The Serpent in the Stone (The Gifted Series) (36 page)

The tempest of emotion lifted.
She stood at the edge of the dig.
The night sky draped its velvet cloak overhead.
Light from the moon and stars enabled her to see a man approaching.
For the first time, she looked on the face of the Viking warrior.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and clean-limbed, with a catlike surety in the way he carried himself, even in a worn tunic.
His long, blondish mane was tied back, drawing her attention to the strong edges of cheekbone, jaw, and nose.

As she approached, she saw him more clearly, more brightly, as if he glowed, himself.
His eyes broke her heart.
Clear blue-green, like the warm southern seas.
In them swam an ages-old pain that echoed in her bones.
Tears burned down her cheeks, and she wasn
’
t even sure why she cried.

His gaze landed on her, and he made a strangled sound.
The bronze of his skin went ashen white.
She heard him speak a name, something soft and lilting.
He came forward—one swift step, two—and then crushed her against him.

Frightened, she pushed at him, gasping for air.
“
Let go!
Let go of me!
”

He jerked away as if she
’
d slapped him across the face.
He flung a stream of words at her that she didn
’
t understand, and wouldn
’
t have remembered if she had taken Norse only yesterday.
His eyes hurled all other thoughts from her mind.

Something in her clicked.
“
I
’
ve dreamed you before,
”
she told him.

The realization that he didn
’
t comprehend her words came when he gripped her arm with terrifying strength.
He shook her, demanding, the pitch of his voice rising in furious questions.
He took her chin and stared hard at her.

She flung his hands away.
“
Back off!
”

More angry Norse words.
She caught the knife edges of them, and raced to follow his meaning.

Sorcery.
Trickery.

“
Wait!
”
she snapped.
“
Just hold on a minute.
Let me think, damn it!
”
She turned in a circle.
The air, still and hot, seethed with Hakon
’
s anger and distrust.
Her skin stung in empathy.

She had held the time-weathered skull of this man in her hands, and here he stood before her, whole.
Vertigo settled in at the thought.
She wanted out of this vision, even as she knew there were questions to be asked.

A word from Hakon, calmer now, sounding like an inquiry.
She looked back at him.
He seemed to be coming to some sort of understanding, and his expression relaxed.

“
That makes one of us, buddy,
”
she muttered.
Drawing a breath, she placed a hand over her heart.
“
Faith.
”

He hesitated, giving her a doubtful look, but nodded and said
“
Faith
”
in a perfect imitation of her American accent.

She bit her lip.
A thousand questions sprang forth, only to be bottlenecked by her hazy recollection of the language.
After a panicked moment of wondering where to start, she fumbled for the threads of long-unused Norse.
“
I am a friend.
I am the one who has been speaking to you through...
”
Through what, exactly?
Would he even grasp the concept of psychic power?
“
...through the veil of dreams.
”

A look of relief at understanding her speech passed across his face.
The firm line of his mouth softened.
“
I am sorry I have hurt you.
”

For a moment, she wondered if he meant the way he
’
d squashed the breath out of her.
Even now, he seemed reluctant to touch her, let alone get close to her.

Her confusion must have been evident, because he laid a hand on her shoulder.
A weak buzzing radiated from his fingers.
She remembered her experience on Beltane when the ghost had touched her.
She remembered the knifing sensation in her belly.

So she
’
d been right.
It was him.

Hakon lifted his hand away.
“
It was not my desire to cause you pain.
If I had known you would look—
”
He broke off and changed direction in a rush of words she almost didn
’
t catch.
“
You must help me avenge the murder of my wife.
”

Her mouth fell open on several different replies, none of which she had sufficient command of his language to make.
“
Why?
”

He met her gaze again.
The pain in his own reached inside her and gripped her by the heart.
“
It must be you.
You have her face.
”

She felt the blood drain from cheeks.
In its place came an unsettling prickle.
She found her mind racing back to the half-remembered dreams she
’
d had as a young girl, when her power first made itself known.
They came back to her now, vivid as ever.

Here.
She had visited this place in her dreams, years ago.
A house of wood, thatch, and stone.
A man tilling the land.
A woman carrying water, and laughing at a pair of kittens tumbling across the grass.
She had never seen the woman
’
s face, but the man...

That was Hakon.

He stood beside her now, waiting for her reply. Everything jumbled together on her tongue, trying to get out all at once. She cleared her throat and fought to sort coherent words out of the mess in her head. “How must I do this thing?”

Seeming to sense her turmoil, he continued slowly, pausing to be sure she understood his words.
“
Finish your digging.
Reveal the house I built when I reached this land.
There, destroy the stone disk and close the serpent paths.
”

She shook her head.
“
It cannot be
‘
destroy
’
... destroyed.
”

When he spoke again, his words came so fast she could hardly follow.
She caught
“
moon
”
and
“
sword
”
among the flurry of sounds.
Cursing her faulty memory, she held her hands up to get him to slow down.
“
When the moon shows all her face,
”
she repeated.
Switching to English, she muttered,
“
That much I got.
I have a damn deadline, and no instructions.
”
She changed back to Norse.
“
What of the sword?
”

“
I swore on it that I would not rest until I have vengeance for her death.
The sword will break the stone disk when the first spring moon, riding at its highest point, looks upon them both.
It must be done using sacred wine.
”

Just what the hell does that mean?
If I had a bottle of wine handy at the moment, I
’
d probably drink it, and to hell with this serpent thing.
“
Blessed wine?
”
she guessed aloud.

Hakon jerked a knife from his belt, then raked it across his palm.
Faith flinched.
Blood, bright as rubies, welled in the weathered creases of his hand.
“
Sacred wine,
”
he repeated.

“
Blood?
”
she murmured in Norse.
The words
“
blood
”
and
“
wine
”
were different enough in his language that there could be no mistaking the two.
She wondered if it were a metaphor.

Then she wondered how a ghost could bleed.

“
Not the blood of common men,
”
Hakon said.
“
It is no longer powerful enough.
”
He gripped her hand, spreading her fingers so that it lay palm-upward in his.
“
Sacred blood that carries the gift of the druids must also be their downfall.
”

Reeling, Faith shook her head.
“
You
’
re crazy,
”
she spat in English.
“
I want out of this.
Let go.
”
She struggled, trying to pull her hand from his.
“
Let go!
”

She woke from the vision sweating.

Faith threw the folds of oilcloth back over the sword, dropped it into its box, slammed the lid shut, then shoved the whole works under her cot and out of sight.

Gifted blood.
The blood of the descendants of druids.
He wanted her to avenge a thousand-year-old murder because she carried gifted blood, and somehow just happened to look like his dead wife.
In addition to which, she
’
d been dreaming of him her whole life.

Nausea gripped her.
Could this get any better?

The storm raged on outside.
Faith bent toward her cot and prodded at her sister.
“
Hey, wake up.
”

Sara mumbled something and opened glassy, unfocused eyes.

“
I talked to Hakon.
Sara, come on.
Wake up.
”
Faith nudged her again.

Sara’s gaze fixed somewhere over Faith’s head. “Dad?” she whispered, a brittle, hollow rasp of sound that gave Faith chills.

She clapped a hand over Sara
’
s forehead.
Her sister
’
s skin felt icy and fiery hot by turns.
“
Sara, don
’
t do this, not now.
I need you.
I
’
ve gotta tell you this.
”

No response.

Yep.
It could get better.

Faith spun around to get her first-aid kit, and started praying.

****

Rainwater dripped sulkily from the edges of Flintrop
’
s tent as he opened the flap.
The storm had spent the last of its energy by dawn, but the sky remained gray and moody.
Today
’
s weather promised to be little better.
Pulling on his jacket, he headed outside.

Michael emerged from his tent.
“
Morning.
Such as it is.
”

“
Yeah.
Start setting up.
We
’
ll see how far we can get today with the ground being so soft.
”

His assistant nodded and moved off in the direction of the dig.

Flintrop crossed the moor to Sara
’
s tent to find the door flap already open, and the tent unoccupied.
He turned toward Faith
’
s tent instead.
Hers was also open, but sounds of activity came from within.
He ducked his head inside.
“
Looks like we— What
’
s going on?
”

Faith sat in a camp chair beside the cot with slumped shoulders.
She squeezed water from a rolled towel.
Sara lay prone on the cot, murmuring in her sleep.
Faith pressed the damp towel to her sister
’
s forehead.
“
She has a fever.
She hasn
’
t been coherent all night.
”

Flintrop gestured outside.
“
I
’
ll get a couple of the team and a stretcher.
We can take her to Mainland.
”