Raging Sea (20 page)

Silence filled the chamber as he waited for a reaction.

Hugh leaned his head back and screamed, making the walls shudder and creak. Throwing his hands into the air, he began calling out words Soren did not recognize. He heard the goddess's name several times and he watched as de Gifford changed into living fire.

Ablaze, no longer man but creature of the evil one, he was terrifying to watch. Only the eyes and mouth appeared like those of a man. The heat of it knocked Soren back a few paces and he worried that the house would burn. Then, an instant later, he was human again.

“I will want to see you use your powers,” de Gifford ordered. “Then I must see to tasks undone.”

“The priest?” Soren asked.

“He has little will but much heart. So far, he has refused my offers. Now. Now I have so much more reason to bring him into our fold, as the good Christians say.”

“I want him alive,” Soren said. “When this is done.”

“Alive? Alive can mean so many things.”

Soren crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“Very well, the priest alive. Svein alive for your use. The woman to pay for her sins.” De Gifford laughed under his breath and then spoke. “They will all wish they were dead.”

“So, are we agreed then, my lord?”

De Gifford stopped and stared at him. “You do not trust me, Soren Stormblood.”

“And you do not trust me, my lord. This will be an interesting arrangement.”

He followed de Gifford outside to the training yard his men had set up and for the next hours, he allowed the fireblood to guide him in using the powers he held. Surprisingly, never did he feel endangered or threatened. Instead, Hugh de Gifford was a patient instructor, showing him all manner of things he could do with wind and storm and lightning.

Which made Soren very ill at ease.

They parted, each with tasks to complete, and agreed that they would attempt to open the circle in two days' time during the fullness of the moon. Two days during which Soren must play his part as a willing accomplice, convince Ran to trust him enough to play her part and fool the most dangerous man, or creature, on earth.

And yet, as he rose into the sky, searching the island below him, Soren was invigorated. And hopeful. For the first time since the changes within him began, he felt hope.

H
ugh entered the stairway and followed it down under the old, round church to the portal below. He'd left both the Christian priest and Ran's father chained there, allowing them to witness more than their human minds could probably comprehend. Hugh had found that torture along with deprivation made most men more amiable to his demands.

But he also knew that most Christian priests were subjected to various practices that were or were very close to torture during their religious training. Oh, they'd be horrified to think of it as such, but the Church understood very clearly how to break men down and rebuild them into the fanatical, ruthless priests needed to carry out their duties. This Father Ander would have suffered such treatment and might be harder to break.

Though neither he nor his father and grandfather before him had been believers in the Roman Church, he'd learned their teachings and carried out their ceremonies of worship while waiting for the time when he could act on his true beliefs. Waiting until their wealth and power and
powers
could keep them safe from censure . . . or worse. Now was the time for his rise and, with the goddess's help, he would be successful. First though, the goddess demanded her due.

As Hugh approached the door to the chamber, the walls began to shake and the ground rumbled beneath his feet—Chaela was hungry. Lifting the latch, he pushed open the door and entered. Father Ander was conscious and saying those damned prayers. Relentlessly, the priest murmured the same one over and over again. Hugh knew it and knew it well, for part of his preparations. The priest's fingers moved as though holding his beads and his lips unceasingly whispered the words. Only a slight hesitation occurred when the roar came from below the stone floor.

“Hail Mary,” the priest began again, closing his eyes. His words faltered when Hugh approached him. Hugh waited for him to finish this rendition before stepping closer and laughing at his efforts.

“At the hour of your death. Amen,” Hugh offered the last words, mocking the priest. “How many times have you said that prayer, Ander? One hundred? Two? A thousand?” Crouching before him, Hugh leaned closer even as the priest tried to lean away. “Mayhap your prayers have been answered?”

Father Ander's words came to a stuttering stop.

“Aye, good father,” Hugh continued. “Your savior has arrived to help you.” He laughed then. “Oh, I see your confusion. Not
the
Savior, but yours. Soren Thorson has claimed your soul and your life.”

“Soren?” Father Ander asked, his dry lips bleeding as he tried to speak aloud.

“Soren Stormblood has seen the right path and will open the gateway for Chaela.”

The shrieking that came from below them at his declaration made the chamber quake. Ander tried to press his arms against his ears to block it. “He cannot,” Ander whispered. “He will not.”

Hugh grabbed the man's hair and slammed Ander's head back against the wall over and over until he was almost unconscious.

“A pity you feel that way. With this kind of devotion, you could be the new high priest to Chaela. You could begin your own new church, choose your own supplicants.”

Hugh walked to the door and opened it. Motioning to Eudes, who stood waiting outside, Hugh stepped aside and watched as Eudes dragged the chosen sacrifice and tossed him on the floor. Ander began to struggle to turn away and began his prayer again.

“Hail—” Hugh grabbed his face, forced open his mouth and thrust a finger of flame against his tongue. Ander screamed against the agony.

“The only reason you still have that tongue is that I need you to say the prayers aloud. But when you have fulfilled your duty, I will tear it out and burn it before I burn you to the goddess.” He released Ander and stepped to the center of the chamber. “Silence!” he yelled.

As the priest lost the last vestiges of control and sought any oblivion he could find, Hugh wondered if he yet prayed those words to himself. Then the goddess called to him and the priest was of little concern to Hugh. His own prayers echoed through the chamber, mingling with the screams of the sacrifice and honoring his death.

In the end, the goddess was placated, the priest was an empty vessel waiting to be filled and Hugh moved one step closer to succeeding.

•   •   •

Brienne had said her father could travel from fire to fire, using any form of it to move from place to place. That was how Hugh could watch and know so much. And why Marcus had made them finish using them so quickly to light the chamber beneath the broch. Once the fireblood knew of them, he could travel to them.

Or just go in search of them.

So, Ran had promised to meet Soren on Birsay the next night. They had much to discuss and decide, but if she did not trust him, if she could not play her part, they would fail.

She wanted to believe she could, but the words spoken aloud yesterday stirred up her doubts. Ran loved him, she knew he loved her. Love was not their problem. Lovemaking was certainly not.

Traveling through the sea, she remained in her watery form when she moved onto the beach like a wave. Soren lay there, a hand thrown across his brow, his breathing slow and even. Asleep.

As she watched him, she noticed injuries and burns on his arms. He said he would do what was necessary for Hugh to believe his defection, but she had not thought that part through.

Seawater healed. Seawater soothed.

She flowed up around him and then, changing from cold to a soothing warmth, she covered his body like a blanket and held him. He moaned as the warmth penetrated his skin. She washed over the bruises and the burns and offered him relief from the pain.

“What . . .” he said. Waking, he lifted his head and realized it was her.

“I wanted to ease your pain and your injuries,” she said. “My waters heal skin.”

He lay back and did not resist, allowing her to caress his skin and soothe the tears and the burns.

“What are they from?” she asked, flowing gently over him. “What has he done to you?”

“He is testing me—testing my loyalty, testing my resolve,” he said. He lifted his head and glanced as she spread across him.

“And will you be loyal?” she asked.

“I am only loyal to you, Ran. I know you will not understand this, but I have only ever been loyal to you.”

Ran felt the truth of his declaration to her soul and let it ease some of the bitterness still residing there.

“But what we face, what he plans, I cannot do unless I know that you trust me and will be loyal to me. No matter what he says, no matter how he tempts or threatens us or the others, I need to know if you will be with me.”

She knew she loved him and now she must trust him.

She did trust him. She knew it in that moment.

“I am with you,” she said. “I am.”

He did not say anything then; he just lay still as she flowed around and over him. “I love you, Ran Sveinsdottir. Forever and always. You are the only one in my heart.”

“I love you, Soren Thorson,” she whispered.

They remained like that for a time.

“You are talking to me. Your voice sounds lovely when you are the water.”

“I am,” she said, realizing that she had not done that before. She'd spoken to the sea, she'd screamed in it, but had not tried to send her voice out of it. “Is it lovely?”

“I think it's the soft voice that calls to sailors, beckoning them in the depths.”

His voice was soft and sleepy. She laughed until he spoke again. “Beckon me in, Ran Waterblood. Beckon me into your depths.”

His words called to her. She reached out her hand and pulled him to stand. Though still water, she held her form, keeping together almost as human skin. Then she moved around him, removing his garments one by one until he stood naked before her. She covered him in warmth and caressed him, touching his back and his wonderfully muscled back and arse. Then she stroked his cock, using her watery hand to encircle it and massage it.

His head fell back and he let out a deep, soft sigh. She guided him back down to the sand and covered him, sliding over him, pressing, caressing, stroking him until he gasped. Then she took human form and straddled him, sliding his length into her. He opened his eyes and held out his hands to her. With entwined fingers, she balanced on him as she moved up and down his flesh.

“I cannot decide—water or woman,” he whispered, pulling up and wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. The hair on his chest teased her breasts and made the tips tighten. She rocked her hips, sliding in and out a bit, waiting for him to take control.

He did not. He let her set the pace for their joining. And though she loved it when he thrust hard and deep, this easy pace suited her this night. Soren tilted his head and kissed along the fullness of her breasts. Lifting and arching her back, she pushed her breasts closer to his mouth.

He took one in his mouth and laved it with his tongue. The roughness made her ache deep inside. Each slide of his tongue brought about another throbbing within her core. And still he did not take her.

He slid his hands down around her arse and guided her rocking pace. This was the time when he would roll her on her back and fill her. Not this time.

“Are you anxious, Ran? Hurried?” he whispered against her neck as he kissed his way up to her ear, stopping several times to taste her mouth. “I like the gentle pace of the sea,” he teased.

Her body wanted to explode beneath him. Everything within her had tightened and tightened and now she wanted to come undone. She wanted the storm.

“Soren Stormblood,” she whispered. “Take me.”

In less time than she could have imagined, he changed into a storm, pushing her back and thrusting deep. His winds moved over her skin, their brisk chafing teasing her breast as his tongue had. She arched up to meet each thrust of his flesh. Ran could see him and then not, as he became something else, something human and yet not. Something more. Something different than he'd ever been.

“Ran Waterblood,” he called from within the winds. “Come with me.”

His voice turned her to water and she was held within the winds as they rose and rose into the sky. Lightning bolts coursed around them, and each one shattered her until the water and winds reformed. Thunder rumbled through the skies as they, stormblood and waterblood, merged into one.

Then they burst, together as the lightning struck again—water and wind, man and woman, stormblood and waterblood. Lovers until the next bolt that shattered them apart. Over and over, through the sky, on the sand, in the clouds and in the water, they became one and shattered, joined and shattered into pieces. Water and air mixed together, carried by the winds, across and in the sea, until with a burst they fell apart, each falling back to the beach where it all began.

They lay on the beach, trying to ease their racing hearts. Soren reached over and took her hand, pulling her to him. Power rushed through her body, pushing through her veins and arteries, into her muscles and bone and marrow. When she looked at him, she could see he was filled with it, glowing silver even more than before.

“I do not know what happened, but I think that is how we will uncover the circle and defeat Hugh de Gifford.”

It was a long while before they spoke, and then Soren told her his plan. She understood that they or any of the warriors or their people could die in this endeavor. More than that, Ran understood that this battle was in her blood and connected now to her, their, powers.

By the time morning came and they parted, Ran knew that Soren was already a part of her as she'd left part of herself behind in him.

•   •   •

Marcus liked to pray in the dark silence of the night. Oh, he enjoyed the time of common prayer where his community of priests would gather and pray together. But there was something special about listening to the sounds only present in the dark.

So this night he walked several miles down the beach until he found the place where the gods wished him to be. The outcropping jetted north into the ocean and sat high up so he could see miles in all directions. Kneeling and closing his eyes, he began his ritual.

The silence was filled with words from the gods. He let them seep into his soul and sought the truth he needed to know from among the clamor of the messages.

He could feel the fear of his faithful priests.

He felt the doubt of the other warriors.

He knew the dread that the other men felt, facing the coming battle with an evil they could not from the way in which they were trained.

But those thoughts and fears and prayers were not what the gods had brought him here to see. The flashes of lightning sparking against the huge storm to the north was.

Pillars of clouds collided high in the sky, filled with wind and rain and lightning flashes and crashing thunder. As he watched the storm grew and circled the tidal island, and Marcus understood what he was seeing.

The waterblood and stormblood had merged! Praise be! His soul cried out in joy at the sight of it and at being gifted by the gods to witness such a thing. In a way he could not have anticipated, the two had joined, not only their hearts and bodies but now their souls and spirits. Whatever strife had kept them apart had melted in the strength of their love.

Praise be!

As the storm, lightning, winds and rain dissipated, Marcus fell to the ground, prostrating himself and opening himself to the gods for their directions.

When morning came and a bright sun rose into a cloudless sky, Marcus understood what he must do. Returning to the camp, he went to the tent of the healers where Corann yet recovered from his ordeal with Lord Hugh. He waited in patience and prayer until his old friend opened his eyes and then he merged with him, sharing his thoughts.

Corann shook his head at what Marcus shared with him. Marcus smiled and nodded his head, leaning closer so none would hear.