Page 19 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
‘Will you promise to visit?’
‘God could not stop me, but will you promise me one thing?’
I could feel the words cling to the back of my throat.
‘You do not need to say it.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘I will watch over Donada like she is my own sister.’
Those words lay heavy upon my chest, but I knew in that moment whatever fate lay before me, death or life. Donada would be safe, despite all the mess and my hastiness, I took comfort in knowing that. It was all I ever wanted.
‘They will be waiting for me.’
I turned to leave, pulling up the hood of my travelling cloak. I could not bring myself to say goodbye. The ground beneath my feet was sodden with spring rain making it slippery underfoot but I did not dare turn, I would never have been able to make myself turn back.
?
I stared out over the horizon. I could not catch sight of Orkney behind the spring fret that threatened to make land. A pair of ravens, like black blemishes, struggled against the same gale that caused the shale beneath my feet to rattle like bones.
My father and his men lined the sand like wraiths. My mare had already been taken from me and tied to the saddle of one of his men. I would have no more need of her.
I strained my ears to listen to the sounds of the forest. Hoping to hear the sound of Donada’s voice one last time. Bethóc was the only person waiting to bid me farewell. My mother was no doubt praying to be rid of me, hoping that I would meet some untimely end, and she would no longer have to deal with my constant disappointment. One of God’s blessings. I cannot say that it did not hurt that Donada had stayed away, I had hoped that the thought of me leaving would have been enough to bring her from her sullen mood, but it would take much more than that before we would speak again.
Cattle bellowed, clattering over the shale as they were herded onto a shoreline that they had never known. Promised in the Jarl’s Mundr, and not knowing their fate, they gave a mournful sound. Next came three of the Dane’s best horses, a bay, a dapple, and a chestnut. My father’s eye watched them greedily.
I hoped he was happy with the price he had received for me.
Following his gaze, at the water’s edge, where the soil met the sea, I caught sight of a man in a dark blue cloak, hunched over a shepherd’s staff. His beard, like spun gold, whipped and twisted against the wood. He looked no older than my father, but a piece of dark-coloured fabric covered his right eye socket where the eye should have been. He beckoned me.
The All-Father appears to those who need him most and, on that shoreline, I needed nothing more than the wisdom of Odin, if only my heart had been open enough to see it.
I glanced behind me, but it seemed as though the rest had not seen him. I took a step closer towards him.
‘Daughter.’ My father barked from behind. ‘May I speak with you?’
I whipped my head to my father and back, to catch sight of the wanderer but in his place two ravens spiralled skyward, wings beating furiously.
As the Danes carried on filling their ships my father’s fat priest addressed the crowd perched on the top of a boulder.
‘There is but one God,’ he bellowed. ‘Your spells and heathen ways are an affront to our Lord. You will be damned! Close is the day of reckoning. Fire will pour down upon your vileness and he will wipe the pagans from the earth. Do not be beguiled by them…’
It would give me great pleasure, in the months that followed, to slit that priest from arsehole to breakfast. I will not let it be said that I did not have my revenge.
One of the Danes shouted something in Norse, and they all roared with laughter.
‘Aye, my Laird king?’ I said over the din.
‘The Jarl asked that you have a sword belonging to one of your ancestors to pledge fealty.’ He did not look in my direction. ‘Here, take this.’
He handed me a claymore; it took both my hands to support its weight. Its basket hilt was overlain with gold and intricate carvings, but it was not my father’s or my ancestors. I had seen it hanging in the blacksmiths.
‘But this is not one of ours?’
‘No, but it’s all that you’ll give to those sea dogs.’
He turned his horse and kicked it on, with all his men following one after another and his slowest trailing behind him herding the cattle.
Huddled against the shoreline I waited. Flanked by two of my husband’s men. Drest rested, hooded inside his box. We were travelling lightly; I had been allowed a small parcel containing some of my dresses and a Holy Cross. I had crudely wrapped the sword, a gift for my new husband and I had slipped the daggeragainst my thigh in my woollen stocking. My husband had assured me that I would have dresses more fitting of my status when I arrived in Orkney.
A gust caught my hood, casting my hair into the wind. It whipped at my face, sticking to tear-stained cheeks. I choked back a sob.
