Raging Sea (11 page)

And when he released her, she told herself she had not enjoyed the feeling of his hand, his skin, against hers and knew it for the lie it was. They found nothing in the area of the squares on the map, with the exception of a strange vibration from the ground and the voices.

“Do you hear that?” she asked, walking toward the sounds. “Whispers.”

“The voices you hear when the sea calls you?” he asked. “I hear nothing more than the buzzing.”

“This is different, lower in tone and quieter than the sea. The sea sounds like happy children, chattering my name.”

When she glanced at him, Ran saw his curiosity. “It's how they sound when I am with them.” Walking toward this new sound, she realized it came from the lake. Leaning over, she put her hand into the water of the lake and listened. At the touch of the water, the voices began, pulling her toward them and the lake. But these voices, this voice, was dark and dangerous.

Ran. Daughter of the sea. Daughter of the waters.

All the waters heed your call.

I need you. Help me.

It was only when Soren wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back that she realized that something was wrong.

“What happened?” she asked, pushing her hair from her face and facing Soren.

“You were moaning, as in pain. And then you were being pulled into the lake.” He released her then and she stumbled. Grabbing her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the field away from the water. “You did not change to water. Something was pulling you in and you were fighting it.”

With his long paces, they were back on the road quickly.

“Ran, I am sorry,” he said as he placed her on her feet. “I felt the danger. I had to stop you.” He stepped away, putting space between them. “Otherwise, I would not have touched you.”

Ran needed to tell him something. A warning. Something was . . . wrong. She did not know she was shaking until he took her by the shoulders once more. “What ails you, Ran?”

Her teeth chattered and he wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She could not put into words what she'd felt as she put her hand in the water. Something was wrong with the water.

“Something . . . I touched . . . Wrong . . .”

A shock traced a path through her then, as she realized what had happened. The dark voice echoed in her mind like a siren's call, forcing her to move.

“We need to get away from here, Soren,” she said as she pulled the reins of her horse free from under the rock where Soren had secured them. “We must leave now.”

Soren put his hands out and helped her mount quickly. Securing his sword, he was on his horse and leading the other one that carried their supplies a second later. They followed the road until it narrowed where the two lakes almost met. She sent out a plea to the water to separate and let them pass.

When Soren stared at her, she nodded and he led them across the strip of now-dry land. As they approached Brodgar's Ring, the bad feeling eased and Ran felt as though she could take a breath without shaking. Soren eased the pace and brought them to a halt. He climbed down from his horse and walked to her.

“Are you well now, Ran? Can you tell me what happened?” he asked. He let out a breath and dragged his hands through his hair. She'd seen him do that same motion hundreds of times in the past; it meant he was worried. His eyes looked haunted when he said his next words. “I thought I had lost . . . you . . . again.”

From the pauses, though, she was certain he was thinking of a different woman. The other woman he'd lost. The one who had fallen or jumped off the cliff not far from here. She cleared her throat and met his gaze.

“I felt evil, Soren. I heard evil,” she whispered. “It is not coming. It is already here.”

S
oren believed her.

It took but one look at the intensity in her eyes, the paleness of her skin or the shaking of her hands to know Ran truly believed it, too. She was not a woman given to histrionics. When she'd discovered what her father wanted her to see—Soren and Aslaug naked in bed together—she had simply studied him for a very long moment and then walked out. And he'd never heard about her reacting with tears or an emotional collapse.

Ran evaluated every person, every situation, with a cool, clear look. If she said that she had touched and heard this evil, he believed her. The sight of her being pulled into the dark water was enough to prove it to him.

For a moment, he had seen something else. Someone else.

Aslaug.

Had she leaned over, reaching for something, and slipped, as they'd told everyone? Or had she been pulled over the side by the lure of evil? Or desperation?

He shook off these heavy thoughts and looked at Ran now that they'd stopped. The sun had begun its slide down toward night and they needed shelter. Ran needed shelter. Soren had planned to stay with a friend farther up the road but he did not think Ran would make it that far now. There was a small shepherd's hut on the other side of the stones, near the numerous cairns that lay around Brodgar's Ring.

The winds whirled above and around them, whipping their cloaks and sending dust and dirt at them in waves. Something was indeed wrong here and now.

“Come. We will seek shelter there,” he said, pointing off in the distance.

He gathered his reins and hers and walked the three horses across the rising to the hut. She did not fight him on it; indeed, she gave little reaction at all. The fear sat deep in her eyes now. The winds tried to rise against them now, and it took more concentration to make them ease their force. By the time they arrived at the small shelter, Soren wondered if something was happening to his powers.

He cleared out the hut and tossed a thick blanket on the ground. Helping Ran down, he settled her there and then saw to the animals. Soren offered her the skin filled with ale, but she refused it. Once he saw to setting things in place and had them in a covered place, he sat next to her. Taking a breath and letting it out, he told the winds to protect them.

This time, they obeyed him without resistance. Strange that.

“I had planned to reach Digby's farm before stopping for the night,” he explained. “You do not look as though you could ride much farther.”

“D-D-Digby?” she stuttered out.

“His father passed just over a year ago and Digby inherited the farm,” he told her. “I am surprised that Einar did not tell you that.”

“Are you angry that he wrote to me?” she asked, shifting to face him in the growing twilight.

“Nay. Just surprised. The first truly in what looks to be a long series of surprises about my grandfather.”

“Sometimes, people are simply not who we think they are,” Ran said softly.

“That sounds like an accusation.” The words were out before he could stop them. It was a subject he did not want to discuss. It was a topic that could only cause trouble. More trouble than they already had before them. He shook his head. “That is a topic for another day.”

She watched him without responding and then stared off as the winds blew some distance away.

“We have not discussed how we will free my father from that man.” Ran met his gaze. “If he serves the evil I felt in that water, we may not be able to rescue him.”

He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. To ease her fears or at least hold them at bay. But he could do neither. Not now. Not here.
Not yet.

“I know what I saw. Tell me what you heard and felt.”

Ran gathered her legs up under her skirts and rubbed her hands on the fabric as if to remove some dirt or soil from them.

“The words were similar to what the sea says to me.
Daughter of the sea
. Telling me the water heeds my commands.” She shook her head and shivered. “The tone of the words carried an ominous feel. That was the first warning I had that it was not the sea speaking to me.”

“Is that when you moaned?” The sound of it terrified him for it came from the depths of her soul. Worse than the moan of someone in pain, this sound was one of desolation and desperation . . . and hopelessness. Soren hoped he'd never hear such a thing again, but suspected he would.

“The voice asked me to help them. They said they needed me.”

“They? More than one, like the voices you hear in the sea?” He always heard the winds as a group, never just one voice.

“At first, it sounded like a woman's voice, and then a man spoke as well. Then, well, then I could not tell. They blended together and begged me to help them . . . her.”

“Could it have been your father's voice? Or did they say how you could help them? Or her?” he probed.

“Nay,” she said. Then she shook her head. “Nay, not him. And they did not say what they needed in words,” she explained. “I could sense that they are trapped. That they could not come to me so I needed to go to them.”

“Go . . . ?” he began until she held up her hand and shrugged.

“I know not. Just that they needed my help.”

He thought on her explanation and hoped Ander would catch up with them sooner than the two days hence he'd said. Surely he would give good counsel about what these strange things meant. Before he could ask another question, she shook her head.

“It was one voice. A woman's voice. Distorted somehow, mayhap by the water? And the pain she suffers being imprisoned.” She let out a breath filled with frustration and confusion. “I hope Father Ander has found out more about all of this.”

He nodded and watched as she turned and leaned against the wooden frame of the hut, exhausted by what had happened. The sun was setting quickly and the air grew colder. Between the shelter and their nearness and the lack of cold wind, they would not be too uncomfortable through the night. A fire would have helped, but the ground and grass were too damp to sustain one, and he had nothing to burn as fuel.

“She said something else. Something I have suspected but this is all so new and strange,” Ran said. She sat up once more. “The voice said
all the waters heed my call.
All the waters.”

“You already know that. You do that.” He knew it. He'd seen it as he watched her become flesh and blood from the window of the tower. “You made the water leave your garments.”

“I did.” She shifted around. “I did!”

“If you doubt your abilities, attempt something now. Make the water leave where we sit before our blanket and our arses are wet,” he suggested.

Before the words had finished being spoken, the earth beneath them dried out. He smiled and nodded at her. So little effort and so much power. Soren could feel it just before she used it. Why could he feel it?

“So, you can. You already have more experience at this than I do,” he admitted. “You found your father by asking the water. You became the water. You can command the water even if it's not the sea or river or lake.”

“I need to find out if my father is still well. That man cannot be happy that he is being prevented from reaching the Mainland.”

“Let me go. He might have sensed you because of your connection to your father. I have none,” he said, standing. At her nod and as she watched, he let go of his human form with but a thought, becoming the wind.

Take me.

Take me to Svein Ragnarson.

The voices began, welcoming him and guiding him higher into the night's sky as he became part of them. His body changed to currents of air. He marveled at the view he had of the sun setting in the west as he rose higher and higher. The appearance of the land below was nothing that he could have predicted. Here and there, a fire burned or a croft or cottage could be seen. Lochs and rivers reflected back the light of the now-rising half-moon.

In a shorter time than could be possible for a man, they soared over the water separating the mainland from Rousay, which lay in almost complete darkness. He continued crossing that island then a bigger expanse of water until he reached Westray.

Slower now.
Once across the strait, he slowed even more and flew lower. If this man, this minion of evil, could sense another with power, could Soren sense him as well?

Suddenly, Soren felt the air change around him. It grew thicker, denser somehow. And hotter. Waves of heat washed over him. The winds that carried him chattered, whispering warnings in their hissing voices.

Danger, Stormblood.

Caution, Soren, son of the storms
.

The fireblood. Danger.

He stopped and searched the area below him. In the distance, off the shores of Westray, sat four ships. Even with their sails open, they did not move.

“If you do not release my ships, Stormblood, I will burn her father bit by bit.” The voice came out of nowhere and struck him as though a blow. “My sacrifices will not go unanswered and you and the waterblood will pay for this. And their deaths.”

Soren looked down on the beach of Papa Westray, the isle closest to the ships, and was horrified to see piles of half-burned bodies. And a line of men, immobilized somehow, awaiting the same fate. There, watching it all and unable to stop it, from his expression, stood Svein, Ran's father.

So, the man knew that Svein was Ran's father. And was not above using that as leverage, though he suspected it would be more effective against Ran than Svein.

“Speak to me, Stormblood. Do not run away like the woman, hiding behind this new form. Speak to me like a man of honor does.” His voice now was cultured and refined. He spoke in Norn but with the accent of a foreigner. A nobleman?

“Stop the burning,” Soren said, shocked that he could speak in this manner, “and I will meet with you.” He waited to see if his challenge would be answered.

The fire went out, gone in an instant. With a flick of his hand, the men waiting roused and another flick saw them scatter back toward the ships. The winds put Soren down on the beach and he was human again.

Svein lost any color he still retained as he saw to whom the man had been talking. Most likely because he knew his chance for mercy at the hands of Soren Thorson was less than this stranger offered.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Hugh de Gifford, councilor to the late King Alexander of Scotland,” the fireblood said. “I come on another's business though.”

“Late king?”

“Alas, the king died several weeks ago. A fall from his horse.” The sarcasm in his voice told Soren that the manner of the king's death was not something as simple as the fall from a horse. “His death is only a part of this plan,” de Gifford said, speaking boldly. “You can join me and reap the rewards, Stormblood.”

“How do you know me?” Soren asked.

“I know many things, Stormblood. You carry the winds within you. You can command storms and the sky and the lightning. You bear its mark on your arm,” the nobleman said. Holding his own arm out, he continued. “As I bear the mark of my power, my goddess.”

Flames. Two flames burned and melted together only to re-form and do it again. Soren could feel the heat of it and then his own mark answered, the bolt sizzling in and on and under his skin. He hissed in pain and de Gifford smiled.

“It can be pleasurable if you allow it to be.”

As Soren watched, the flames grew larger and burned the skin around them; the scent of searing flesh filled the air. Soren grimaced at the smell while de Gifford seemed to enjoy it. His face wore the expression of arousal.

“Nay? Mayhap the release of your power will give you that pleasure?” With those words, de Gifford narrowed his gaze on Soren and sent a fireball at him.

All he could think in that moment was
nay
. The winds swirled around him and pushed the fireball back. At the same time, his fingers and hands heated and he lifted them, aiming at the fire. A bolt of lightning struck the fire, the ensuing explosion lit the whole beach and the crash of it rumbled out across the sound and to the other island. If he thought de Gifford would be alarmed, he was wrong. The man stood, arms across his chest, nodding.

“Feel it race through your body, your blood. Feel it in your flesh,” he urged in a smooth voice that echoed inside his thoughts somehow. “Power is pleasure,” he said.

For a moment, Soren felt it as he described. The lightning came not just from his hands, but from deep within him. In his blood. It pushed power throughout his body; his flesh reacted. Then he remembered the sight that had greeted him—a certain sign of power abused.

“Why are you here?” Soren asked, letting the power calm. “What do you seek?” He knew part of it but wanted de Gifford to declare it to him.

“Our power comes from the old gods and goddesses—you know that, do you not?” Soren nodded. “My family knew the goddess would return and has prepared for generations for this day. I have been bred to carry her power, to open her way, back into the world.”

So, just as his grandfather had known, other families did as well. If only his grandfather had shared the knowledge sooner.

“I seek a circle of stones,” de Gifford said.

“There are many here in Orkney. Every island has them. The ancient people who lived here built many of them.”

“Ah, but only one is the doorway to be opened, Stormblood,” the man said. “I seek the true one amongst those built to hide and deceive.”

“Then go in peace to find your circle,” Soren said, goading the man for more information.

“I also need the two gatekeepers' help,” de Gifford admitted. “Here in Orkney, it is the stormblood and the waterblood who hold the key.” He approached Soren. “Join me. Be at my side when the goddess returns. She will reward her faithful ones.”