Soren watched his hands as they shimmered with power. He could feel it seething in his blood, coursing through his body. And, though he’d destroyed the wall, he could sense that there was much, much more power hiding within. But what else could he do? How could he test these new abilities?
What did storms do? Or clouds? Or winds?
They blew. They rained. They soared.
Before he could even put the thought in his mind, the winds picked him up and lifted him above the tower. Spinning around and under him, Soren looked down to see the ground below him—far below! Higher and higher, he flew until he could see across the island and across the sea. Too shocked to contemplate the method or meaning of this, he stared south and could see across the other Orcadian islands down to the Scottish coast. He blinked, unable to take it all in. It was still there below him when he opened his eyes. If he could see all of this, could anyone see him? What would they see? The clouds swirled around him now in answer, masking him from anyone beneath him. To anyone looking up, he would be seen only as a cloud moving quickly in the air. Indeed, he could see everything clearly. Or he thought he could until he held his hands out before him and he could not see them. He moved them and realized he was looking through them as though they were like the costly glass in church or palace windows.
Shaken by the sight, he turned to look around. The tower was directly beneath him and he wanted to return to it. The winds and the clouds took him there. When his feet touched the stone floor of the tower, he fell to his knees. The clouds, mist and winds dissipated after whispering his name and rustling through his hair, almost as a gesture of farewell.
Alone, Soren pushed to his feet and glanced around. How could the world be so usual when his entire existence had just changed in an instant? What else had his grandfather not told him? He raced down the steps to the chamber where he’d left the map and parchment. The only thing he could do was seek out the places marked so prominently and search for those other symbols. Mayhap old Einar had left signs in other places?
Ander might be more helpful than Soren had first thought. Soren’s knowledge of God or gods was limited, but Ander was highly educated and knowledgeable about many things, including history. He’d reacted at the nameTaranisyet he withheld it, just as Soren had withheld the other parchments from Ander. Soren would give his friend a few days and then approach him.
Ander’s singular failing was his curiosity. It had gotten him, them, in trouble many times in their youth and continued to plague him now. Once curious, Ander was like the best hound in seeking out an answer or bit of knowledge or some obscure detail. Soren did not doubt that within a day, two at most, the priest would know what the words were and all about Taranis. By the way his grandfather spoke his name, Taranis must be some ancient, forgotten god.
A fresh, searing pain in his arm made him swear aloud. Pulling up his sleeve, he found the indistinct mark was nothing of the kind. Now, a rippling lightning bolt sat there, pulsing with power, reminding him apparently that no god, ancient or otherwise, liked to be forgotten. Or mocked.
Soren folded the parchments with care, tucking one inside the other and left the tower. As he rode away, his mind filled with questions and plans. He would ask his mother’s cousin to take over his daily duties on the farm so Soren would have time to follow this collection of clues left for him.
Whether a fool’s errand or a true quest, he knew not. But Soren hoped, when all was revealed, that his grandfather’s words had some meaning. Einar deserved at least Soren’s best attempt to find out and Soren would do so to honor the man to whom he owed so much.
Six
Ran was concerned.
It was well past a week and her father had still not returned to Kirkwall. There’d been no reports of storms or mishaps from other boats and sailors who arrived from points east, west, south and north. If he got caught up in some matter, he would send a messenger ahead.
And yet none had arrived from him.
Shaken by her encounters with Soren and devastated by the loss of her friend Einar, she’d spent two days alone at the house in Orphir unable to regain the emotional control and balance it had taken her two years to attain. She also mourned for the old man who’d seemed to care for her more than her own father did.
Ran needed to speak to Ingeborg, for she had cared for Einar for years and could tell her of his last days. If she had departed for Orkney only a few days earlier, she could have seen him . . . could have asked him . . . She shook her head in grief and frustration. But for a few days.
Ran had read and read again all of his letters from the last two years. Filled with his ironic humor and funny way of looking at the world around him, they had been her only connection to the place and people she’d tried to leave behind. It was as though he had known that she did not wish to break all of her ties, he kept her informed in a way that no one else could or did. And with but a few words, he supported her when her heart was broken and prevented her spirit from the same fate.
Yet, Ran was not here when Einar needed her. That failure cut through her as surely as a knife would, but there was no way to make amends.
Unless she helped his grandson. Soren.
Ran moved along the corridor and out into the yard, walking to the edge of the water and onto the pier. The winds whipped around her and pulled her hair free from her braid. Gathering it in her hand, she stared at the bay.
She’d known she might see Soren and she had. She’d suspected she would speak to him and that she’d done as well. But to seek him out and share something personal, something meant only for her to see was a different matter.
As she considered her choices, the water began swirling under the place where she stood. Rather than startling her, the slow movements soothed her and she found that watching them made her thoughts clearer. Sitting on the wooden pier, she leaned over and dipped her hand in.
The water changed, warming at her touch. She thought how nice it would be if all the water in the bay would warm like this. It would be a pleasure to swim or bathe in. Even though the water would warm over the summer months, it never lost its chill.
Closing her eyes, she heard the voices again. They whispered and soothed, the sounds undulating as the water did around her hand. Ran slid down as she had many times as a child and let her hand dip lower into the current. When she opened her eyes, her hand was gone.
Shocked, she pulled back out of the water. Her hand was indeed there. It was fine. But for that moment, she had not been able to see it. Mayhap she had fallen to sleep? Or was lost in her thoughts? Or had she seen something else?
Ran. Waterblood. Come with us.
Something deep within her answered, drawing her back to touch the surface. The water moved over her hand, caressing it and tugging at her. They called her to come in and she wanted to.
She wanted to.
Dare she? Dare she enter the water on her own?
