“The powers that rise in their blood make them Warriors of the Stone Circles,” he said. “That cannot change. But only they can decide on which side they fight.” Marcus released her and stepped back. “It is our responsibility to find and teach and guide these new ones, just as we did with William and Brienne.”
The two whose names he had just spoken touched his mind then with their thoughts, curious about the reason. Once they had successfully sealed the first circle, the gods had gifted them with a bond that connected their thoughts with those of Marcus and Aislinn. A bond that had also cost them dearly but one that would be a huge advantage in the coming battles. Marcus and Aislinn faced those two and Marcus waved them off.
“Our prayers seem unaccepted,” Aislinn whispered, as she pulled her cloak tighter around her slim form. “It has been days.”
“Ah, but if we are trapped here, so is Lord Hugh,” he said. “And it gives us more time to train the men.”
Aislinn nodded and watched that training in silence at his side. She left when Brienne summoned her, leaving Marcus to contemplate their next voyage and their next confrontation.
Though they were victorious the first time, he did not underestimate their enemies or their determination to free the goddess from her otherworldly prison.
The sun burst through the thick clouds then, illuminating the area around them. The warriors training and fighting let out a cheer at the sight and warmth of it, but it did not warm Marcus’ blood or raise his spirits.
Darkness was spreading. Chaos threatened all that they held dear. Destruction of the world in which they lived was the goddess’s promise. And no amount of sunshine could remove those fears from his heart.
He only hoped his prayers would be heard and that the Warriors of the Stone Circles would finally prevail against the evil one who could destroy all of humanity.
Two
NORTH SEA, OFF MAINLAND OF ORKNEY, SPRING, AD 1286
Ran closedher eyes and lifted her face into the sea winds. The boat sailed across the dark surface of the firth between Scotland and the islands that made up Orkney to the north. She did not hold on to the ropes or the side of the boat for she could keep her balance no matter how rough the waves became.
Though winter was losing its grip and days would soon grow warmer and longer, Ran Sveinsdottir knew better than to underestimate the calm-surfaced seas. Since the time she could walk, she had sailed at her father’s side. In good weather and bad. In all seasons and seas. The ominous weather seemed to stay to their south and the dark, threatening clouds hugged the northern edge of Scotland and did not move.
She leaned against the side of the boat, not their largest, and peered out at the lands just rising from the sea ahead of them. Ran squinted into the distance and allowed herself to savor the view of home. Two years. Two long and lonely years had passed since she last walked on the island of her birth.
Ran moved a couple of paces forward and shielded her eyes from the unusually bright sun. The boat lifted and dropped as it crossed the waves, bringing her ever closer. Her breath caught then, as memories of her departure flooded her mind. She pushed them away, refusing to allow them to intrude on this return. She had a new life now. She had plans for a future. Her father’s influence and wealth had created opportunities she would not have had if she’d remained on Orkney with . . .
Ran shook off the maudlin feelings and turned when someone said her name. Finding no one close or even watching her now, she shrugged it off and peered at the islands that grew larger and larger with every mile crossed.
Ran.
She’d heard it quite clearly then and turned once more to seek out the source of the voice.
Ran.
This time it seemed to come from the sea itself. Was someone in the water below her? She leaned over the railing of the boat and searched the water there. Nothing. No one.
Ran.
This time she was paying attention and her name whispered forth from beneath the surface of the sea there before her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she was caught unaware when a swell hit the boat, sending it tilting to one side and tossing her over the railing. Grabbing for something, anything, to stop her descent into the water, she grasped at air. Preparing herself to hit the icy water, she instead found herself in a pocket of warm water.
Holding her breath, she prayed that someone had seen her fall for there’d been no time to call out in alarm. With the many layers of heavy woolen skirts and cloak she wore, she would have little time before sinking into the depths below. Ran could swim, but the weight of her garments would pull her under and deep. And quickly. Tugging on the ties of her cloak, trying not to panic .I can swim,she told herself over and over, even as the water covered her, pulling her down.
Then it began.
All around her, voices whispered her name. The sound of it floated and surrounded her in the sea. The water moved, too, shifting and encircling her, almost caressing her. Its warmth eased her fears and she stopped fighting the downward pull, staring at the sparkling, shimmering flashes that enclosed her in a silent embrace. The murmuring sounds began then, as though voices spoke there in the sea.
Ran.
Daughter of the sea. Waterblood.
Power. Command us.
Each word resonated with joy and welcome and want. And with each sound came a touch, a caress of hands that could not be possible for the sea had not hands. Had she lost consciousness? Was she dreaming or dying and imagining this in her last moments of life? Turning and glancing up to the sunlight above her, she knew she must get to the surface.
Up,she thought.Up now.
