“Nay, Chessa brought the storm.”
“Do you really believe so, sister?”
She didn’t believe it, and Kerek saw she didn’t. She swallowed, afraid, and Kerek knew she was afraid, and so did this Varrick, this sorcerer all garbed in black, standing so tall and stark white beneath the half-moon that shone so brightly down upon him.
She was staring at him again, studying his face. She said suddenly, “By all the gods, I should have known. His eyes, they’re your eyes—one gold, one blue. I saw Cleve once in York and I remarked his strange eyes. And again tonight, just for a moment. He is your son, Varrick?”
“Aye, he is my son.”
“Chessa is his wife,” she said, her voice absent. “Their child will be formidable.”
“It is possible,” he said. “That is none of your concern, Turella. Listen to me. Your warship isn’t destroyed. Gather your men, awaken your sodden son, or give him to me and I’ll kill him. Leave my land. Never return here, Turella, else I’ll make you regret it even into eternity.”
“Aye,” she said slowly, “we will leave. I know there is nothing here for me now. The Danelaw is lost. Chessa wasn’t for me, Varrick, I wanted her for the Danelaw, to lead when the time came, to control Ragnor.”
Varrick stood quiet, staring out over the dark sea. There was no wind, yet his black cloak billowed out behind him. He said finally, “I have a stepdaughter. Her name is Cayman. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There is no man for her here and she will grow old alone, without children, without purpose. If you request it, Turella, I will ask her if she wishes to join you. She is very smart. After all, she’s lived with me since she was a child. She would listen to you, Turella, she would deal well with this wretched son of yours. She would replace Chessa.”
“She is truly beautiful?”
He nodded. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I don’t lie.”
“Can she make mead?” Kerek said.
Varrick’s brow went upward. “Mead? Aye, her mead is excellent. If she decides to go with you, she will have to tell her sister how to prepare it, else all of us will be greatly saddened.”
Kerek rubbed his hands together. “If this is true,” he said to Turella, “then Utta of Hawkfell Island is safe, Ragnor will remain sodden, and you and this Cayman will rule.”
Turella stared at her brother, with his billowing cloak in the still air. “I will take her.”
Varrick merely nodded. “Remain here for two days. If she decides to come to you, I will bring her. I wish you farewell, sister. Treat my stepdaughter well. If you do not, you will answer to me.” He nodded to her once again, turned on his heel, and began to walk quickly down the wooden dock. Kerek saw him take a stick from his belt and raise it over his head. He saw a wind begin to rise, but it was only around Varrick. It spun around him, making the cloak flap up and down, making the loose sleeves of Varrick’s black tunic billow out. A mist came up suddenly, but it seemed to be only directly in front of Varrick, and he walked toward that mist, into it, and then, suddenly, the mist began to fade, holes appearing in it, the holes spreading, like a fire spreading over cloth. In moments the mist was gone and the night clear again.
Varrick was gone as well.
To Kerek’s astonishment, Turella laughed. “He did that when he was naught but a small boy,” she said. “The wizards in Bulgar taught him that.” And she laughed and laughed.
“But he vanished, my lady,” Kerek said, so frightened he thought he’d choke with it.
“Aye,” she said. “He vanished. When I came here to wed the king of the Danelaw, he came with me. He’d learned all the wizards could teach him in the Bulgar. He’d heard of the West, of the Druids and their ancient magic. He wanted to visit the land called Scotland and learn the Picts’ ways. I see he stayed. I still can’t believe it, Kerek. Cleve is his son. Those eyes—I am a fool. I should have realized the moment I saw him in York that he was Varrick’s son.”
“Nay,” Kerek said, and drew her against him. “Ah, you’re wet and you’re tired. This night has been something I don’t wish to repeat, ever. Whilst we wait for Cayman, we must gather up our men again and soothe their terrors. We must see to repairs on the warship.”
“She makes excellent mead,” Turella said, and giggled against Kerek’s shoulder.
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She’d giggled? Kerek had never heard a more wonderful sound in his life.
Captain Torric limped to them, stared at them a moment, then cleared his throat. He said matter-of-factly, “Ragnor slept through the storm, all the lightning, the thunder. He slept through the warship’s crash against the dock. He’s awake now and calling for mead.”
30
CHESSA SAT ON Cleve’s lap in the longboat. All the men were huddled around them waiting for Varrick. She saw him first, tall and slim, his head thrown back, that damned cloak of his billowing out and yet there was no wind, not even a small breeze, and she knew that he’d saved her, just as she knew that she must act and she must act now, else they would never have peace. Varrick would always be there, waiting for her. It had to stop.
When he was nearly on them, she turned on Cleve’s lap and burst into tears. She cried and sobbed and shivered violently, huddling against him, burrowing against him, as if she wanted to crawl inside him to protect herself.
Cleve, completely taken by surprise, nonetheless gathered her against him, kissed her hair and rocked her, whispering meaningless words to soothe her, but they didn’t seem to. She cried harder and harder.
Varrick stared at her. He said, “What is wrong? Has something happened to her? Is she in pain?”