Chapter 29 #2
Another streak of lightning came, then two more together, then one more, this one searing away the end of the wooden dock. Thunder boomed right overhead, so loud Cleve’s men held their hands over their ears.
The warriors on board the warship were running about, looking at the heavens, looking toward the men on the dock that was falling away beneath their feet.
Captain Torric yelled, “The ropes will break. Row to the dock and save the men. Quickly now, quickly!”
Rain poured down upon them. It had been silent and dry one moment, then the rain flooded over them. “Hurry,” Torric yelled. “Hurry!”
The men were rowing frantically, others with wooden pails were filling them from the bottom of the warship and tossing the water over the side, but the rain only came down harder and harder still in the following minutes.
“Aye,” Igmal said to Cleve, “see how they come to us. They’re like dead chickens that don’t yet know they’re dead. Soon now, very soon, and we will have Chessa back.”
But Cleve wasn’t so certain of that. He had seven men. There were nearly sixty men aboard the warship. What chance did they have even amid all this confusion?
Lightning struck the huge mast of the warship, tearing it in half.
Men screamed in pain and fear as it fell on twelve of them, pinning them beneath it.
It was then Cleve saw Chessa. She was standing in the entryway of the cargo space, staring toward shore, staring toward Varrick, whom all could see now, if they looked, his black cloak billowing out behind him, standing tall on that higher ground, which seemed even higher now than it had before, the burra held in front of him, his head flung back, his throat working.
Cleve knew he was speaking, but the words were low, nearly a whisper, and blown away by the wind that was now whipping the warship closer and closer to the dock.
It would crash into it. The warriors on board were praying to Odin, to Thor, to Freya.
They were terrified. Both Kerek and Torric yelled at them to row back out to sea, but the wind was shoving them harder and harder toward the dock and the shore.
Chessa stood there, smiling.
Turella ran to her, the wind so strong she could barely remain upright.
“You’re doing this,” she screamed at Chessa. “I can see it in your witch’s eyes. You’re doing this. Stop it, damn you, stop it before we’re all dead.”
“Aye, I am doing it. I won’t die. When the warship strikes the dock, the men will flee in terror. Then, Turella, I will leave you, and I hope never to see you again. If I do, I will destroy you. You think this storm is strong? I haven’t stretched my powers yet. This is only the beginning.”
Suddenly, the warship struck the dock. The sound of rending wood sounded through the night, so powerful the crash that it was heard even over the wind. Men screamed and leapt from the warship, jumping onto the remains of the dock and running as fast as they could toward shore and safety.
“Cowards!” Turella screamed after them, but her voice was smothered in the wind, her mouth filled with the thick rain that poured down over them.
“Stop it, Chessa.”
“Nay, Kerek. You’d best save your queen. As for Ragnor, I believe he is still unconscious from all the mead he drank. I’m leaving now. I wanted to call you friend but you wouldn’t allow it. I don’t wish you well, Kerek. Goodbye.”
He grabbed her arm. “I won’t let you go.”
It was then Cleve said, “Release her, Kerek. She’s right. It’s over now.”
Chessa said quickly, “He knows I brought the devastation, he just doesn’t want to accept it. I will bring more if you don’t release me, Kerek, that or Cleve will kill you.”
Kerek dropped her arm.
“Save your pathetic king,” Chessa called back to him even as Cleve lifted her into his arms and lightly tossed her to Igmal, who stood on the dock.
But Kerek shook his head and ran toward Turella. He grabbed her and pulled her over his shoulder. “We will survive this,” he said, and jumped to the dock. He slipped on broken planks and dropped her. Both of them went down, knocking the breath from each.
Then, as suddenly as the terrifying storm had begun, it stopped.
The air was quiet. The blackness no longer weighed so heavily.
There was no more rain. A single bolt of lightning slashed through the black sky, but it was nothing, really, just an afterthought of the storm the demons unleashed during those endless minutes.
Turella sat up. She shook her head. “She could have killed us,” she said to Kerek.
He was staring after Cleve, who had reached the dock and now carried his wife in his arms. The rest of Turella’s men, those who hadn’t run for shelter into Inverness, stood on the shreds of the dock, just stood there, panting, not understanding what had happened, thankful they were still alive.
“The princess did this,” Torric said. “I don’t want her in York. She will kill all of us next time.”
“Aye,” the men said.
“She’s a witch.”
“The night was darker than an old man’s teeth. Now the moon is bright overhead.”
“We must leave.”
Kerek listened to the men, knew it was lost, and stood. He held out his hand and pulled Turella, sodden, her hair plastered to her head, to her feet.
“You are all right, my lady?”
She nodded. Then she froze still as a rune stone.
Kerek stared at her. He didn’t think she was breathing, just staring beyond him.
Slowly, he turned to see a tall man dressed all in black striding toward them.
The moon seemed suddenly brighter overhead, indeed, it seemed to shine more brightly over the man who was coming ever closer to them.
He carried no huge sword, his white hands were empty.
The wind came again, but it wasn’t a raging wind, just enough so that the man’s black cloak billowed out behind him.
He didn’t look of this earth.
Turella’s warriors, one by one, became aware of the man coming toward them.
They stared. They prayed and huddled together.
One man drew his sword. As if he’d seen that sword drawn, the tall man paused a moment, then turned to look directly at the warrior.
The warrior fell back a step, lowering his sword until its tip was buried into the wooden dock at his feet.
Turella said very softly, “Varrick? Is it really you? After all these years?”
“Aye, Turella, it is I. You dared to take what belongs to me. Should I kill you, I wonder, or acknowledge your ignorance this one time, and let you live?”
“Who is this man?” Kerek said, aware that his voice wasn’t steady, and hating himself for it.
Surely this was just a man, nothing more than a single man, and he wasn’t even armed.
He could walk to him and strangle him. He could kill him, but he didn’t move.
“You know this man, my lady?” Kerek said, seeing the pallor of her face.
She looked suddenly like an old woman, bent and frail, not the proud queen he’d loved for so many years.
Turella said, “He is Varrick. He is my brother.” It was then she seemed to remember she was a queen, not some sort of frightened old woman.
She drew herself up. “You still wear black, I see, Varrick. Do you still streak blue and red paint on your face and dance around fires, chanting an ignorant babble of ancient rituals? Do you still seek out those things mortals shouldn’t know about?
Do you still terrify people with your tricks? ”
“Did you like the storm, Turella? Did you feel terror? Your men did.”
“Nay, Chessa brought the storm.”
“Do you really believe so, sister?”
She didn’t believe it, and Kerek saw she didn’t. She swallowed, afraid, and Kerek knew she was afraid, and so did this Varrick, this sorcerer all garbed in black, standing so tall and stark white beneath the half-moon that shone so brightly down upon him.
She was staring at him again, studying his face. She said suddenly, “By all the gods, I should have known. His eyes, they’re your eyes—one gold, one blue. I saw Cleve once in York and I remarked his strange eyes. And again tonight, just for a moment. He is your son, Varrick?”
“Aye, he is my son.”
“Chessa is his wife,” she said, her voice absent. “Their child will be formidable.”
“It is possible,” he said. “That is none of your concern, Turella. Listen to me. Your warship isn’t destroyed. Gather your men, awaken your sodden son, or give him to me and I’ll kill him. Leave my land. Never return here, Turella, else I’ll make you regret it even into eternity.”
“Aye,” she said slowly, “we will leave. I know there is nothing here for me now. The Danelaw is lost. Chessa wasn’t for me, Varrick, I wanted her for the Danelaw, to lead when the time came, to control Ragnor.”
Varrick stood quiet, staring out over the dark sea.
There was no wind, yet his black cloak billowed out behind him.
He said finally, “I have a stepdaughter. Her name is Cayman. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There is no man for her here and she will grow old alone, without children, without purpose. If you request it, Turella, I will ask her if she wishes to join you. She is very smart. After all, she’s lived with me since she was a child.
She would listen to you, Turella, she would deal well with this wretched son of yours. She would replace Chessa.”
“She is truly beautiful?”
He nodded. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I don’t lie.”
“Can she make mead?” Kerek said.
Varrick’s brow went upward. “Mead? Aye, her mead is excellent. If she decides to go with you, she will have to tell her sister how to prepare it, else all of us will be greatly saddened.”
Kerek rubbed his hands together. “If this is true,” he said to Turella, “then Utta of Hawkfell Island is safe, Ragnor will remain sodden, and you and this Cayman will rule.”
Turella stared at her brother, with his billowing cloak in the still air. “I will take her.”
Varrick merely nodded. “Remain here for two days. If she decides to come to you, I will bring her. I wish you farewell, sister. Treat my stepdaughter well. If you do not, you will answer to me.” He nodded to her once again, turned on his heel, and began to walk quickly down the wooden dock.
Kerek saw him take a stick from his belt and raise it over his head.
He saw a wind begin to rise, but it was only around Varrick.
It spun around him, making the cloak flap up and down, making the loose sleeves of Varrick’s black tunic billow out.
A mist came up suddenly, but it seemed to be only directly in front of Varrick, and he walked toward that mist, into it, and then, suddenly, the mist began to fade, holes appearing in it, the holes spreading, like a fire spreading over cloth.
In moments the mist was gone and the night clear again.
Varrick was gone as well.
To Kerek’s astonishment, Turella laughed. “He did that when he was naught but a small boy,” she said. “The wizards in Bulgar taught him that.” And she laughed and laughed.
“But he vanished, my lady,” Kerek said, so frightened he thought he’d choke with it.
“Aye,” she said. “He vanished. When I came here to wed the king of the Danelaw, he came with me. He’d learned all the wizards could teach him in the Bulgar.
He’d heard of the West, of the Druids and their ancient magic.
He wanted to visit the land called Scotland and learn the Picts’ ways.
I see he stayed. I still can’t believe it, Kerek.
Cleve is his son. Those eyes—I am a fool.
I should have realized the moment I saw him in York that he was Varrick’s son. ”
“Nay,” Kerek said, and drew her against him. “Ah, you’re wet and you’re tired. This night has been something I don’t wish to repeat, ever. Whilst we wait for Cayman, we must gather up our men again and soothe their terrors. We must see to repairs on the warship.”
“She makes excellent mead,” Turella said, and giggled against Kerek’s shoulder.
She’d giggled? Kerek had never heard a more wonderful sound in his life.
Captain Torric limped to them, stared at them a moment, then cleared his throat. He said matter-of-factly, “Ragnor slept through the storm, all the lightning, the thunder. He slept through the warship’s crash against the dock. He’s awake now and calling for mead.”