Undercurrent (24 page)

“
My father returned, pleased we’d not perished, for he had great need of able bodies to wield a sword. Seems his honor took a bruising at a trading village, and his pride would not dismiss such without retribution. The fight was bloody, as battles often go. I barely held my own against a man at least ten stones larger than me. When I saw the fatal swing of a longsword arc toward my father’s neck, a warning cry was all the help I could lend. But Abbán…Abbán…” Ragnar sucked in a ragged breath. “He took the blow. Sweet Jesu, he took the blow for my father.”

Ragnar’s voice stilled. Cassie blinked back hot tears. How could anyone sacrifice their life for such an evil man?

“
I know what you must be thinking, Cassie, for surely I thought the same. Forgive me, Jesu.” She strained to hear him, for he spoke barely above a whisper.

“
My father was not worthy of Abbán’s death, but neither are you or I worthy of Jesu’s. Even so, he bore our iniquities unto death, that we might hope for life eternal with God. This is the basis of my faith. Naught else holds value in comparison, not Odin, not Thor…nothing. Do you understand of what I speak?”

The image of Abbán taking the sword for Ragnar’s father made it all too clear, and she scrubbed tears from her eyes with her free hand. She’d heard Jesus freaks spout their mumbo-jumbo before, but this was altogether different. Compelling. Real. “Wow.” She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I think…maybe…thanks. You’ve given me lots to think about.”

“
Thanks be to Jesu.” His fingers pressed tighter against hers. “As I’ve said before, I am but a servant.”

Dull red glowed on the ground in the distance. Ragnar quickened his pace, and Cassie listened hard. A low groan came from their campsite. Great. Hadn’t Alarik and Signy worn themselves out by now? The weight of fatigue pressed down, her steps plodding behind Ragnar’s. Surely poor Ragnar must be tired as well. He’d not slept at all.

Yet as they neared the firelight, something about that groan didn’t sound right. Certainly not the passionate sound she expected. She cocked her head. The closer they approached, the more a series of moans, pain-filled and—

Ragnar sprinted, tugging her along. The tail of her cloak scraped and snagged against the rough pine bark they sailed past. With each of her inhales, cold pre-dawn air burned her lungs.

Racing into the dim circle of light cast from the dying fire, Ragnar released her hand and dropped to his knees next to Alarik. “Cousin?”

His arms wrapped tight around his abdomen, Alarik lay with ashen face and eyes scrunched tight. His legs tented at the knees and he writhed from side to side on his back. “Bad…bad…”

Ragnar rested a light touch on Alarik’s forehead. Clammy, but not burning. No fever. Then why did his friend sicken?

“
Cassie,” he called over his shoulder, “more light.” She pitched the last of their wood onto the fire. The accompanying bright flare showed that Alarik didn’t merely hug his gut, he clenched it with taut muscles.

“
Bad—” Another sharp groan cut off his cousin’s words.

“
You are ill, Alarik. You must rest.”

“
Nay!” Releasing one hand from his belly, Alarik snaked a hold on Ragnar’s collar, jerking him down. “Bad ale.” A spasm seized him and he cried out, instantly loosing his hold and reclutching his gut. His face locked into a tight grimace.

Next to him, Cassie knelt, stroking Alarik’s hair from his brow. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’re here with you. You hear me? We’re with you.”

Her words brought no comfort. Alarik’s restless movements continued unceasing. If he could but see the lightness of her touch or the worry shining in her eyes, mayhap he would have stilled.

Looking back at Ragnar, she whispered, “What’s the matter?”

Ragnar sighed and stood. Indeed, what ailed his cousin? This was no simple belly ache from bad food. He and Cassie didn’t sicken, yet they’d shared the same meals, drank the same…bad ale? Where would Alarik have gotten hold of bad—

He spun around. Pine needles lay disturbed on the ground near the fire where Alarik and Signy had lain. Thankfully Alarik had thought to put on his breeches before their return, but the rest of his clothes still lay heaped in a pile where he’d thrown them. Their packs remained as they’d set them. Nothing had changed.

Except Signy was gone.

Another cry from Alarik rent the air, ragged and shuddering. Ragnar turned, and Cassie sprang up, clasping a frantic grip on his arm. “What’s wrong with him?”

He’d give anything to erase the fear from her eyes, anything to heal his friend, but he stood immobile, powerless to speak, much less to think. Lack of sleep buzzed in his ears, and he shook his head. Jesu, please.

“
Ragnar!”

Cassie’s voice and Alarik’s groans stabbed his chest. Unable to bear Cassie’s pleading gaze, he looked away. “I fear he’s drunk a foul brew. ’Tis naught to be done but pray.”

“
No!” Cassie sprang from his side and tore through pack after pack, removing all the waterskins, then hurried back to Alarik. “Help me raise him.”

“
What are you about?” he asked, but knelt in compliance.

“
Just hold him.”

Forcing Alarik to a sitting position took every bit of strength he owned. Ragnar grunted from the effort as he wedged his weight against his cousin’s to keep him upright. Cassie lifted a skin to his lips. “Drink!”

Alarik turned away, but Ragnar forced his face to her. “Do as she says.”

Cassie repositioned the spout against his mouth. His lips opened, and he swallowed once, then choked.

“
Drink it!”

He tried. Much dribbled down his beard and splashed onto his bare skin, but Alarik managed to finish the first skin. He sagged against Ragnar when done.

Cassie’s determination alone fueled them on. “More!”

Alarik drank as commanded until all the skins lay empty in the dirt. His chest heaved, and then he stilled. An enormous tremor shook his body, followed by a second. Wrenching out of Ragnar’s support, Alarik flipped onto all fours. A deep whimper, a deeper breath, then his mouth opened and vomit erupted, the violence of which shook his arms and legs. He retched and spewed and purged until his arms buckled, driving him to his elbows. Even long after the vile liquid stopped pouring from his lips, he convulsed as if more would come.

Finally he collapsed. Spent. Unconscious.

But alive.

Ragnar glanced at the sky. Dawn’s gray began to edge out night’s worst black. Praise to you Jesu, you alone are—

A wolf’s piercing howl bit into his prayer, and Cassie scooted over so that their shoulders touched. “I thought you said wolves don’t cry in the morning.”

He narrowed his eyes and squinted into the forest’s shadows. “Ja, a true wolf would not do so.”

“
What do you mean, a true wolf? Like there’s a fake kind?”

A cold vapor passed through him, and in his spirit, sudden recognition of the wailing sound quickened his heartbeat. Nay, not a fake wolf as Cassie would say. More like wicked. Evil.

Torolf.

He grasped the hilt of his blade and withdrew it, all the while searching from one ebony tree trunk to another. Nothing moved.

Cassie huddled closer to him. “You’re kind of creeping me out. What’s the deal?”

Hard to decipher her strange words, but being so near his ear, her voice spoke of her uneasiness. In front of him, Alarik shivered on the ground, every now and then a faint moan twisting his head to a different side. He should be covered against the cold air.

Resolve alone lifted Ragnar to his feet. An involuntary yawn overtook him as he retrieved Alarik’s tunic and cloak. The only things left on the ground were his sword and belt—with no pouch attached.

“
Cassie, check Alarik’s pack for his money pouch.” He crossed back and draped both garments atop his cousin before digging into his own bag.

Cassie sat back on her heels. “No, not there.”

“
Then check yours.” A fresh wave of fear washed through him as he ransacked his own bag.

She stood and arched, then settled on the ground next to her pack. It didn’t take long.

“
Not in mine either, not that I thought it would be.”

He finished rummaging, pulling out the last of the various items from the bottom of his pack. Nothing was amiss—everything he’d brought, valuable or not, remained untouched. Odd. Only Alarik’s money pouch was gone.

And with it, the brooch.

TWENTY-THREE

Following behind Alarik and Ragnar, Cassie tried to decide who should win the tired prize. With each of Ragnar’s heavy steps, he supported not only his own weight, but half that of Alarik as well. At first she’d admired Alarik’s resolve to resume their journey though his body had yet to recover. But now her weak ankle swelled tight in her shoe, and a perpetual cramp settled in her lower back. And how could she refuse Ragnar’s request to lighten Alarik’s load by carrying more in her pack? Though the men may look tired, she’d claim that blue ribbon.

Arms linked shoulder to shoulder, the two men led her along a well-worn path of crushed leaves, travelled by countless unknown footsteps. The smell of smoke added to autumn’s peppery scent. Guess she’d soon find out exactly how many feet.

Their path widened. In the dimming light, Cassie saw other travelers moving ahead. Alarik parted from Ragnar and walked on his own. The trail changed from soft, blanketed dirt to dusty gravel, and they ascended a slight but steady rise.

Away from the protective stand of trees, the air turned chill, and she sneezed. Strange how leaving the woodlands for the craggy plain stole some of her security. Since when had she acquired a love for the forest? Cassie Larson, city dweller and proud of it? Not anymore. She’d been here way too long.

Alarik’s steps lagged, dropping him back to match her pace. Sweat dotted his brow and compressed lips replaced his usual ready grin.

“
You okay?” she asked.

He cast her a sideways glance and kept plodding.

An enormous sigh blew out her disgust. Frustrating man! Every time she tried to be nice, he ignored her. “You are so bull-headed. Do you know what a bull is?”

“
Ja. You have taught me well in our time together.” He did smile then, though it ended with a wince. Arms folded, he bent forward slightly and kept walking. His brow wrinkled with something other than pain, though. Only what…concern? Worry?

The bull-headed label fit him well. “Look, quit worrying about Signy. It wasn’t fair of Ragnar not to go back to your village for her, but he’s just trying his best to look out for us. That’s where she is, I know it. And I don’t blame her, either. I’d rather be in a snug house than out here. You said she didn’t drink the ale that made you sick, so I’m sure she’s just fine. She’s probably tidying things up, getting ready for the wedding and all. Weddings don’t just happen, you know. Someone’s got to pull them together. You’ll see.”

“
Woman”—half a grin tugged at his lips, or was it a smirk?—“You talk overmuch. Mayhap Signy fled for fear of your uncommon tongue.”

His attempt at humor didn’t fool her as she studied his pale skin and dull eyes. They shouldn’t have made this trip. Couldn’t he have waited until the next assembly, when he’d feel better? “Alarik, you need rest. You don’t have to be a tough guy all the time. Let Ragnar help you.”

“
Nay. The time has come.”

“
What time?”

He nodded, and she looked ahead. Twenty paces more and they’d catch up to Ragnar, who conversed with a red-bearded guard standing in front of two others. The men blocked a passageway between two huge rocks, piles of weapons heaped on each side. Both Alarik and Ragnar deposited their swords, boot blades, and throwing axes, clinking their steel against steel. Even eating knives were collected in a smaller mound off to one side.

Ragnar and Alarik continued on, past the stoic-faced guards and beyond the rock pillars. Cassie followed, until a sidestep of Red Beard crushed her up against his chest. He smelled of spoiled goat’s milk and cabbage. His laughter rumbled deep, and she retreated so fast that she stumbled.

“
Pretty as you are, wench, none pass without leaving behind arms.” His beard did nothing to stop the fishy breath that swam on his words. “Drop them, or I’ll unarm you myself.”

She lifted her chin, meeting his challenge. “I don’t have any.”

He angled his head. One brow lifted as he considered. “Ja? ’Tis true?” Grabbing her, he violated her cloak’s front opening and groped around her waist. “No eating knife?”

“
I said I don’t have any!” She squirmed against his rough grasp, trying to maneuver space to kick him a good one in the shin.

His fingers crept upward, searching, squeezing. “No bodice blade?”

Twisting, she caught a glimpse of Ragnar stalking back toward them, a determined glint in his eye.

“
Enough!” Ragnar’s tone left no room for argument. “The woman carries no weapons.”

Red Beard released her, but before he turned, Cassie saw his hand reach for a blade within his cloak. Fear clogged her throat as the man spun. The thought of him sinking the knife into Ragnar filled her with an unbearable sense of loss. “Nooo!”