby, yellow teeth and smelling of sausage.

“
I knew not ’twas a battle, my friend, but I yield. Your skill on the strings is quite matchless.” His praise elicited a broad smile, showing where the man’s stained teeth ended and barren gums began. “But after a mugful and bite of meat pie, I’ll give it another go if you are willing, ja?”

“
Well met. I will be ready.”

Before sampling again of the man’s horrid breath, Ragnar made haste to the food trestle, until a hand on his shoulder stopped him short.

“
A word, if you please.”

He turned to face Kier. “Indeed.”

“
I…” Kier cleared his throat and looked away.

Ragnar followed his gaze to where Magnus held his bride aloft, spinning her around as she giggled, then set her down and kissed her forehead. Her small palm rested on his cheek, and she turned her adoring face toward his, as though even without sight, he were the most beloved vision she’d ever beheld.

Kier sighed and returned his attention to Ragnar. “Gwenn is happy. Though simple, Magnus is a good man. N’er again will I speak against his character. But there is more I would have you hear.” He gave a sharp nod, inviting Ragnar to follow his lead to the side of a shed where no guests stood.

“
Alarik says you will leave by week’s end. So be it. I wish you well. But tell me what the danger is, for my headstrong young brother admits to none.”

Of course not. Life had ever been a game to Alarik. “Your brother would concede to no danger even if clenched in a dragon’s jaw.” Ragnar smiled at his own word picture, until the teeth snapped shut. He met Kier’s gaze with a solemn one. “There is much danger. Alarik’s life will be in the hands of the lawgiver. I cannot say what will become of him or Rogaland, but I suspect much blood will be shed on both accounts.”

Kier folded his arms and remained silent. The fiddler’s strings carried a warm-up call even to this side of the yard. With nothing more to say, Ragnar stepped away.

“
Ragnar?”

He glanced back.

“
I will not willingly lose my new-found kin. Send for Magnus and me if need be.”

“
Aye.” Ragnar nodded and pulled loose his flute as he went. Would to God he’d have no need of such a summons, but with Torolf to contend with, it just might come to that.

EIGHTEEN

Why had she agreed to this? The question nagged Cassie as relentlessly as the unending rain. Two days ago, when Alarik and Ragnar spoke to her about their upcoming trip, it seemed like a good idea to join them. She’d tried, but she couldn’t think of a solid reason to stay. Magnus and Gwenn didn’t know she existed. Anna eyed her with contempt. Kier practically lived in his workshop, and the thief kid…well, she wouldn’t miss any of them a whole lot. But now, with feet shriveled to prunes in her squishy shoes and shivering even though wearing Ragnar’s cloak over hers, staying in Jorvik seemed the lesser of two evils.

And it was evil for Alarik to expect her to keep up with her ankle not quite a hundred percent. Not to mention he’d strapped a pack of provisions on her back as well. Contrary to what Alarik or Ragnar might think, she hadn’t devoted years to a doctorate to become somebody’s personal pack-mule. She paused and circled her foot, stretching the stiff joint. “Hey, let’s stop for a while.”

From what she could see of Alarik’s backside, he didn’t slow a step. Of course he wouldn’t. She should’ve remembered his travel habits from that first trek through the woods so many weeks, no, probably months ago now. Summer traded her brilliant greens for autumn’s yellow-orange palette, and with the rain, the smell of earthworms and wet leaves permeated the air. The tip-tapping drops might’ve been soothing if she carried an umbrella—which she didn’t. So she increased her volume. “I said, let’s stop for—”

A hand clamped over her mouth. “Shhh. Give me your pack, then move on. Quickly.”

Ragnar’s whisper warmed her ear, but his words chilled her. Something wasn’t right for him to act so forcefully. She glanced ahead to where Alarik continued his methodical plodding. What kind of danger had he led them into?

“
Agreed?” Ragnar’s low voice carried an urgency that left no room for argument.

She nodded, and he released her. Expecting a horde of armed robbers to attack them, she snapped a look around, her heart pounding. Nothing more threatening than thorny branches appeared. Was this his idea of a joke? “What’s the…”

Her words died as her eyes traveled the length of his arm and beyond to where he pointed. A tall rock, more like a pillar, stood ten yards away, a snake-like pattern of carved runes decorating its surface. Literate in the futhark or not, there was no mistaking the warning in the bloody handprints along its edges, nor the heap of skulls littering its base.

The memory of her first night in the forest, when she’d wandered from Alarik’s campsite, barreled back with frightening clarity. So those hadn’t been shadows she’d seen or imaginary footsteps after all.

Though every part of her was waterlogged, her mouth dried to sawdust. Keeping quiet no longer took effort. She turned to Ragnar, fear pumping through her veins, but detected no panic in his steady gaze, unless he hid it behind his usual swath of hair. He merely nodded toward her pack.

She loosed the straps and shrugged off the heavy bag. As soon as he reached for it, she sprinted after Alarik. Doggone him! He couldn’t have chosen a safer route? She caught up with him, intending to ask, but his grim expression carried the same admonition as Ragnar’s words—keep quiet.

Eventually the rain slowed to sporadic sputters, but not until every piece of clothing clung to her body. At least the miserable chill drove away her fear. Wet leaves carpeting the ground didn’t stop the mud from sucking off her shoe now and then, and her stomach growled relentlessly. The monotony of passing tree trunk after tree trunk combined with her low blood sugar, and soon her head bobbed. Past ash and oak and…actually, all the trees started looking alike. How could Alarik even tell which way to go? On and on they hiked, past what should’ve been a lunch break, and further, past dinner. At last the forest thinned, then gave way to rocky grassland, rutted and uneven. Only then did Alarik stop, loosing his pack and dropping to a lichen-covered boulder.

She didn’t need any more of an invitation than that to plop down on the soggy ground. The wetness did its best to soak into her bones, but the relief of taking the weight off her feet overshadowed the damp discomfort. She bent to loosen the leather strap across her ankle, then circled her foot to massage the muscles. Functional but very sore—no thanks to Alarik. “Hey, why the fast pace? My ankle still hurts, you know. What was that all about?”

He shook his head as he loosened his own boot straps. “You are as dull-witted as a yearling lamb.”

Freeing his foot, he tipped the boot upside-down and shook. A pebble bounced onto the ground, disappearing into a patch of moss. He took his time refitting the boot before finally making eye contact. “That was a sacred grove, set apart for seiðr.”

“
Seiðr?”

“
Black magic. The craft of the spirit world. ”

Spirits? They’d set a lung-busting pace because of spirits? She raked the hair back from her face and shook her head. “You’re kidding. You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

He shrugged. “What I believe is of no account. The blood stains on that runestone were real enough.”

“
Then why did we come this way? I’d rather take the scenic route if it means keeping my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”

“
Peace, woman. Your complaining does not land as softly on my ears as it does Ragnar’s.” He leaned over and untied his pack. After fishing inside, he removed a pouch containing the same dried berry mixture he offered her the day they met. This time, however, he didn’t share it.

Swallowing hard, she sent her pride to the depths of her empty stomach. “May I please have some?”

He filled his mouth and chewed before answering. “Eat what is in your pack.”

She glanced back to the dark fringe of woods. Oaks waved their limbs in the breeze and leaves cascaded, but no sign of Ragnar. “I don’t have my pack.”

Alarik tipped back his head, dumped the contents of his cupped palm into his mouth, then tossed the pouch into his bag. “Mayhap your empty belly will remind you to curb your tongue, leastwise I hope so, for Ragnar’s sake.”

“
What is that supposed to mean?”

“
Think, woman. Did you not notice who clears away the rocks each night so that you might have a soft place to lay your head? How is it that your waterskin stays filled? Who shivers so that you can wear his cloak? Even now Ragnar sweats beneath the weight of two packs. Mind what you wish for, Cass-ee, for that man would as soon go to Hel and back for you.”