3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
At high noon, midway through Brunhild’s twelfth summer, she saw one of her father’s warrior’s stab her mother in the back in the midst of battle.
The lethal blow was delivered at the behest of her father, because her mother had refused to surrender her fleet and her freedom as she’d surrendered her body.
When Brunhild had visited the seer in the hopes her own path would be revealed, the vola had revealed the part she’d played in the death of Freydis, Shield Maiden of Inisholt.
The vola had foreseen Ranulf’s treachery when she’d cast the bones, and had kept the knowledge to herself.
Brunhild had fled the woman’s cave in horror, knowing if she raised her own hand in vengeance, she’d be cast out, forever disfavored by the gods. She’d fled, and she’d become the Cut-Throat Maiden and Bringer of Fire. She’d borne the bitter knowledge she’d gleaned in silence and avoided the vola.
Until now.
She needed to know if death nipped at her heels, if she was truly meant to leave the rise and fall of the waves behind her and follow the shapeshifter king to his island.
When she lifted the mallet and tapped the bronze bell that hung outside the cave, the wind sang eerily through the leaves.
“Come to me, Brunhild, daughter of Freydis. I have been waiting for you.”
Brunhild took a deep breath and brushed aside the vines that covered the opening. The vola was crouched before a fire ring, staring into the flames.
“Your silence was a betrayal to my mother. I’ve come before you because there was no other choice. I must know if the gods and the goddesses have a plan. If my father is unwittingly working to carve the path they’ve designed for me.”
“I have been given a prophecy. Would you like to hear it, Brunhild Freydisdottir?”
Brun knelt beside her. “It is why I have sought you out. So I know what my future holds and I can prepare for it.”
The Vola closed her eyes and held her hands, palms upward, toward the arched roof of the cave.
Hearth fires turn to ash and snow, as moon swallows sun.
The shadows of the far shore creep beneath the sea
Darkness descends, blood will run
Beneath its cloak, none shall be free.
A bringer of fire
Will finally embrace her light
For only her sword and shield
Have strength enough to banish
The tide of night.
Brun couldn’t hide her disgust at the cryptic message. “Your prophecy means nothing to me.”
The seeress shook herself from her trance and shrugged. “It is all the gods and goddesses have seen fit to show me.”
“I came to you because I believed you could tell me whether I should abide by my father’s edict and wed this foreigner, or if I should lead my fleet elsewhere, and ignore it.”
“Whether or not you’ll carry out the duties your father has assigned to you, is a choice you must make. I cannot advise you on it, as what is in your heart will shape your path.”
Brunhild rose to her feet. “I will make a sacrifice to Freya and hope her message is clearer than yours.”
“I bid you good evening, Fire Bringer.”
Brun had knelt before her hearth and anointed it with blood from a cut she sliced across her palm. She’d sought her center and pleaded with the goddess to show her which path was the right one.
Freya had stayed silent, and when a brisk knock resounded on her door, she was loathe to answer it, fearing her brothers were there to deliver more instruction or dire warnings on behalf of their father.
When her sister at arms had shown up with a flask of ale, Brun had gladly ushered her across the threshold.
She and Mirren had been trading stories of their last raid, and she preferred to dwell on those, not the uncertainty of her future.
When Brunhild flung open her door, the imposing each uisge lounged against the frame.
Since their meeting at the harbor, she’d been resentful of her father’s manipulation, but curious too.
She’d been thinking about Mirren’s points and had been building a strategy.
If the women of the Keltoi had more dominion over their fate, her path to freedom would be more easily reached there than on her native shore.
What held her back was her distrust of her father and her distrust of her prospective groom.
Her intended husband hadn’t bothered to clean the mud and woad from his face. It streaked his forehead and caked his beard. Strange symbols were painted on his cheeks and trailed down his arms and bare chest. She could tell his hair was stiff from salt spray, and he seemed ill at ease.
The swirl of symbols meant nothing to her and Brunhild briefly wondered if they were some sort of ward.
He didn’t look like a king or a warlord. He looked like a common henchman, or one of the wild wolves of the far north. He wore no crown, and there were streaks of cloud at his temples. They disappeared into the hair pulled away from his face with a length of twine.
He smelled like briny leather that had dried in the sun, like the swish of wind in the sails of her longboat and the swift slice of oars across the rise of the waves. She closed her eyes briefly at the temptation inherent in his scent.
She crossed her arms, and widened her stance. Barring him from crossing her threshold.
“Why are you here, each uisge?”
“I am here because I think someone should discuss the ceremony with you and neither your father nor your brothers seem inclined to do so.”
“There is nothing to discuss, because I’ve yet to decide if I’ll honor the bargain my father made without my consent.”
“Shieldmaiden,” his tone was brusque and she could hear the annoyance behind it. “There are aspects of the ceremony tomorrow you should not be surprised by.”
“Grant me one night of peace before I decide if I will bind myself to you.”
He shook his head. “No. I ask that you take a stroll with me. Somewhere quiet and of your choosing.”
Brunhild flicked a glance over her shoulder and met Mirren’s wide eyes. When she swiveled back, he raised an impatient brow. “I agree to this only if my shield mate follows us.”
“I care not. I have nothing to hide and she is welcome to listen,” he said with a shrug.
“My leader goes nowhere unarmed and does not need me to accompany her," Mirren interjected. She gave Brun a jaunty salute as she made her way to the door. "I'm off to find my own entertainment."
After Mirren left, Brun turned to her groom. “My first mate is correct, I seldom lay down my weapons.”
"I've been expecting a knife in my back or an ax in my skull since we landed, so I'll be armed as well."
She gave him a sharp nod as she sheathed her axe and sword. “I know of a place where our conversation will remain private.”
Brunhild hadn’t visited the pool over the crest of the hill since her return from raiding. Freya's presence was always in that place, calming and steady like the breeze that always rippled through the clearing.
When they reached the clearing, she whirled to face him and stepped back, one hand on the hilt of her dagger and the other on the handle of her axe. She’d only unsheathe her weapons in this sacred place if he became a threat.
“Say your piece, barbarian.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Your weapons needn’t be at the ready, and would do you no good against me if I change form."
“I have no reason to trust you and I’ll take my chances if need be. At the very least I’ll draw your blood before you overpower me.”
His shrug was aggravatingly nonchalant. “You must do what you believe you must. I only wish to hear the conditions you’ll impose on our union.”
He seemed earnest, and if she told him the reasons she was so opposed, perhaps he would address them.
“Our marriage will not be consummated until we have come to know each other. No matter how long that takes.”
“I am amenable to this condition. I have no wish to bed the daughter of my former enemy without some assurance she won’t spit me on her sword.”
“As long as you keep your distance, cretin, my sword will remain sheathed.”
“We must consummate the marriage or it is invalid in the eyes of the gods. You may not be my mate, but we must prevail upon them for their blessing despite the false foundation of our union.”
“Your mate? I am no one’s mate.”
“Each uisge bear children only with their mate. A partner who is the other half of their soul, usually a mortal. When the mating bond is woven between them, she becomes long-lived and favored by the gods as well.”
“If you and your kind are so favored by the gods, why have they abandoned you to the Kraken horde? I am not your mate, and our union will simply add to their ire.”
His gaze searched hers. “As colts we are told that we will know when we find the other half of our soul. That it is like lightning striking our heart - forever changing us. That did not happen when I met you.”
“But something happened when you met me.” She could see it in his eyes. Although she wasn’t his mate, she affected him.
“Something happened. Something I choose to ignore because it is inconvenient.”
Now Brunhild was even more curious. “This whole bargain is an inconvenience to me and a boon to you. You are getting everything you desire and I receive nothing in return.”
He planted his hands on his hips and tipped his chin toward the cloudless winter sky. “I want you in my furs, Brunhild Ranulfsdottir. And that want is inconvenient and was not part of my plans.”
“You do not know me well enough to desire such a thing,” she accused with flushed cheeks.
“I needn’t know anything other than your beauty. Your slender strength and your sturdy frame. The way your chin reaches my shoulder and your height is the match to mine. The way I know I could plunge into you against a wall and I’d feel the scrape of your nails as your body swallowed mine.”
Brunhild ignored the way the image he painted made her shiver. “Beauty is nothing but a burden. If I agree to uphold my father’s bargain, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”
He held them in the air, palms outward. “As I’d like them to remain attached to my wrists.”