“He lifted Ninian back to the ground, patted the child’s shoulder, and then he just seemed to fade into the thick green trees. One moment he was there—solid and strong as the oak trunk, a huge man, his sword covered with the wolf’s blood—and the next moment, he was gone, simply disappeared. The child stood there, not understanding, but not afraid.
“A dozen soldiers burst into the small clearing. They saw the dead wolf, saw the child standing over it, and they were struck dumb.
“And thus the legend began of Ninian, the king’s nephew, who, when still a small child, killed a wolf. That the wolf had been gutted with a sword was dismissed and forgotten. The more thoughtful knew that the child couldn’t have lifted a sword, much less smote the wolf a killing blow. The king marveled at this small being. The small being himself marveled. He tried to tell his nurse of the Viking warrior, but she was in no mood to believe that a spirit could have slain the wolf. No, she would prefer Ninian to be the magic one, the special one, the one chosen by the gods to follow the king.
“The sisters decided they would kill the child. They didn’t believe he killed the wolf, for Helga had powers herself, and she had watched Ninian, and seen none in him. Thus they convinced themselves that a man had come along, seen the child was in danger, killed the wolf, then quickly left before the soldiers came.
“Aye, they would kill the boy. Helga cast a spell in her tower room. She called up the demons of fire and ice and desert sands. She bade them use their powers to rid them of the child. The demon of fire appeared and said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. He is sworn protection by one far more powerful than I. Leave him alone.’
“Helga cursed him and sent him back into the netherworld. She called up the demon of ice. He said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. A higher power than I guards him. Leave him alone.’
“Helga still would not accept the demons’ words. She called forth the demon of the desert sands. He said, ‘You are a fool, woman, to call up the coward demons of fire and ice before you called me. You wish me to kill the child. I will kill him and I will enjoy it. Then you will be in my debt.’
“The demon disappeared in a swirl of thick black smoke. Helga rejoiced and told her sister that the child would soon be dead. They told their husbands. They all waited. One day Ninian was found missing. The king and all his soldiers couldn’t find him. Everyone in the land searched for the child, but he wasn’t to be found. He was gone, disappeared with no trace.”
Laren looked down at Merrik and said, “I am going to be sick.” She jumped down, trusting him to catch her, then broke away from him and ran through the open palisade doors and into the bushes around the path.
Oleg slapped Merrik on his back. “Perhaps she will not be groaning overmuch this night or racing from your bed to be sick. There is still hope, Merrik.”
Merrik grunted. “Perhaps, but give me leave to doubt it. She will be very unhappy on the morrow.”
“I want to know what happened to Ninian,” Oleg called.
“Aye,” Roran yelled out, “I want to know who the Viking warrior was.”
“I hope she doesn’t puke away the story with her guts,” Bartha said, “else I won’t dye her another gown.”
“And I,” Merrik said, gazing through the open gates of the palisade, “wonder if my bride will even remember the Viking warrior or me on the morrow.”
“With all that royal blood,” Old Firren said, and then spat, “surely she can recover quickly from the ale.”
And she did. It was near to midnight when Merrik, convinced she was back to herself again, took her hand and raised her from the bench. He said to all his very drunk people, “There is no rain coming, for Eller hasn’t smelled anything.”
“He can only smell the foul odors of savages!”
“That’s true enough,” Merrik said, laughing, “but the night is clear. Stay here if you wish and keep drinking. I will take my wife to my bed.”
They were given advice in the marriage bed, all of it very specific, all of it accompanied with laughter as both men and women played their parts as the bride and groom.
Merrik believed her embarrassed until they stepped inside the sleeping chamber and she said, “I trust you took note of all they said, Merrik.”
“Aye,” he said, and pulled her against him. “I heard everything.”
“I think,” she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, “that I’m still afraid. This is all very new to me, Merrik, despite all that I’ve seen in the past two years, and I have seen more than I should.”
“I know, sweeting, but it isn’t important now. What is important is us. I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you.”
“I know,” she whispered. She felt the allure of him, the temptation of him, and what he would give to her. Still, she just looked up at him, waiting.
He smiled at her and sifted his fingers through her hair, pulling loose the tangles. “Trust me,” he said, “just trust me.” He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, easily, as if there were nothing more he wished to do. He lifted his face.
“The night is long before us,” he said.
18
THE FOLLOWING MORNINGLaren stood beside Sarla, who was stirring the porridge. Very few men were upright, many more were sprawled on their backs, appearing quite dead save for the occasional moans and snores. The women, more stoic, went about their chores, more slowly than usual, but still they worked, looked at the men, and shook their heads. The children, not stupid, spoke quietly whilst in the longhouse.
“That was a wonderful feast,” Sarla said. “I wish to hear the rest of the story tonight.”
