Rescuing Kadlin Read online

  “Bjorn, please,” she whispered. Bjorn dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head.

  “I shouldn’t have shouted, Hjortr. I…” he did not finish his thought, but held out his arm, and the child rushed into his embrace. Bjorn kissed the top of his head and murmured something that Kadlin could not hear. Their son nodded against his father’s broad chest then rounded the table until he was standing before the old witch again.

  “I am sorry, Grima. I will share with Bassi.” She handed over the gifts, and Hjortr ran off to find his friend.

  Bjorn rubbed his brow as Grima pulled her clay pipe from her pouch then filled the bowl with herbs. Kadlin hurried to the fire pit at the center of the longhouse and fished out a smoldering twig. She touched it to the herbs, and Grima drew hard until her pipe was lit. The sweet aroma of the smoke wafted into Kadlin’s nose and brought her back to the time the two women had spent together before she, and Bjorn had married.

  The Viking had brought Kadlin to stay with the old witch rather than hand her over to the jarl as he should have. The memories of her journey with Bjorn drifted through her mind in odd little bits.

  The day she had met the big Viking, she was being handed over to him as a captive. He had been tasked with delivering Kadlin to an aging chieftain as payment for her uncle’s gambling debt. The two had fallen in love on that trip through the countryside, and Bjorn had awakened in her a passion and a need she didn’t know existed. He had chosen to hide Kadlin with Grima and tell the jarl his future bride had escaped. Failing to deliver the jarl his prize would have meant serving the old man for another year, but Bjorn had said it was a small price to pay for a future with Kadlin. When Grima had a vision that Bjorn would not survive another raid serving on the jarl’s ships, Kadlin undertook a journey to save him. She had willingly risked her life and her liberty for this man, and she would gladly do it again if it would free him from his torment.

  Before the group had sat down to their meal, Kadlin had pulled Grima aside to discuss the dreams. The seer knew that the night terrors had been plaguing Bjorn for months, but when Kadlin told her of the latest encounter—how he’d drawn back his fist as if to harm her—the old woman’s brow had furrowed.

  “It’s getting worse then?” Grima had asked. Kadlin could only nod.

  The old woman had said little during the meal. When the table had been cleared, she leaned in on her elbows.

  “You look tired, Viking. Are you sleeping well?” Bjorn glared across the table at Grima before narrowing his eyes as Kadlin. The corner of his jaw bulged out as if he were gritting his teeth. She was sure he was angry at her for including Grima in his private struggle, but the Viking’s night terrors had become increasingly worse, and Kadlin didn’t know where else to turn. The other men of the house must have felt the tension because they hurried out the door with excuses about checking on the animals a final time before bed.

  Kadlin rose to help Agata, Marget and Gudrior tidy up but then hovered near the table, finding crumbs to sweep.

  Bjorn glanced up at her. “You might as well sit down, wife. Since you have involved the seer in our business, I am sure you would like to hear the conversation.”

  Kadlin took a seat on the bench beside her husband and stared at the witch’s serene face. Grima drew hard on her pipe then tilted back her head, pursing her lips to form thick, white circles of the smoke. Kadlin watched the rings link—as if by magic—into a long chain before rising through the hole in the ceiling. The aroma of sweet, smoldering herbs hovered over them, and Kadlin pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. A drowsy sense of wellbeing dropped over her, and her eyelids felt heavy. She glanced at Bjorn, and he seemed to be likewise affected.

  Grima pulled at the pipe again then smiled back at them before pointing the stem at Bjorn.

  “The mirror is a strong omen. The fact that the man in the reflection is you—and yet not—tells me that something is hidden deep inside of you and you are searching for answers.”

  Bjorn chuckled, and Kadlin thought the sound oddly deep. “Any fool could divine that, old woman. Even I know as much. Am I now a seer, too?”

  Grima’s cackle filled the house, and Kadlin could not take her attention from the woman’s big, yellow teeth. “We are all seers, Viking, but sometimes we need help understanding what it is that we behold. Do you wish to understand the things that Mara has shown you?”

  Kadlin turned back to her husband. He nodded his head slowly. “It is the thing I desire most,” he said.

  The witch reached across the table and patted his hand. “Then understand, you shall, Bjorn. Tonight, we will petition the dark goddess, and when dawn breaks, all of your questions will have been answered.”

  * * * *

  When Grima told the others that the Northern lights would be bright, and it would be a good night to sleep beneath the stars, Kadlin marveled at how readily they had agreed. It was as if they were entranced. The three couples made quick work of gathering sleeping bundles, food and drink, then lit torches and filed wordlessly out into the night with the children in tow. Kadlin had never seen anyone hold such sway over the will of others. In all her years living with the Reindeer People, even the most potent shaman had not shown such strength. She was both awed and frightened by the powerful witch.

  After the others left, Grima set a bowl on the table and drew several bundles from her leather pouch. She measured the dried herbs into the vessel then poured a ladleful of boiling water over the mixture. Her face became expressionless, and Kadlin could not help but sway from side to side as Grima swirled the brew and murmured an incantation. Her wrinkled face seemed to grow younger as she held the bowl over her head and stared at the place where the smoke from the cooking fire snaked through the ceiling. Grima then placed the bowl in front of Bjorn, and a serene smile crossed her face.

  “Drink, Viking,” she commanded.

  Bjorn lifted the potion to his lips and gulped then set the bowl back on the table. All that remained were the soggy remnants of black leaves. The Viking seemed to fight to stay awake, his chin dropping to his chest again and again. When finally his head remained bowed and his breathing deepened, Grima nodded to Kadlin, the two women positioning themselves at his sides. They looped his thick arms over their shoulders and hauled him to his feet, then led him, shuffling, to the master chamber at the rear of the house. Stumbling under his weight, they laid him back on the bed. Grima bent and began unlacing his boots.

  Kadlin stared at her, and the old woman laughed. “I saw him naked long before you ever did, girl, and while he is magnificent, I assure you it stirs nothing in me. Now help me undress him.”

  When they had finished removing his clothes, Kadlin looked down at Bjorn’s naked body, then studied his handsome face. His broad chest rose with the heavy breaths of deep sleep. Grima sat beside him on the bed then trailed her fingers from his forehead to the center of his belly.

  She repeated the motion three times before she spoke. “Viking, can you hear me through your slumber?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled. The word fell from his parted lips as if his tongue were too thick for his mouth. The haunting sound of it caused a knot of fear to form in Kadlin’s belly.

  The old woman stroked him again. “Can you go to the mirror?”

  “I can,” Bjorn murmured.

  “What do you see?”

  “I see myself, and yet, it is not.”

  “May I speak to the man in the glass?” Grima asked.

  Bjorn’s breaths came quicker, and his face contorted. He shook his head against the furs. Grima reached out and ran her fingertips across his forehead.

  “No harm will come to you. Let me speak to the other one.” A chill passed over Kadlin, and the hair on her arms rose in fear, but Bjorn seemed to calm with her words. Kadlin held her breath until he spoke again.

  “What is it that you want, witch?”

  “Are you Bjorn?” Grima asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Are you the one who t
ried to take his life beneath the willow tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you?”

  When Bjorn’s face twisted into a menacing sneer, Kadlin reached out and grabbed Grima’s wrist. She wanted this madness to stop. Surely this kind of sorcery would anger the gods. Grima turned and glared at her, and Kadlin dropped her hand to her side.

  “Who are you?” the old witch repeated.

  “I am Rowyn, second son of the jarl, Arn.”

  In the dim lamplight, the seer’s brow furrowed. Grima swallowed hard then flattened her palm on Bjorn’s chest.

  “And who are you to the one you wanted dead?”

  The Viking bolted upright, and his hand shot out, encircling Grima’s thin neck. The old woman’s eyes bulged as she fought for air, and Kadlin grabbed her husband’s arm, trying to dislodge his grip. His eyes opened, and he glared at Grima.

  “I am the younger brother of Leif—the one who would be heir.”

  * * * *

  The summer sun shone brightly, and the others had returned well-rested from their night in the forest. No questions were asked as they helped Bjorn load his horse for the journey. The women prepared bundles of salted fish, dried venison and small loaves of bread while the men hung mead-filled wineskins from the saddle and stuffed Bjorn’s quiver with new arrows. The Viking felt a knot of anticipation form in his belly. Grima had helped him to see the past, but it was the future that excited him. The old witch strode from the house and stood in front of Bjorn. He winced when he saw the dark bruises at her throat.

  “I am sorry, Grima,” he said.

  “Ach, don’t be a fool, you big bear. It was not you who tried to throttle the life from me. It was that damned brother of yours. When you see him next, be sure to kick him in the balls on my behalf,” she said then winked up at him.

  “Gladly,” he replied, then looked out over the limits of his neat farmstead. His house was sturdy and comfortable. The fields were fertile. The paddocks were full of fat livestock, and the stream teemed with trout. He had built a wonderful home for himself, his family and the others. He wondered for a moment if he should push aside the things he had learned last night and simply thank the gods for all that he had. The morning breeze blew his hair against his cheek. He reached up to move the braids back in place, and his fingertips found a polished amber bead. Kadlin wore its mate in her own hair, and he remembered the moment he’d given it to her, and as he had done so many times over the years, he thought about the events that had brought them together.

  If he had not placed himself in service to the old jarl, he would never have been forced to retrieve the woman who had been offered up to satisfy her uncle’s gambling debt. She was headstrong and willful and caused him nothing but consternation as he dragged her through the countryside. Then she had tried to escape. He had punished her by spanking her beautiful round backside. The act had filled him with such lust that he had been overcome. That she was likewise affected convinced him that she was meant to be his… always.

  They had made love for the first time under the soaring pine trees, and afterward, he had pulled a smooth glass bead from his braid and strung it into her hair. In accepting the token, she had accepted him, and they were bound together. When they had returned to the farm, Grima had presided over a handfasting that sealed their intent. The other six who lived and worked with them had borne witness to the ceremony. They had been loyal friends, and Bjorn wondered how the journey he was about to undertake might change things.

  Bjorn fingered the bead then followed the braid upward to the place it started—just above his right ear. He touched the long, thick scar on his scalp, and his anticipation turned to anger. The newly-found memory of Rowyn shoving him under the willow tree loomed up in his mind. Bjorn’s hands had been bound behind his back, and he’d lost his balance and fallen to the ground. His last clear memory was of the vicious smirk on his brother’s face as he hefted the club over his head and brought it down on Bjorn’s skull. Bjorn wondered why Rowyn had bothered to untie him before leaving him for dead. Perhaps he’d had a moment of mercy and wanted Bjorn to have his hands free when he entered Valhalla. More likely, Rowyn was afraid for his own soul and wished the gods to take pity on him when his own time came.

  The Viking tamped down his rage and tried to focus on his goal. It would do him no good to let emotions get the best of him. There was too much to be won—and lost. As the others gathered around him and offered well wishes, he concentrated on being a gracious master. He would rely on them to watch over the farmstead, and more importantly, keep Kadlin and Hjortr safe in his absence. The thought had barely formed when his young son burst from the house and ran to his father’s side.

  “I’ve something for you, Father,” he said in his sweet little voice. Bjorn held out his hand, and Hjortr dropped a tiny clay figure into his palm. “It is Odin. He will watch over you in your travels.” Bjorn bent and kissed the boy on the top of his head.

  “Thank you, son. I will keep it with me and think of you every day.”

  The child wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, and the Viking stood and pulled him to his chest.

  “Now, I am counting on you to make sure that the chickens are fed. You must feed your dog, Floki, too, and see that he doesn’t chase the sheep too much.” Hjortr nodded then nestled against his father’s neck. Bjorn could feel the boy’s tears on his skin. “And you will watch over your mother. You must do as she says, and if she seems sad, you should give her kisses and tell her all is well.”

  Bjorn kissed his son again and set him on the ground. “Where is your mother, boy? Has she decided to sleep late?”

  “I have not slept late, husband.” Bjorn turned toward the sound of Kadlin’s voice and saw her leading her pony into the dooryard. It was laden for a journey. His wife had traded her proper Viking apron dress for the garb of the Reindeer People. She wore a deep blue tunic with a beaded belt, trousers and leather shoes that curled at the toes. She’d been wearing the same clothes when he’d first met her and seeing her dressed this way made his blood boil.

  “Are you going somewhere, wife?” he asked, struggling to keep his anger in check.

  “We are going somewhere, husband,” she answered, jutting out her sweet little chin.

  Bjorn looked at her pony and discovered that it had been outfitted exactly as his horse had been. She’d had help from the others, and their betrayal fueled his anger. He turned to face the three couples, and they dropped their gazes to the ground under his stare. Agata wrapped her arm around Hjortr’s shoulders and led him back to the house. The others quickly followed.

  “Back to the hearth, Kadlin,” the Viking demanded. She answered him with an unwavering stare. He stomped across the dooryard until he was looming over her. “I forbid it!” he thundered.

  Kadlin looked up at him and tilted her pretty head to one side. “Do you remember your promise, husband? On this very spot, you swore to love me and to honor me, to protect me and to share all that is yours. Our handfasting was not some silly rite. It was a solemn joining of the two of us as one under the witness of the gods. Just as you pledged yourself to me, I gave myself over to you. Your journey is mine, Bjorn, and we will take it together.”

  Bjorn dropped his head forward and closed his eyes. “Please, wife. Please do not ask this of me. Who will care for the boy and…”

  “Agata will care for Hjortr until we return.”

  He opened his eyes and stared down at his beautiful woman. “And if I can’t protect you as I swore to the gods?”

  Her face softened as she reached up and cupped his jaw. “You will, my love. I have given myself to you because you are worthy of that gift. I willingly hand over to you my heart and my life. Without you, I am lost. I understand that you must accept this quest, and you must understand that I have to be a part of it, just as you are the greater part of me.”

  * * * *

  They had ridden for four days, and Kadlin’s body ached. By turns, the hot summer su
n beat down on them and the cool forest air sent chills over her skin. As they neared their destination, they kept off of the main thoroughfares, opting instead to travel on narrow, wooded paths. Bjorn said that he could not risk being recognized once they’d entered Jarl Arn’s realm.

  Countless times, she bit back the urge to ask her husband to stop and rest for a while. It was not her place to set the itinerary. She had insisted on accompanying him, and she was well aware that he would have preferred she had stayed behind at the farm. She had leveraged his faith to persuade him to allow her to come along, and she hoped the gods wouldn’t frown upon her because of it.

  Her husband, it seemed, was impervious to the toils of the journey. He was up at dawn and pushed his horse forward until dusk. When they finally made camp, Bjorn barely had time to start a fire before darkness engulfed them. Sometimes they would hunt on the trail, but more often than not they would nourish themselves with dried meats and stale bread. The mead had run out on the third day, and they were careful to fill the skins at every source of fresh water. As they made camp near a stream on the fourth night, Kadlin wondered if they would ever reach the land Grima had made him see in his dreams. In fact, she wondered if the dreamland existed at all.

  Chapter Three

  It was dusk on the sixth day when they arrived at the estate. The house was grander than any Kadlin had ever imagined. The peak of the roof stood taller than five men, and great carved dragons’ heads flanked the huge double doors. Torches had been lit outside the entryway, and in the gardens, but the place seemed deserted.

  “This is yours?” she whispered. Bjorn stared at the building. “No, wife, this is ours.”

  They hitched the horses to a pine tree at the edge of the deep yard, and Kadlin studied the intricate labyrinth at its center. A couple was just completing their walk through the maze of mounded earth. They embraced and kissed before the tall, thin man—with white-blond hair and skin so pale that it shone in the twilight—hurried to his horse and rode off.