Raging Sea (9 page)

S
oren took hold of her shoulders so she did not fall backward. He could tell that Ran had not expected him to be coming down as she barreled her way up the stairs. If she had taken note, she would have noticed the way he shook as he held her there. The turquoise color that outlined her rippled, uneven and unusually bright.

Ran Sveinsdottir had just come out of the sea as an extension of the water and then turned into a woman.

He was not alone in experiencing the strange change that he had—she had as well. He was part of the storms and she was part of the sea. How this could be, he knew not.

“We must speak, Soren,” she finally said, breaking the tension of the moment. “Please. I beg you.”

She never begged. Headstrong and forthright, Ran spoke her mind. The only begging had been during moments of passion when she wanted more from him or when he delayed her pleasure.

Ran begged him now. He nodded and pointed down to the floor below them. She turned and led the way. Once they stood facing each other, silence filled the space between them. He watched as she struggled with what to say and how to say it. Soren understood that she did not trust him and worried over sharing too much with him.

Mayhap if he began first, told her the truth now, she would begin to . . . Nay, she would never forgive him. He went on even realizing that.

“I saw you come from the sea,” he admitted quietly to her. “I saw you change from water to the flesh and blood that you are now.” She startled with each admission. He tugged his sleeve up, exposing the mark there. “I, too, am marked.”

Her gaze moved over his arm and then she lifted hers and pulled her sleeve up until it was uncovered. Two waves burned into her skin; they moved like waves did in the sea. Peaking, falling and rising again. Over and over, they moved as he watched. Ran reached out to touch his mark and hissed when she did.

“Lightning?” she asked. “What does it mean?”

“I can call the storm. I can make the winds blow,” he said, lifting his arm and watching as the bolt there flashed and another outside the tower answered. “I can command the lightning.”

Her green eyes widened at his words. “And I can call the sea.” She shook her head. “But why, Soren? Why us? Why can we do these things?”

“I think my grandfather knew about all of this,” he said. He reached inside his tunic and took out the three parchment sheets. “He left these for me.”

“What are they?” she asked, opening one.

“Ander translated it for me. Einar wrote it in Latin, backward, to make it difficult.”

“More likely he did not wish it to fall into the wrong hands,” Ran said, examining it closely. “So you told Ander about all this?”

“Nay,” he explained, walking to her side after retrieving the wooden box from where he'd placed it. “I only gave him the one. No one has seen the others.” Soren knelt then and held out his hand to her.

Ran knelt and placed the paper carefully on the floor, smoothing it out flat. A frown filled her brow as she studied the words.

“It tells a story about ancient gods who defeated an evil one and left behind their descendants to protect mankind.” Soren waited as she read the Latin version. “If you lift it to the light, you can read it through from the other side.” She did as he said and shook her head.

“This is written in Einar's style. How did he write it backward?” Ran asked.

“My grandfather had talents I knew not of,” Soren answered. “And knowledge of many things forbidden and heretical.”

“Ander could not be happy about seeing such as this.” Ran held it out to him after she read it.

“I used his curiosity to overcome whatever objections he might have.”

Soren folded it and opened the map. Ran stood and took it to the window. Turning, she matched the map with the sketches and marked locations. “Do you know what these squares and circles are?” She paused, studying it. “I can see the circles are those made of stones near Loch Stenness, but the squares near there?”

“I planned to travel there and see what he drew.”

Ran faced him and held out the map to him. “I must find out what this is all about.”

“What happened? You were frightened when you came in.”

“My father is in danger, Soren. He is being held by a man . . . a man like us.”

He wanted to ignore the fact that Svein might be in danger. That man's death would make his life safer. But Ran knew nothing of that. “How is this man like us? Is he from Orkney or an outlander?” he asked.

“He glows, as you do,” she said. Her words startled him. “But with the hues of fire, not the silver that outlines your form. Yours is silver, like the lightning. Or like the storm clouds that build and layer in shades of silver and gray.”

“You are surrounded by turquoise, the color of the water where the ocean and the sea meet around the islands.” Soren needed to stop looking at her. He glanced away for a moment and then back. “This man has some power? You could tell?”

“I could feel it,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as though chilled. “He said it, too. Said that he has fire in his blood. And that he could answer my questions.”

“How did you see this?”

“I have worried over my father's absence. He should have returned almost a week ago and there's been no word. So I asked the sea if it knew where he was. The next thing I knew, I was there, in the water, watching this man as he killed one of my father's crew to force him to help in some way. He's looking for something. Stones or ruins. Somewhere here in Orkney.”

“Your father is probably safe for now,” Soren said. “If this man needs something from him, he will keep him alive.”

“Will you help me then?” Ran asked.

How could he refuse her? If she knew what her father had done, it would tear her life and heart apart. To know how little regard Svein had for his daughter would be too cruel and she did not deserve that.

“Aye,” he said, knowing he could not say otherwise. “Do you know where they are now?”

“They were north of Westray, in the strait between there and Papa Westray. Four of Papa's largest ships, carrying many fighting men and horses and supplies. And that man.”

“He saw you?”

“Nay, I do not think he could see me in the water for I . . . blend in. But he could tell I was there somehow. Probably he felt the same strange sensation that I did. My blood raced and, for a moment, I wanted to go to him.”

“I think that happened to me, Ran. When I saw you in the marketplace, you glowed. I could see little color in anyone else but you. And I could feel the same . . . pull.”

She swallowed and blinked several times as though fighting with the notion. He'd wanted to go to her even knowing it was wrong. But then, the wanting had never stopped. Even when he'd betrayed her. No other woman held Soren in thrall as Ran did.

“I do not understand any of this,” she said. “When did you know that something was happening to you?”

“The night before my grandfather passed. He told me I had the blood of the gods and their power.” Soren laughed sadly. “I did not believe him. Only after he died, did I begin to think something was truly different with me.” He paused to meet her gaze. “When the winds spoke to me, I could no longer ignore or deny it.” Ran did not laugh as he would expect others to upon hearing such a thing.

“I fell over the railing on the ship coming here,” she whispered. “The sea spoke to me. Rescued me.” She shook her head in a furious manner. “What is this all about, Soren? Do I need to seek out that man to find answers? I think he is only using my father to use his ships, but something in his gaze as the sea took me away tells me otherwise.” She shivered then, and her whole body shook with it. “I do not think he is someone I wish to seek out for any reason.”

Then Soren suggested the very thing that he knew would offer him nothing but torment for every second of the endeavor.

“I think we should seek out the places on my grandfather's map and see if there are messages or signs left there for us.” He let out a breath. “Einar clearly wanted us to know something.”

“Us?”

“The letters he wrote—”

“—Are filled with more than simple greetings,” she finished his words. “I had not noticed it until I read them again the night before I gave them to you. Phrases that now seem to hold two meanings.” Now it was she who turned away, contemplating their choices.

“If we are to help your father, if we are to understand what is happening, we must seek out more about these marks and these powers we have been given. There must be a reason for them.”

Ran nodded and he knew his own personal hell was about to begin. To be in her presence, to be with her, all the while knowing how much she hated him, would be more penance on his soul.

“Gather some garments and tell your servants you will be visiting my aunt for several days,” Soren said to her. “I'll see to things on my farm and meet you there, on the morrow.”

“And Ander? He is your friend, Soren. Will you share this with him?”

The scuffling of leather on stone was his only warning before another voice entered their conversation.

“Aye, Soren. Will you share this with me?”

•   •   •

Father Ander Erlandson walked the rest of the way into the chamber and crossed his arms. Ran knew he and Soren had grown up together, until Ander was designated to enter the priesthood and sent off to be trained. That was when Soren and her brother Erik grew closer.

“Father,” she greeted him with a respectful nod.

Father Ander was short and round, the complete opposite from tall and muscular Soren. And dark to his light features and coloring. His tonsured head and long black robes spoke of his calling.

“Ran, 'tis good to see you. You have been gone from our shores for too long. And how is Erik?” Father Ander asked in reply. Erik fit in between them in stature and complexion. She remembered the three as boys, rolling and playing and fighting. Always three. But now . . .

“He”—she paused and glanced at Soren—“he is well, Father.”

“Soren,” the priest said. Soren wore a guilty expression in his eyes now, like a boy caught committing some trespass. “I expected you in Kirkwall this morn.” Soren tried to toughen his expression now and the resulting look was even guiltier.

“I had things to see to, Ander. I sent word,” he explained. Clearly this banter between them involved something Soren did not want to do.

“Things like whatever it is you hide from my sight?” he asked, approaching Soren and holding his hand out. “You promised in good faith, my friend. Do not make me bring sin into this.”

“How much did you overhear?” Soren asked.

“Enough? Not enough?” Father replied.

Soren looked over the priest's head at her before agreeing to anything. “Ran, this involves you and matters you may not want someone else to see. 'Tis your decision.”

Father Ander faced her now, his face serious and solemn. “If Soren has not told you, my special gift is ancient and archaic languages, so you might find me helpful. But what he does not know is that a few weeks ago, something strange happened to me. I awoke one night from a terrible dream to find my arm on fire. Or so I thought.”

The priest began to roll up his sleeve.

“My arm was not on fire but the skin was burning. A mark appeared. . . .” He tugged the wide sleeve up higher. Ran held her breath then. Did he . . . ? Could he . . . ?

“When Soren approached with his request for my help, it flared once more, becoming deeper and darker,” he explained, gazing at her and then Soren, who stood now like stone. “As I held the parchment he shared with me, I knew it was part of the answer to my questions about what this mark is and what it means.”

Ander walked across the chamber that now felt so small to her. Standing before her, he lifted his arm higher.

There it was! His mark was that of a small sticklike figure of a man. And like theirs, it undulated as if alive.

“Just now, as I entered and faced you, it burned again. Now, it moves like one alive. So, Ran, Soren, do either of you know what this means and why I have it?”

If Soren's reaction was a mirror of her own, her mouth would be hanging open in disbelief and shock at the sight. How could this priest be involved in something that was as ungodly an endeavor as there ever was? The three stood in this triangle for several heavy, silent seconds until Soren moved first, removing another packet from within his tunic and opening it before them on the floor.

Not the map she'd seen but some new piece, another drawing but this time only symbols.

“My grandfather drew this, too, Ander,” he explained as they all moved closer and knelt around the parchment. “These symbols match mine”—Soren lifted his own sleeve to show the priest—“and Ran's.” Soren nodded at her and she revealed her mark.

“The sea and the winds,” Ander whispered. “As in the story. Can you truly rouse them?” The priest laughed aloud then, almost as an excited child would when discovering something wondrous.

“Aye,” they answered as one. What would his reaction be to seeing her become the sea? Ran's gaze took in the other symbols.

“So there are four others?” she asked. She picked up the story translation and read it again.

If called upon, those Warriors of Destiny can rouse the winds and sea and earth and war and sun and beasts to their cause. Fire will serve both sides and will choose good or evil to triumph at the end.

“If we are the winds and sea, then earth, war, sun and fire are out there somewhere?”

“Two firebloods?” Soren asked, pointing to the last of the words. “Fire will serve both sides. The man you saw—he said he was fire?”

“You have met another? Who is it?” Father Ander asked.