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great heaving sobs into Karn's chest as he held her.
Slowly her sobs subsided, and she realized Fenris nosed at her knee and the Viking was rubbing her
shoulders and making soft shushing sounds. She could smell soap and, beneath, his own peculiar scent,
which now pervaded her life. She would recognize that scent forever.
Was she a fool, throwing herself defenseless into the arms of a Norse marauder? She pulled away
awkwardly and rose without looking at him, relieved that he let her go without a struggle. She leaned
against a timber as she caught her breath and put her arms around it, still needing support but not willing
to get it from him. Fenris followed her and she knelt to clutch at his neck gratefully. At least she still had
her dog. He had almost been torn from her last night.
"Why do you fear?" Karn asked after a moment.
Britta shook her head convulsively. "I fear what happened last night. I did that, I think."
"Yes," he agreed. "You did that."
The sobs tightened her throat again and threatened her sanity. "But don't you see?" she moaned. "I don't
know what it was. I can't control it. I might have killed us all. What did I do?" She knew he couldn't
understand that torrent of words, but frantic questions welled up that couldn't be answered and wouldn't
stop. How could you have the magic if you weren't a virgin? What she had seen in the fire must have
been a vision after all. Maybe the storm was not magic, but some distorted evil. Her mind whirled.
Karn twisted full toward her on his stool. "I know this thing," he said firmly.
Britta's treadmill of thoughts stopped abruptly and she raised her eyes. "You do?"
"You are& no, you were," he corrected himself slowly, "berserker."
"Berserker," she repeated. "What is that?"
He hesitated. "Many men" he made a slashing motion. "What is this word?"
"Battle," she supplied.
"Not many times, sometimes in battle, the gods give a man strength of wolf or& " He struggled silently for
the word, then loomed and growled.
"Bear?" She asked. "Beorn?"
Karn nodded. "Bjorn. It is the same in my tongue. Then man is wolf, is bjorn. You were in battle, Britta.
You were tree and wind. Berserker."
"Not a thing to be proud of," she murmured. He didn't understand. "Not a good thing."
Karn stood with fierce effort and grabbed his crutch. "Berserker is good. A gift from Thor, only to few,
only sometimes."
Britta sighed. "I wanted something gentle." Fine. She was something called berserker. At least he wasn't
afraid of her. He hadn't made the sign against evil once, not even last night, and he, at least, had an
explanation. That was more than she had. She didn't quite believe in anything so Viking as this berserker
idea. But she felt calmer. She looked up at him, still standing there.
"Maybe you are right," she murmured.
He nodded, and she thought she saw his eyes smile, just at the corners. She might have been wrong. He
pushed past her with effort and went to stand in the doorway. Fenris trotted after him hopefully. "He
come again," Karn muttered.
"He will come again," she corrected automatically. "You mean Offa?"
"Two-beards?" Karn asked.
Britta nodded. "Offa."
"Offa," Karn repeated slowly. She could not see his face from where she stood.
"He is too frightened," she said to reassure herself as well as Karn.
Karn shook his head. "He will come. He sees me not dead. He knows you help me."
"Not dead is alive," Britta said absently as she thought.
Karn turned back to look at her, accusing.
"All right," she said. "I agree. He will come."
"We must go."
"Go?" Britta asked. "What do you mean, go?"
"Go from the island."
Britta stared at him. "I can't leave Deofric." Her gaze darted about the house. "Where would I go?" She
felt her voice rising. "This island has protected me& " She trailed off.
"Can you raise the wind again?" Karn asked.
"I don't know," she almost shouted, then began to stride about the hut. "I don't even know how I did it. If
it was me& " Already it seemed unreal.
Karn was silent.
At last her steps slowed. She stood trembling, her breath coming in ragged jerks as she realized what that
meant. She had never been farther from her home than a few miles around Dunford. Who knew how far
she would have to go to escape Offa? Cast out from her garden, a woman alone, she was likely to fall
prey to the first man who could get past her dagger. But Karn was right. There was no choice. "Gods
protect me," she whispered. Her island no longer could.
Chapter Seven
« ^ »
The days were short now. The church bell tower tolled five times and it was truly dark as Offa and
Raedwald pushed the boat out into the surf against a stiff wind that foretold a storm. Offa was not sure
Raedwald would be much use to him. He had lost some blood from that Viking devil's axe, though Offa
had bound it and the blow had not cut too deep. Still, Offa needed him. He dared not think of going to
that isle at night alone, though the righteousness of his God went with him. Neither could he let this
obsession go. The memory of he and Raedwald scurrying down the path to the beach still filled him with
shame. But she would not have the final stroke. They were locked in a death struggle, but he still might
win. He had made a plan.
Dripping seawater, Offa leaped into the boat and pulled Raedwald in after him. He wished he could take [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
great heaving sobs into Karn's chest as he held her.
Slowly her sobs subsided, and she realized Fenris nosed at her knee and the Viking was rubbing her
shoulders and making soft shushing sounds. She could smell soap and, beneath, his own peculiar scent,
which now pervaded her life. She would recognize that scent forever.
Was she a fool, throwing herself defenseless into the arms of a Norse marauder? She pulled away
awkwardly and rose without looking at him, relieved that he let her go without a struggle. She leaned
against a timber as she caught her breath and put her arms around it, still needing support but not willing
to get it from him. Fenris followed her and she knelt to clutch at his neck gratefully. At least she still had
her dog. He had almost been torn from her last night.
"Why do you fear?" Karn asked after a moment.
Britta shook her head convulsively. "I fear what happened last night. I did that, I think."
"Yes," he agreed. "You did that."
The sobs tightened her throat again and threatened her sanity. "But don't you see?" she moaned. "I don't
know what it was. I can't control it. I might have killed us all. What did I do?" She knew he couldn't
understand that torrent of words, but frantic questions welled up that couldn't be answered and wouldn't
stop. How could you have the magic if you weren't a virgin? What she had seen in the fire must have
been a vision after all. Maybe the storm was not magic, but some distorted evil. Her mind whirled.
Karn twisted full toward her on his stool. "I know this thing," he said firmly.
Britta's treadmill of thoughts stopped abruptly and she raised her eyes. "You do?"
"You are& no, you were," he corrected himself slowly, "berserker."
"Berserker," she repeated. "What is that?"
He hesitated. "Many men" he made a slashing motion. "What is this word?"
"Battle," she supplied.
"Not many times, sometimes in battle, the gods give a man strength of wolf or& " He struggled silently for
the word, then loomed and growled.
"Bear?" She asked. "Beorn?"
Karn nodded. "Bjorn. It is the same in my tongue. Then man is wolf, is bjorn. You were in battle, Britta.
You were tree and wind. Berserker."
"Not a thing to be proud of," she murmured. He didn't understand. "Not a good thing."
Karn stood with fierce effort and grabbed his crutch. "Berserker is good. A gift from Thor, only to few,
only sometimes."
Britta sighed. "I wanted something gentle." Fine. She was something called berserker. At least he wasn't
afraid of her. He hadn't made the sign against evil once, not even last night, and he, at least, had an
explanation. That was more than she had. She didn't quite believe in anything so Viking as this berserker
idea. But she felt calmer. She looked up at him, still standing there.
"Maybe you are right," she murmured.
He nodded, and she thought she saw his eyes smile, just at the corners. She might have been wrong. He
pushed past her with effort and went to stand in the doorway. Fenris trotted after him hopefully. "He
come again," Karn muttered.
"He will come again," she corrected automatically. "You mean Offa?"
"Two-beards?" Karn asked.
Britta nodded. "Offa."
"Offa," Karn repeated slowly. She could not see his face from where she stood.
"He is too frightened," she said to reassure herself as well as Karn.
Karn shook his head. "He will come. He sees me not dead. He knows you help me."
"Not dead is alive," Britta said absently as she thought.
Karn turned back to look at her, accusing.
"All right," she said. "I agree. He will come."
"We must go."
"Go?" Britta asked. "What do you mean, go?"
"Go from the island."
Britta stared at him. "I can't leave Deofric." Her gaze darted about the house. "Where would I go?" She
felt her voice rising. "This island has protected me& " She trailed off.
"Can you raise the wind again?" Karn asked.
"I don't know," she almost shouted, then began to stride about the hut. "I don't even know how I did it. If
it was me& " Already it seemed unreal.
Karn was silent.
At last her steps slowed. She stood trembling, her breath coming in ragged jerks as she realized what that
meant. She had never been farther from her home than a few miles around Dunford. Who knew how far
she would have to go to escape Offa? Cast out from her garden, a woman alone, she was likely to fall
prey to the first man who could get past her dagger. But Karn was right. There was no choice. "Gods
protect me," she whispered. Her island no longer could.
Chapter Seven
« ^ »
The days were short now. The church bell tower tolled five times and it was truly dark as Offa and
Raedwald pushed the boat out into the surf against a stiff wind that foretold a storm. Offa was not sure
Raedwald would be much use to him. He had lost some blood from that Viking devil's axe, though Offa
had bound it and the blow had not cut too deep. Still, Offa needed him. He dared not think of going to
that isle at night alone, though the righteousness of his God went with him. Neither could he let this
obsession go. The memory of he and Raedwald scurrying down the path to the beach still filled him with
shame. But she would not have the final stroke. They were locked in a death struggle, but he still might
win. He had made a plan.
Dripping seawater, Offa leaped into the boat and pulled Raedwald in after him. He wished he could take [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]