Season of the Sun (Viking Era 1)

He felt something inside him burst open, and suddenly he was wild, out of control, beyond himself. He felt like a berserker. He yelled, “No!” He gave a mighty cry and dived into the water. The shock of the cold water froze him for a moment, holding him under, but he merely waited until his body accommodated the chill, then kicked upward. His head cleared and he began to swim after the boat. The current was swirling, dangerous, but he was strong and he was determined, more determined than he had ever been in his life.

The viksfjord didn’t flow smoothly east into the Oslo Fjord, but was cut off abruptly by a thick finger of land that jutted out into the water, cutting off the violent current, turning into swirling waters, shallow, dangerously shallow. He could tell that Zarabeth knew little to nothing about rowing a boat. Her movements were erratic at best, sending the boat in circles and sharp angles. It allowed him to draw closer. Her strength would soon be gone and he would then catch her.

He knew Zarabeth saw him. He realized too in that moment that she was somehow apart from what was happening, that she didn’t really know what she was doing.

By Thor’s hammer, he’d pushed her to this, and something inside her had simply given way. He was terrified. He saw Lotti swivel around on the narrow wooden bench. She saw him and began waving wildly at him, crying out, her sounds hoarse and ugly.

He swam faster, surprising himself with his power. He knew he would catch her when she reached the outjutting land, for she was still close to shore, too close, really, for in this area there were thick beds of water reeds. In that instant a current seized the boat, spinning it completely around, then tilting it wildly toward the land. He heard Lotti cry out and grab the side of the boat. He swam harder, yelling, “Hold on! I’m coming!” He wondered if Zarabeth had heard him, and if she had, if it mattered to her at all. If only there had been another boat, if only his men were here on the shore, if only . . .

Suddenly, without warning, he felt himself sucked down in the bed of water reeds, felt the waving arms tangle about his legs, pulling him inexorably downward. The water was shallow, more shallow than he’d imagined, not more than eight feet deep. He kicked free of them, only to feel himself now swimming into yet another thick bed of reeds, and they were around his legs, closing tightly and pulling him under, and this time he knew it wouldn’t be so easy to escape.

He closed his eyes a moment, cursed his father’s favorite curses, and pulled the knife from his belt. He drew a deep breath and forced his body to loosen, to let the reeds draw him under. Then he methodically began to slash himself free of them, but as each one fell away, there was another to take its place, and he was entwined as in a lover’s arms, and wondered then if he would die.

He cut wildly through a good dozen of the reeds, enough this time to free himself, and pushed to the surface. He sucked in air and looked at the boat, still some fifteen feet ahead of him. To his horror, he saw that Lotti was teetering on the narrow board seat, shouting at him, waving her small arms toward him. He saw that she was afraid.

She was afraid for him.

He knew then, at that instant, what the child intended, and he yelled as loud as he could, “No, Lotti! Stay there! Zarabeth, hold her!”

But it was too late. The child screamed loud and long, “Papa! Papa!” and jumped into the water, flailing her arms toward him.

Magnus was tired, his arms numb and heavy, but the sight of Lotti jumping into the water to save him turned him into a madman. He swam harder than he ever had in his life. Vaguely he heard Zarabeth calling and shouting, saw her trying to maneuver the small boat around, saw her standing now, trying to find Lotti.

The water reeds, Magnus thought as he neared the spot where he remembered the child jumping. He dived under. The water was murky and the thin-armed reeds were thick, their constant motion spewing up sand and mud from the bottom of the viksfjord. He searched and searched until he thought his lungs would burst and his eyes burn closed.

He flew upward, clearing the surface, gulping in air. He was very close to Zarabeth no

w, the boat within short feet of him, idle now, stuck amongst the reeds.

He said nothing, merely sucked in air until his lungs felt near to bursting, and dived again. Nothing, and still nothing.

Again and again he dived. He couldn’t find her. He came to the surface and saw that there were several of his men surrounding him, each of them taking turns at diving. The water had been so murky he hadn’t seen them. If he hadn’t seen a man, then a child could be so easily lost, so easily overlooked. He didn’t know now exactly where she had jumped. It could have been further away or closer.

He found himself praying, offering anything—his very soul to Odin—if only Lotti would magically appear and be all right. If only she would surface and scream “Papa” at him.

He dived again.

He felt his arms being jerked up, and his head cleared the water. He fought until he realized that Horkel was holding one arm, Ragnar the other. He looked at them blankly.

“Hold, Magnus,” Horkel said, but Magnus fought him, pulling both him and Ragnar beneath the water.

They released him and Magnus dived another time, and then once more after that, even though he knew there was no hope. The current wasn’t strong here, for they were too close to the outjutting land and too close to shore and immersed in the water reeds. Lotti was only five years old. She had either been swept toward the Oslo Fjord around the outjutting land, or she’d been caught and buried in the water reeds.

He came to the surface, and the first person he saw was Zarabeth. She was in the water, one hand on the side of the boat, and she was calling, tears streaming down her face, calling and pleading for Lotti to come back to her.

Magnus couldn’t bear it. He lifted his head to the heavens and cried out, a howling animal sound, savage and deep, so filled with anguish that his men froze at the pain of it.

Zarabeth heard that cry, saw the misery on his face, and knew in that instant that Lotti was gone. Lotti was dead. She began shaking her head, screaming, “No! She isn’t dead! She’s there, somewhere! No!”

To Magnus’ horror, she pushed away from the boat, struggling frantically as she continued to call for her sister. Magnus saw immediately that she couldn’t swim. He caught up to her and grasped her arm, pulling her back to the boat. She fought him with amazing strength, until he realized, dimly, that he was exhausted.

Horkel caught her other arm, and together they got her back to the boat. Magnus pulled himself aboard, then took Zarabeth’s arms and lifted her upright. But he couldn’t bring her on board, she was fighting him too hard.

He leaned down and struck her jaw with his fist. She crumbled and he hauled her over the side.

Horkel said, “The men and I will try for a little while longer, we’ll go out into a wider circle, but, Magnus, the current swirls about oddly here, and those damned water reeds can sap the strength of a grown man, and the child is so small—”

“Aye, I know it too well.”