Chapter 2 #2
I recoiled, shifting on the bench so I wasn’t so close to him. His injured shoulder faced me, and when he bent to slide my father’s blade back into his boot, I saw with some satisfaction that the wound still leaked blood.
If I died here today, I would die knowing I’d avenged myself.
The longboat cut smoothly through the waves, away from safety, away from home. I knew there were more isles to the west, but as the full moon rose over the mainland, I doubted we were visiting them.
Speculatively, I glanced over the side of the boat. Trussed as I was, if I went overboard, I’d have no hope of survival. The loss of the gag would enable me to quickly inhale the salt water that would kill me, condemning me to a watery grave.
As if he could read my thoughts, the Stormseeker slid three fingers through the ropes his lieutenant had tied—with an exasperated grumble—around my arms. I wouldn’t be able to throw myself in the water without my captor’s approval.
Mayhap ‘twas for the best. I was too cowardly to kill myself, anyhow.
I sat there, my arms and legs tied uncomfortably, as the moon rose and we approached a rocky shoreline.
The sea raiders gave no indication of stopping, though, and as we slid past it, I saw another island in the distance.
The orcs called to one another, their good nature clear despite not having taken the time to celebrate their victory today—mayhap they were too well-disciplined for that?
But the longer I sat on that hard bench, the more my muscles protested.
‘Twas far better than lying curled on my side on the deck, aye, but the hours of inactivity were making my legs cramp and my shoulders droop.
The fear and tension from earlier slowly faded to a vague sense of doom as the night deepened and my captor ignored me.
I could feel my eyelids drooping.
Then my stomach grumbled loudly and I winced, hoping the orc hadn’t heard it. I was already beaten and captured…I couldn’t stand the humiliation of them hearing my body complaining about it.
I would not ask for food from the Stormseeker, not even if I were starving to death. I could wait until my escape to—
Thoughts fled my mind when the orc held up a torn piece of bread before my lips. God forgive me, but my mouth watered with each inhale of the fluffy brown scent.
The male was still speaking to his lieutenant, his tone an easy cadence, the topic the list of their stolen goods. The Stormseeker didn’t look at me as he offered me food, and I wasn’t certain if his casualness made it more embarrassing or less.
Cautious, I leaned forward and snatched the bread from his fingers with my teeth, then glanced at him as I chewed. He seemed to ignore me—they were speaking of someone named Issa and her love of cheese—but I saw the right corner of his lips twitch.
Still not looking, he held up another piece of bread near my mouth and I briefly considered snapping his fingers as well. But the bread had been heavenly—fluffier and better-tasting than what I had managed to learn to make—and I was hungry.
The hours passed, with me cautiously accepting bread and then fresh water from the Stormseeker, who treated the experience casually, as if it were natural. As if I were naught more than a caged pet he needed to care for.
I wasn’t certain I could handle any more uncertainty.
Whatever he had planned for me, I wanted it to be done. If that meant my death, I would steal my father’s knife from the orc’s boot and try to plunge it into his heart, just to hasten things along. Mayhap I would have, too, had I not been bound like a hog.
And then the tone of the orcs’ conversation changed. They were speaking of home, peering over their shoulders, and the air…the air shifted. This wasn’t the sea wind I’d become used to, living in the mining village. This was…something else.
I twisted on the bench, looking about, and felt my captor’s grip on the ropes tighten. The Stormseeker’s attention, however, was locked over his men’s heads, at something in the distance.
Slowly he stood, then seemed to suddenly remember me. He glanced down, twitched a brow, and moved to shift me over so he could stand between me and the walls of his longboat, trapping me between him and his giant lieutenant.
I would have cursed, except by now my attention was captured by the sight we were approaching.
We’d passed more islands, and now rocky outcroppings jutted from the ocean, waves crashing against them.
We were headed directly toward a circle of them, and I found myself holding my breath, willing strength to the helmsman.
The longboat’s path was as straight and sure as one of my father’s arrows. We headed toward the circle of stones which rose in the center of the sea…and the silvery mist which collected between them.
I told myself ‘twas just sea mist…and I almost believed the lie.
“Good timing, Auld Garran,” murmured my captor. “Steady now.”
“I dinnae tell ye how to run the clan, laddie,” the helmsman snapped, “and ye dinnae tell me how to do my job.”
The giant lieutenant chuckled, but I could read the Stormseeker’s concern in the way his knuckles tightened around the wooden rail of his longboat.
I glanced up at the full moon directly above us and realized it had to be midnight. No wonder I was so exhausted.
At my side, the Stormseeker sucked in a breath…and then the boat slipped past the first of the standing stones and we were inside the circle, inside the mist. It felt light, fluffy. If I could have moved my hands, I might have reached up to cup the air, tried to capture it.
It felt…magical.
The orcs gave another two pulls on the oars, the rhythmic sound somehow muted here in the mist…and then we were through, passing between the stones on the opposite side of the circle.
And every single male on the longboat gave a long exhale of relief. I saw it in the slump of the males’ shoulders, the way they chuckled and jostled one another…and I thought that these males weren’t so different from the doomed warriors my father had gathered around himself.
I didn’t understand what was happening, not until the Stormseeker exhaled again and sank beside me on the bench, giving me—for the first time since his dusk laughter—his full attention.
“Ye understand what happened, little wildcat?”
I hated appearing ignorant, but I was desperate. I gave the smallest shake of my head, and his lips twisted.
“Aye, well, ‘tis nae surprise yer kind doesnae speak of the pathways, eh? Turn about—I’ll untie ye.”
Untie me? Before I could do more than twist sideways, eager for release, he’d pulled the blade from his boot again and bent over the knots in the ropes holding me trussed. As he worked, he spoke.
“Our world mirrors yers. We live parallel beside ye, aye? There are natural pathways, crossings between the two. My people are sea farers. We long ago found this circle”—he jerked his chin toward the rocky outcropping disappearing behind us—“and make use of it.”
When he straightened, the ropes fell away from my middle, and I nearly groaned in relief. He reached for my wrists and began to pick at that knot.
“Damn my brother’s heavy hand,” he muttered with a shake of his head before he continued.
“The pathways are only open for an hour during the height of the full moon. Ye ken what that means?”
This last was said to me as he straightened, still holding my wrists in one of his large hands, unwrapping the rope without looking at it. Wide-eyed, I could only stare back at him.
Pathways?
Mirror worlds?
I’d grown up in the western isles. Of course I’d heard the legends of orcs, fierce beasts who raided and carried helpless maidens away. Mothers told stories of them to keep children in line. My father had spoken of battling them years before, but…
They lived in a different world? One only accessible at certain times of the month?
Why was I not dismissing this as impossible?
Because you just experienced that mist. You just went through the stone pathway.
The Stormseeker’s expression had softened somewhat as he watched me come to terms with his words.
My legs were still bound, but he made no move to untie them yet.
Instead, he sat beside me on that bench, the moonlit ocean all around us, and pressed the pad of his thumb against the frantically beating pulse in my wrist.
“What’s yer name, lass?” he asked gently.
I saw no reason to lie, although it took a few tries to get my voice to work.
“R-Rowena.”
When he grinned, his tusks seemed even more pronounced.
“After the Rowan tree. Strong. Flexible.” He nodded once. “A good name for a wee warrior.”
Warrior.
He’d called me that before the people of my village, right before he’d taken me as tribute. Most men saw naught but abomination when they saw me practicing my forms in trews. Most scorned my abilities, my talents.
Of course, most didn’t bear the evidence of my talent in the form of a bloody gash on their shoulder.
Mayhap the Stormseeker sensed the direction of my thoughts, because he squeezed my wrist slightly.
“I am Vrogul, chief of the Battleborn of Islay.”
When he tipped his head haughtily, the moonlight glinted off the rings stacked in his ears and I wondered if they were the sign of his position.
“We’re a small clan, but fierce.”
I forced myself not to glance at the stores and the raw ore they’d stolen from my people. I’d heard him speak of the six humans who had died today and wondered if I’d known any of them. Betta’s husband? Merena’s father?
So my voice croaked when I acknowledged his claim.
“Aye.”
“Ye’re in my world now, Rowena.”
His tone wasn’t threatening, wasn’t harsh. Just…stating a fact.
“Ye cannae go back home.”
I couldn’t, could I?
Even if I could manage to make my way back here to this pathway in the middle of the ocean, it would be another four weeks before the moon was right again. Would I even live that long?
Did it matter? This male was my enemy, and if he thought I was going to crumple at his feet and wail because of a little thing like moving into another world, then I would prove him wrong.
I met his dark gaze and lifted my chin.
“Nay,” I spat at him. “But I can still escape you.”
The way his lips curled slightly told me that my threat hadn’t exactly worked.
Well, good. Let him underestimate me.
I would show him his folly.