Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(92)

Aelfhild sat up. Every bone creaked as she stretched.

Not far away the coals of a fire smoked, and three figures lay around it wrapped in cloaks. Closer to her sat Eyvind, blanket hitched up over his shoulders and with his legs drawn up to his chest. The ruddy mane of his beard spilled down to cover his knees.

He held out their waterskin.

Aelfhild drank deep.

The Thrym did not lift his eyes from her once, but it was her face he watched so closely and not her hand.

“I do not know why I ran,” she said, breaking the silence.

Eyvind snorted. “I would have.”

The answer surprised Aelfhild, and she stared back without reply.

He continued, “It is madness, just madness. Yesterday we saw nightmares made real. The monster, and Rolf…” His voice faltered. “Then Ceolwen, and this.” The Thrym balled his right hand into a fist and she took his meaning.

“No one is that strong. It would have been inhuman not to run,” he finished.

Aelfhild shuddered, “I never wanted this. I could never have dreamed… I did not ask for it.” She pleaded with him as though he had accused her of planning the deed, but the warrior sat shaking his head. Her voice fell to a whisper, “I do not want it.”

Eyvind pulled his blanket tighter against the chill of the dawn air. “Maybe that is why you have it. While you were sleeping I sat here and thought. All night long I thought. I am no wise man, and no priest”—at this he grinned—“but I do know how those three looked at you.”

With a nod of the head he pointed toward their sleeping companions.

“My father is not a fool. Ceolwen was always just a way for the Leifings to gain land and power. I do not think even he believed the Stone would be so real. But it was a good story to tell the warriors, to stir their blood for battle. But this,” his voice trailed off.

Aelfhild stared at the shining rune, its brightness lessened in the light of day. Taking her cloak in both hands, she tore a rough strip from the bottom and wrapped her hand to cover the mark.

Eyvind nodded as he watched her tie it off. “Now it is not just about thrones and crowns. What you saw in their eyes is a taste of more to come. Kings, Queens, Jarls, Eorls, they are here and gone. Men know when to listen to them, when to follow them, and when to pay them no heed. But one chosen by the Gods? That is no trifling thing.

“Of all the hands that could bear that mark, then, I would only trust those that did not seek it out. That is what I thought.”

They fell silent for a long time.

Aelfhild turned the question over in her mind before she asked, “What if I keep running?”

“You would be mad not to,” he answered, “Fate be damned.”

There was a strong charm to that notion, to turning her back on the schemes of men and Gods, spurning fate and simply walking away. Within her the argument raged and would rage forever.

“I cannot do this alone,” she said finally.

Eyvind shook off the dew as he stood. He crossed over to Aelfhild and offered his hand. With a grunt, she lifted herself to face him.

“You will not be alone, not ever. That is my oath.” From around his neck he pulled the lump of troll-bone that Thane Kjartan had thrown him from the shore of Oddsbaer.

She had not spared it a thought since then, assuming it lost in the waves with so much else. Eyvind looped the string over her head.

“Whatever comes, I always stand by my friends.”

Aelfhild’s face flushed, and hidden though they were beneath his beard, she saw that his cheeks reddened as well.

Then Eyvind turned and walked over to wake the others. “And so do they,” he added over his shoulder.

Kolbrun yawned as she stirred the fire back to life. Onund doled out a bit of dried fish to each of them for breakfast, and they ate in silence before breaking camp. Jarngrim hummed as he slung the shield over his back and rolled up his other belongings in a blanket.

Returning from her morning hunt, Embla licked at red stains on her jaws. The day had begun well for her. Eyvind knelt to scratch at her neck and the hound wagged her curly tail.

“Home,” he said, and Embla trotted south in her master’s wake. The remaining Thrym followed.

Aelfhild took one last look at Aettirheim, the green hills and dark cliffs washed by the morning sun as it rose above the bay. She bid farewell to Ceolwen, and to the others. She bid farewell to her old life, everything she had known.

With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and set off.