Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (46 page)

“Your heart is my home, my love.” She slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. “Where you are, I will be content.”

He sighed again, and suddenly, his arms were about her, squeezing hard. She tightened her own grip, then lifted her chin and looked straight into the intense blue of his eyes. “Somewhere, there is a place for us. We have only to find it. We will survive, and we will work together to achieve your dream.”

As if the unwavering ferocity of her love and determination reached him, he eased his hold and rested his cheek on her hair. “Já, I will protect you, and make a home for you. We will raise our children there, and build a family of our own.”

“You will not be without family, wherever you settle,” Sindre said, an unaccustomed gravity in his tone. “Siv, Alwin and I will travel with you.”

“Sindre, nei,” Brandr raised his head, and sorrow renewed in his voice. “I cannot ask such a thing. Siv and Alwin need a home. They have one here, a good one.”

“Perhaps. But in truth, you have no say in what we do, nephew. I am a free man and choose my own loyalties. For too long, I have offered them to the wrong man. They are yours, now, accept them or not. There are other places that can be just as good, and now I have had a taste of what it is like to go where I please, I am inclined to continue until my heart,” he grinned, “or my wife, tells me to stop.”

Hakon quietly added his decision. “I also will go with you, brother. It is long since I had any place here. I, too, would seek a home more welcoming.”

“And I will go as well,” Turold said. “Hakon and I have much yet to learn from each other, and many tales and songs to share. We have already decided to travel together across this wide land, but when you find your place we will stay, for a while, to help you.”

Nicolaus beat his chest with his fist. “Then I will lend my sword in your defense until I must return to my service to the king. We will make a fine team until that time, and who knows? Perhaps one day I will decide you need an expert to insure your horses are properly trained.”

From his place where he leaned with his shoulder against a pillar, resting his leg, Karl spoke up for the first time. “If it were possible to go with you, I would. You know this. But Father is old. The time quickly approaches when our people will no longer accept his leadership….”

Rathulf interrupted. “And tonight’s decision may well hasten that day. I say to you, Bjarki, that though only one or two publicly disagreed with Father’s ruling, it was clear few approved.”

“Já, that is truth,” Karl agreed. “I must be here for our people when that day comes, and I need Thegjandi,” and he punched Rathulf in the shoulder, nigh knocking him off his feet, “to aid me at that time.”

Beneath her ear, Brandr’s heart had slowed to its normal, steady beat. She felt the rumble of his words against her cheek. “It is so. Whatever else may be said about Father, he has been a strong and competent leader, and has done well by the town. They will need one of equal strength to guide them, and they will have it in you, Vard.”

Karl nodded, accepting his due. “Thegjandi and I will see to it you do not go from us as empty-handed as Father would demand. As we all long ago agreed, should this moment come to any of us, all that is needful will be waiting for you by the great oak where the old north road crosses the path to Ljotness.”

“Then let us sleep until the morrow,” Brandr said. “I, for one, would face the dawn a little less weary than I am now.”

As if to challenge Brandr’s words, a violent flash, so bright it dazzled and blinded them, flashed through the high windows. So close it made their hair stand on end, it filled the air with a tingle that seemed to skitter and crawl across their skin. The thunderous roar that accompanied it had them all flinching or clapping their hands over their ears. It shook the very earth, and rattled the house so hard Lissa feared it might crash down around them. A hot, bitter smell littered the air.

“Thorr’s hammer, that was close!” Nicolaus nigh yelled the words. He leapt toward the door.

From the private sleep chamber came a cry, Alwin’s small voice giving vent to startled question. Siv’s quiet tones calmed the boy. Bryda rolled over and blinked sleepily at them all.

“Já, I think it hit somewhere in the town,” Brandr said.

“I hope it has not started a fire,” Karl said, following Nicolaus. “Come, we must check to be sure all is safe.”

Lissa clasped Brandr’s hand and hung on. “I am coming with you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Brandr followed Karl’s halting pace into the night, Lissa close to his side and the others at his heels. They were not the only ones in the lanes. It seemed many of the men who had attended the
thing
had not yet gone to their beds.

“Here, over here!” A deep voice called, raised so it might be heard above the buffeting wind. “Next to the mead hall!”

It was not far. They rounded the corner into the center lane and found an oddly quiet group ranged in a circle around some object, he could not yet see what. In the light of the torches held aloft in many hands, smoke rose from whatever it was, to be captured by the wind, and blown every which way.

“Make way,” Karl said, pushing his way through the growing crowd.

They parted to make way for the brothers. In front of them, a large wagon lay twisted, canted at a bizarre angle to the ground, one huge wheel broken. The smoke rose from the bed.

“What…?” Lissa began.

He gave her hand an urgent squeeze. “Hush!”

He heard the awestruck note in his voice, but could not prevent it.

She lifted up on her toes, her head turning this way and that. He realized she could not see what held them all in silent thrall. “Lissa!”

As if, with that last mighty blast of light and sound, the storm had released its final energy, the night quieted around them. The clouds began to break apart, and only in the distance did lightning flicker and thunder rumble, as if Thorr had accomplished his goal and now rode away in his chariot to wreak his will elsewhere.

Brandr stared at the wagon.

It would seem that is exactly what Thorr has done.

Lissa looked up at him, questioning without words. She felt the fearful wonder, though she did not yet know the why of it.

“Lissa, it is….” He stopped. He did not know what to say, but if he had, he could not have got the words out. He moved in closer to the wagon, pulling her with him until she could get a look.

Her gasp was so loud all heard it.

“Give me your torch,” Brandr said to a man nigh him. He brought the light low over the wagon bed, brightening the scene.

Lightning had indeed struck, but no one would argue who had thrown the bolt. There, for all to see, was a large scorch mark, but it was no ordinary burn.

“Brandr!” Lissa sounded strangled.

“I know.”

“What does it mean?”

“I do not know.”

Everyone jumped when a thundering knock sounded against the seaward gate. “Ho there, guards! Open the gate. The godi has come.”

“The godi,” Nicolaus cried.

The call was taken up by every voice. “The godi! The godi has come. It is a sign.”

“Everyone, stay where you are,” Karl said. He called to the guards at the gate. “Let them in!”

The great bars were lifted and the doors swung wide to admit the priest’s party. Wrapped so heavily in furs no sign of the man himself could be seen, the cart in which he was transported rumbled slowly to a halt beside the wagon.

Brandr held his breath as the elder was helped from the cart by his aids. He was a small figure, made shorter by bowed shoulders, but when he came forward, his step was sure. In reverence, the crowd moved back, giving him space.

Power flowed from him, and authority rang in his voice. “Where is Jarl Grimarson? I do not see him here.”

Brandr snapped his head around to seek out Karl. Their gazes met. For the first time, both of them realized their father was nowhere in sight. He should have been. As jarl, it was his responsibility to deal with fire, injury or other trouble brought by the storm.

Karl stepped forward. “A
thing
was held this night. I believe Father only arrived home a short while ago. He has not yet had time to return.”

“Has not bothered to return, is more like it,” the elder snapped. He found Rathulf in the crowd. “Fetch your father, boy. What I have to say concerns him, and I will say it but once.”

Rathulf raced into the night. The godi sat on a stool that an aid brought for him, and allowed a single fur to be placed around his shoulders. He made no further comment.

Brandr could feel the escalating impatience, but no one spoke, and no one moved. He would swear he could hear Lissa breathe, so quiet the night had become.

They had not long to wait. Hurrying footsteps heralded the arrival of Óttarr with Rathulf.

“What is happening here?” The tenor of the jarl’s voice was peevish. “Rathulf swears the godi has come, but all know the elder cannot leave Weala Tun!”

“Your words are inaccurate, Óttarr, my old friend.” The godi threw off the fur and stood. “It has never been that I
cannot
leave Weala Tun, but that I have
chosen
to stay there.”

Brandr watched as amazement, followed by a hint of fear, crossed his father’s face.

The godi faced Óttarr. “A thing has happened this day unlike aught I have seen in all my years. It is a thing worthy of hauling my old bones far into the cold night. I have had a vision unlike any other! It bade me make haste to come here, to confront the ‘missing’ son of Óttarr Grimarson.” His eyes flicked to Brandr and he humphed. “Whom I find is not ‘missing’, at all.”

“I only returned this day, elder,” Brandr said. “What is it you wish of me?”

The godi turned from Óttarr and came to stand in front of Brandr. With steady fingers, he stroked the long, forked plaits of his white beard. His eyes, bright and alert, rested on Lissa.

Brandr stiffened. A chill iced its way down his spine.

If the godi rules against us, we are dead. Not even my brothers can save us.

“It is not what I wish of you, but what you wish of me. Is that not correct?”

What game does he play?

Startled, he answered honestly. “Já, that is correct.”

“Then let us look at the sign Thorr has left us.”

He took the torch from Brandr’s hand and held it over the bed of the wagon. Now that the burned place ceased to smoke, the pattern laid out was clearer. A large, circular motif, it was cut in half by two separate designs, each occupying one of the halves.

The first was a likeness of Mjóllnir, the mighty hammer of Thorr. The second, not so well known, appeared to be a small, two-legged dragon with a curled and forked tail, its wings outstretched to either side.

“Mjóllnir, we all know,” the godi said. “But does anyone here recognize the dragon?”

“I do.” The voice belonged to Turold. He peered at the sign with the same amazement Brandr was certain showed on his own face. “I have seen it before. It is the symbol of the house of the Saxon kings of Mierce.”

“It is called a wyvern,” the godi said. “The name came to me in the vision. This, together with Mjóllnir, is a mighty sign, and powerful, and it has meaning that cannot be mistaken.” He faced Óttarr again. “You will not like it, my friend, but you
will
accept it.”

Brandr’s gaze snapped to his father. If Óttarr’s expression had earlier reflected startlement, he had now had time to control it. Displeasure glittered from his eyes and stubbornness pursed his lips, but he said naught.

“Wise,” the godi said. He turned to face the crowd.

Brandr abruptly realized the entire village must now be present. He caught a glimpse of Alwin with Oswulf and Bryda, and Siv, who gazed around Sindre’s shoulder. His mother waited, quiet and still, some few steps behind Óttarr.

The godi raised his voice. “An injustice was done this night, by one who has ruled Ljotness well, if not always wisely.” His tone became conversational. “This one sought to enforce his will in defiance of our law, for the sake of gain. In so doing, he wrongly accused his son, and ordered his banishment.” He looked at Óttarr. “Perhaps, had I stood in your place, I might have done the same. But your judgment, Óttarr, cannot be allowed to stand. Thorr himself has ruled in this matter, and one who seeks to defy his will imperils not only his own life, but that of the community.

“The two halves of the sign speak clearly. The hammer represents the inn Danski, most specifically, the Danski Brandr Óttarrson.”

Brandr started, and reached for Lissa’s hand.

“The wyvern is Saxon, and represents the woman, Lissa of Yriclea.”

Brandr’s lips twitched. Gossip had wings of its own. They had not yet been a full day in Ljotness, but already word must have spread of their arrival to the surrounding villages and been passed to the godi.

“Thus is the meaning clear. Danski and Saxon are destined to become one! Brandr and the woman, Lissa, must marry. This wedding will represent the union of our two peoples, though I cannot say this union will happen in our lifetime, or in that of our sons, but it will come. There is more. Thorr has declared his will in the destination of this couple.” He looked at Brandr. “You are to travel to the kingdom of Mierce to make your home. You will have sons and daughters.”

Pride and great contentment welled in Brandr’s heart. He looked at Lissa, and found her staring at him with wonder on her lovely face. He slid an arm around her shoulder. In front of the godi, his father, his family and his ætt, he bent to kiss her, and with no brotherly peck on the cheek.

The godi cleared his throat, and when Brandr raised his head, the elder grinned. “It is fortunate for you King Alfred showed uncommon generosity to our king, for a portion of the land of Mierce was included in the agreement made with Guthrum. You will be married to a Saxon female, Brandr, but you will not have to live on Saxon land!”

The godi turned again to Óttarr. “All that you ruled at the
thing
this night is now rescinded. I restore to Brandr Óttarrson the full rights and responsibilities of son-ship to Óttarr Grimarson. My friend, Brandr will indeed be leaving Ljotness soon, but when he goes, it will be with recognition as your son, and he will carry with him the full inheritance you originally settled upon him, and, his lawful share of the gold he brought back to you. I also grant to him the title of hersir, which he has rightfully earned, and full ownership and command of the Hauss.” He grinned and caught Brandr’s eye. “Though I do not know what need he will have of the ship on that horse farm of his. And now, though I
should
seek the hospitality of Ljotness, I am going home. I want my own bed, but it is a long way, and I have missed my night’s rest.”