Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(77)

“Just a weary old man,” the shape replied. Onund shifted beneath his sailcloth blanket and pushed aside the spear he had been using as a crutch. His outline was clearly human now, and Aelfhild was glad the darkness hid her burning cheeks.

She helped the Skjoldung over to the fire.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only scratches,” he replied, but dropped down near the flames with a groan. In the light, Aelfhild could see his face was smeared with blood.

“Let me see.” She took Onund’s face in both hands, and tilted his head back into the campfire’s glow. “Your brow is split. Let me clean this off.”

While she wiped the wound clean with a rag soaked in seawater, she told her patient what had unfolded in his absence. “And you have not seen Geir or Bercthun?” she asked.

He shook his head. Then, after a pause, said, “Poor Vidar. The lad had promise.”

Aelfhild was spared having to think on it any further by Eyvind and Kolbrun’s return. The pair’s conversation carried into camp ahead of them. It sounded as though Eyvind was reasoning with the shield-maiden. “I hear what you are saying, but we cannot waste rations just waiting. Two days at the most, then we move on.”

“Geir has stood with us more times than I can count,” Kolbrun replied. “We owe it to him to at least search.”

“And we will tomorrow; more than that I will not promise you.” The captain caught sight of the new arrival. “Onund!” he shouted.

“You see? We should not give up so quickly—he could yet live,” said Kolbrun, but Eyvind seemed to be finished with the matter.

“Water?” asked Aelfhild. Talking had made her throat raw and scratchy.

“Not even a trickle,” Eyvind muttered. “We will look again tomorrow, unless the others have better luck.”

Rolf returned with Jarngrim in tow not long after. The pair had fared no better.





They spent the next day scavenging and searching but found no sign of their missing friends.

At sunset, they buried Vidar.

Eyvind and Rolf took hold of the blanket upon which the body lay and they carried him uphill to a spot looking eastward over the ocean. Trailing behind them with her grey head held low, Embla whined softly. Ceolwen and Aelfhild followed with the others.

There were no tools with which to dig a grave, so with bare arms they scraped out a shallow pit in the sandy soil and lowered the body down into it. Kolbrun placed Vidar’s hands atop his breast and brushed the hair back from his pale face. They built a cairn of loose stones over him and stood for a moment in silence when the work was done.

Eyvind spoke first. “Vidar was brave…”

He stopped. The speech must have rung as false to his own ears as it did to Aelfhild’s. He cleared his throat but could not find the words to continue.

“He was a foolish boy who dreamed of treasure.” Kolbrun broke the silence. “But he had a good heart. He pulled his own weight. He tried to be better.” Around the grave, heads were nodding. “And he deserves more than we can give him,” the shield-maiden finished.

What it was that prompted Aelfhild to raise her voice then, she could never say. Maybe it was that she felt the crew’s strength flagging, hers not least of all. Maybe it was for her mistress’ benefit, or for whatever fragment of Vidar’s spirit lingered on. The hows and whys eluded her in the moment, but she said the words that seemed to be needed.

“Not with gifts, but with our deeds we must honor him. If we fail then he has truly died for nothing. So we must do what we set out to do, and carry his memory with us.”

All of her Thrym companions turned their eyes toward her, and for a moment she worried that she had spoken out of place. But Rolf and Eyvind nodded in silent agreement. A faint smile tugged at Jarngrim’s lips.

Kolbrun reached over to touch Aelfhild’s hand. “Well spoken,” was her response.

Ceolwen said nothing but stood and would not lift her eyes from the grave. If she heard the conversation around her, she made no sign.

Kolbrun knelt and ran her fingers over the stones.

“Farewell, Vidar Tryggvason.”

One by one, after taking their leave of the fallen, the other Thrym followed her back to camp.

Ceolwen was the last to turn away, and Aelfhild waited just downhill. The Aethling had confided little in her servant since they had been reunited. What pain her mistress had seen on the day of the storm, Aelfhild could only guess. But she knew one thing: this undertaking was, in the end, all at Ceolwen’s behest, and it would have been inhuman not to bear a great deal of guilt for this new turn.

Aelfhild tried to reach out. “It may take him some time but Bercthun will find us. He has not let us down before,” she said.

Ceolwen’s features creased into a frown. “After the sea took us, when it was just me and Kolbrun, I was sure you had survived, Aela. I just knew, I felt it, that we would see each other again. But I do not feel that now. What if Bercthun really is gone?” She stopped to tug back a stray strand of hair. “Vidar is dead because of me, and if Bercthun is—”

“No, stop!” Aelfhild tried to sound firm without being harsh. “That helps nothing. All of us agreed to come of our own will. I knew the risk, as did Bercthun, as did they all. Now you need to be strong. This guilt will break you if you let it.”