Suddenly she could take no more talking. No more powers. No more. Ran turned and walked down to the water’s edge, away from all the planning. More confused than the day she’d found out about Soren’s betrayal, she crouched down and touched the water, seeking some solace.
Ran had emptied her mind of thoughts and fears as she touched the water. It was as though they accepted all of it and allowed her a moment of peace. The emptiness did not help her sort out her feelings or plans, but it was exactly what she needed.
After some time had passed, she understood that she needed to return to the others and sort through the turmoil, so she thanked the sea and stood up. Turning toward the camp, she found Soren standing a short distance away.
“Do you know how long you have sought the sea for comfort? Whenever you are near it, you touch the water. In a boat or on a ship, you lean over and stare into it. Water has always been in your life.”
She walked toward him. “And have storms always been part of your life, Soren?” she asked. Then, before he could reply, she nodded. “Ah, they have. As a farmer, and a sailor before that, storms have always controlled your life. Too much rain or too much wind and the crops fail. The same with sailing. Both too much and too little can harm your efforts.”
“True,” he said. “But I never could have conceived of something like this. That I could call them forth. I thought myself simply a farmer, with a farmer’s life ahead of me. And I was content with that, Ran.”
His words matched her thoughts exactly. Again they were in harmony. And yet, not at all.
“Soren, I know that my father’s life is most likely forfeit. I know that Hugh de Gifford intends his death,” she walked up to him and met his gaze directly. “But I must try. I must try.”
He nodded and looked over her head for a moment, to where the others waited. Ran knew that there had been something between Soren and her father. Something bad. But now, without him, her father stood no chance.
She’d walked out of his life, never expecting to see him again. Ran had asked for no explanations of his side of their sad ending and had given him no chance to offer one. Now, she asked him to help her in something that might even cost his life in addition to hers.
“Your father does not expect my help, Ran. There is ill will between us,” he began, still not looking at her. When she would have pursued what he’d said, he forestalled her with the stubborn jut of his chin and his fierce blue gaze. “I cannot speak of it, but he will think himself forsaken if the decision were left to me.”
“And is he forsaken, Soren?”
“Nay,” he said on an exhalation. “I will help you, Ran.”
Ran knew she would get no more than that from him. His agreement to help was all she needed. She would have told him that she was grateful. That she would find a way to repay him or to show him how much it meant to her.
Somehow.
“I think we need to know where they are. If we loosened our hold on them the night before last, they could be anywhere,” Soren said.
It made sense.
“I will go and find them.”
“Ran?” Soren touched her arm as she moved past him toward the sea. “Have a care. He is a dangerous man.”
As she melted into the sea and sought her father, Ran realized that she did not know if Soren spoke of Hugh de Gifford or her father . . . or both.
She thought it was the latter.
Fourteen
Ran approachedthe ships slowly this time, trying to observe before moving closer. The ships traveled in an orderly line, coming from Westray and taking the outside channel around the islands. From their heading and speed, she guessed Father was taking them around the southern approach and through and into Scapa Flow.
As though he was going home.
It was the course set to return to Orphir.
“Come, Waterblood!” Hugh de Gifford stood at the side of her father’s ship, inviting her aboard. “Come and speak with us.”
“Ran! Get away!” her father yelled as he ran along the side of the ship. “If it is you, go! Go now!”
He could not see her as part of the sea. De Gifford now could.
“Svein, lucky for you, your daughter will not be so foolish as to leave without hearing my offer.”
She watched as de Gifford took hold of her father’s arm with a hand that glowed like the metal in a smith’s fire. Her father screamed at the agony of such a hold.
