Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(91)

“Ceolwen!”

Silence.

Again, after a pause. “Ceolwen!”

There was no reply.

Their coughs and moans echoed from the walls as they waited for the blindness to pass. Eyvind whispered gently to whimpering Embla.

Aelfhild’s arms and legs still felt numb, so she sat clenching fists and toes to regain some feeling.

Pieces of the room drew back into focus little by little. What Aelfhild thought at first were fragments of her impaired vision, dots of burning orange that floated across her field of view, proved to be real; like the embers of a fire blown on a gale wind, pinpricks of light danced in the air, drifting slowly upward toward the stars in a loose spiral. All of the torches the crew had carried with them had sputtered out in the sand, but the ghostly glow cast by the wisps lit the room enough for Aelfhild to see the others.

She shifted onto her knees, ignoring the protests of her aching back, and stood slowly to her feet. To her left, Embla pawed at Eyvind’s prone form. To her right, Kolbrun offered a hand to Jarngrim to help him off the ground, and on the far side of the courtyard Onund sat upright in the sand, rubbing his eyes.

“Ceolwen,” Aelfhild whispered, begging the darkness to answer.

Dust hung heavy in the air and stuck in her throat, making her cough again. The spasm shook her body, sending a cloud of fine dust out from her clothes and hair. Puzzled, she wiped a finger across her face, which was caked in a layer of the same powder. She stared at the grey on her fingertip.

It looked like ash.

Ash.

Ceolwen.

Bile rushed up in her throat, and she doubled over to retch into the sand. When her stomach had emptied, she straightened, shuddering, and began in a frenzy to brush the dust away from her skin and clothing.

The Thrym looked on bewildered by her sudden turn of madness. They peered at the ash that covered them all until, one by one, the same realization dawned.

Aelfhild dropped to the floor, pulling her legs to her chest and hanging her head between quaking knees. Back and forth she rocked, sobbing.

She cannot be gone.

No.

No, she repeated endlessly.

Silence fell. Eyvind knelt beside her and reached out to touch her shoulder. “There was nothing you could do,” he said, his voice consoling. “None of us knew what would happen.”

Aelfhild screamed at him to leave her be, the words bursting forth half-formed, and swiped at his outstretched arm.

The Thrym took a step back. Kolbrun gasped.

“Aelfhild,” the shield-maiden called.

But Aelfhild would not answer.

Let me die so she can come back. Take me in her place, she prayed to the Gods as grief boiled over into rage within her chest. She turned upon the heavens. Why would you let us suffer, just to do this? Why do you torture me?

“Aelfhild!” This time it was a command, from all the Thrym.

She lifted her gaze from the floor. The others stood around her in a half-circle, staring intently down, not at her face but at her right arm.

Never had Kolbrun’s voice sounded so timid. “Look at your hand,” she whispered.

Confused, Aelfhild lifted her arm.

On the palm of her hand glowed a rune, one long line running from fingers to wrist that crossed through two corners of a hollow square. The marks shone from within, yellow-gold like sunlight, and seemed to pass through her skin into the flesh beneath. Turning her hand over, she found the same design on the back. When she made a fist, faint trails of light slipped through the cracks between her fingers.

She gaped at the mark. Nothing felt different about her palm, no cuts or scarring, as she ran the fingers of her left hand across the rune. There was no pain or burning.

Her four companions were struck dumb. Slowly, Onund sank to his knees. The old man bowed his head. Jarngrim did the same, and Kolbrun followed.

Shaken from stupor, their captain turned to face them. “What are you doing?” Eyvind cried.

Onund’s eyes did not lift from the glowing rune. “The Eid-Stein chose her. She has been marked by the Gods. You see it with your own eyes. It is fated.”

Eyvind did not kneel, and for that one kindness Aelfhild was thankful. The eyes of the other three warriors were fixed upon her hand and glinted with fervent hunger. It terrified her to see them so possessed.

Something snapped within her mind in that moment and she scrabbled to her feet.

Without looking back, she ran.

At a dead sprint she rounded the door and headed out through the passage, wanting nothing more than to be under the night sky. Behind her came startled cries and Embla’s barking. Once outside, she did not cease, nor pause to think why or whither she fled.

She ran until her legs gave out. A grassy meadow rose up to embrace her and she fell face down, panting, and stayed there until the sound of rough footpads drew close. Snuffling at her face and hair, Embla nuzzled Aelfhild’s neck.

Not far off, Aelfhild could hear Eyvind ordering the other Thrym to build a fire and make camp. Someone draped a blanket over her back but she did not turn her head to look.

She could not hold on to a single orderly thought. She wanted to weep. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream, run, bleed, howl, to hide away. She wanted to die, to walk into the waves and sink into the darkest abyss.

Overcome with exhaustion, her eyelids closed and Aelfhild slept.





50

A stray lock of hair lay across her face when she awoke, festooned with morning dew. The grass all around her was damp, and water beaded on the blanket covering her body.