Danger, Stormblood.
Caution, Soren, son of the storms.The fireblood. Danger.
He stopped and searched the area below him. In the distance, off the shores of Westray, sat four ships. Even with their sails open, they did not move.
“If you do not release my ships, Stormblood, I will burn her father bit by bit.” The voice came out of nowhere and struck him as though a blow. “My sacrifices will not go unanswered and you and the Waterblood will pay for this. And their deaths.”
Soren looked down on the beach of Papa Westray, the isle closest to the ships and was horrified to see piles of half-burned bodies. And a line of men, immobilized somehow, awaiting the same fate. There, watching it all and unable to stop it from his expression, stood Svein, Ran’s father.
So, he knew that Svein was Ran’s father. And was not above using that as leverage, though he suspected it would be more effective against Ran than Svein.
“Speak to me, Stormblood. Do not run away like the woman, hiding behind this new form. Speak to me like a man of honor does.” His voice now was cultured and refined. He spoke in Norn but with the accent of a foreigner. A nobleman?
“Stop the burning,” Soren said, shocked that he could speak in this manner, “and I will meet with you.” He waited to see if his challenge would be answered.
The fire went out, gone in an instant. With a flick of his hand, the men waiting roused and another flick saw them scatter back toward the ships. The winds put Soren down on the beach and he was human again.
Svein lost any color he still retained as he saw to whom the man had been talking. Most likely because he knew his chance for mercy at the hands of Soren Thorson was less than this stranger offered.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Hugh de Gifford, councilor to the late King Alexander of Scotland,” the Fireblood said. “I come on another’s business though.”
“Late king?”
“Alas, the king died several weeks ago. A fall from his horse.” The sarcasm in his voice told Soren that the manner of the king’s death was not something as simple as the fall from a horse. “His death is only a part of this plan,” de Gifford said, speaking boldly. “You can join me and reap the rewards, Stormblood.”
“How do you know me?” Soren asked.
“I know many things, Stormblood. You carry the winds within you. You can command storms and the sky and the lightning. You bear its mark on your arm,” the nobleman said. Holding his own arm out, he continued. “As I bear the mark of my power, my goddess.” Flames. Two flames burned and melted together only to reform and do it again. Soren could feel the heat of it and then his own mark answered, the bolt sizzling in and on and under his skin. He hissed in pain and de Gifford smiled.
“It can be pleasurable if you allow it to be.”
The flames grew larger as Soren watched and now burned the skin around them, the scent of searing flesh filled the air. Soren grimaced at the smell while de Gifford seemed to enjoy it. His face wore the expression of arousal.
“Nay? Mayhap the release of your power will give you that pleasure?” With those words, de Gifford narrowed his gaze on Soren and sent a fireball at him.
All he could think in that moment wasnay. The winds swirled around him and pushed the fireball back. At the same time, his fingers and hands heated and he lifted them, aiming at the fire. A bolt of lightning struck the fire, the ensuing explosion lit the whole beach and the crash of it rumbled out across the sound and to the other island. If he thought de Gifford would be alarmed, he was wrong. The man stood, arms across his chest, nodding.
“Feel it race through your body, your blood. Feel it in your flesh,” he urged in a smooth voice that echoed inside his thoughts somehow. “Power is pleasure,” he said.
For a moment, Soren felt it as he described. The lightning came not just from his hands, but from deep within him. In his blood. It pushed power throughout his body, his flesh reacted. Then he remembered the sight that had greeted him—a certain sign of power abused.
“Why are you here?” Soren asked, letting the power calm. “What do you seek?” He knew part of it but wanted de Gifford to declare it to him.
“Our power comes from the old gods and goddesses—you know that, do you not?” Soren nodded. “My family knew the goddess would return and has prepared for generations for this day. I have been bred to carry her power, to open her way, back into the world.”
So, just as his grandfather had known, other families did as well. If only his grandfather had shared the knowledge sooner.
“I seek a circle of stones,” de Gifford said.
“There are many here in Orkney. Every island has them. The ancient people who lived here built many of them.”
“Ah, but only one is the doorway to be opened, Stormblood,” the man said. “I seek the true one amongst those built to hide and deceive.”
“Then go in peace to find your circle,” Soren said, goading the man for more information.
“I also need the two gatekeepers’ help,” de Gifford admitted. “Here in Orkney, it is the Stormblood and the Waterblood who hold the key.” He approached Soren. “Join me. Be at my side when the goddess returns. She will reward her faithful ones.”
