thousand." —from the secret journal of Damian Aristarchus
Chapter 5
----
“
Dyrr
.” His voice pierced through the choking mist with a masculine rumble
. “Angan ... girnd.”
Someone was calling to her, beckoning her with honey-tongued words.
My precious, my delight, my desire ...
Who was naming her these things? Even if she didn't recognize the speaker, how could she ignore such a well-spoken summons? Valdis struggled toward full awareness as a submerged swimmer claws toward the surface.
A face swirled in her darkness, his features indistinct, his eyes dark with concern. Another voice spoke, barely concealed excitement in his crisp tone. She understood not a word and spiraled downward, convulsing into the void.
Light split the blackness in jagged pulses. She couldn't see him, but she felt someone with her, someone's arms about her, holding her safe from the Raven, keeping the glistening wings at bay.
The phantom carrion bird retreated and she sailed on an obsidian sea, not a flick of silver on the smooth surface. The ship dissolved in the dark water and she sank into the oblivion of forgetfulness.
No light, no desire, no time or space. She winked out of existence as completely as the flame of a snuffed lamp.
“Valdis.” His voice reached down to her and lifted her through layers of mist and darkness, kindling the guttering candle of her soul and coaxing it to full brightness. When she came to herself again, she vaguely realized that she was no longer in the Hippodrome, though she could still hear the crowd in the distance, thousands of hearts beating in unison, roaring like a single being.
“Valdis, come back.”
She took a shuddering breath and smelled a mixture of horseflesh and leather—a curiously comforting masculine scent. Strong arms banded around her, cradling her head against the solid expanse of a broad chest. The great muscle of her protector's heart galloped like a chariot team, pounding a rhythm of controlled panic in her ear.
“Valdis,
dyrr.”
Her eyelids fluttered open and she felt cool blades of grass tickling her ankles. The little dog whined and nosed the curve of her calf. She found herself snugged between someone's splayed legs, being rocked as if she were a child. Then someone pressed his lips to the crown of her head like a benediction.
She sighed. Her whole being roused to life again, her senses stirring one by one. Wherever she'd been, whichever of the nine worlds her wandering spirit had seen, she had no clear memory of it. All she was left was a slight headache and a strangely restful heaviness, as if she'd slept deeply for the space of about a week.
Then she heard the crowd in the Hippodrome again and realized the race was still in progress. Not much time had passed while she traveled along
Yggdrasil’s
outstretched limbs. At least the World Tree's vast trunk and roots had allowed her to find her way back to
Midgard
, the world she knew. She could have easily wakened in
Niflheim
, the iciest corner of
Hel.
Perhaps the god of this city, the Christian's three-headed deity, had spared her. She could only feel gratitude for whoever was responsible for pulling her back from the depths.
She looked up at the man who still held her tightly. Erik's eyes were closed and she suspected he was praying to whichever god he judged most likely to listen.
“I'm here.” Her throat was raw and her voice strangely hoarse. She must have cried out in the throes of the fit. Her sister had told her all the horrible things she'd done when the Raven came for her in Birka— ranting and tearing at her hair, spittle flying as she convulsed on the ground. She couldn't really blame her family for looking on in horror along with the
jarl
and his son. A witching was no light matter. The spell could easily travel to another if anyone dared venture too close.
Yet this man Erik held her as she struggled with her curse. Her raving hadn't repulsed him. He stayed by her and protected her, even
Chapter 5
----
“
Dyrr
.” His voice pierced through the choking mist with a masculine rumble
. “Angan ... girnd.”
Someone was calling to her, beckoning her with honey-tongued words.
My precious, my delight, my desire ...
Who was naming her these things? Even if she didn't recognize the speaker, how could she ignore such a well-spoken summons? Valdis struggled toward full awareness as a submerged swimmer claws toward the surface.
A face swirled in her darkness, his features indistinct, his eyes dark with concern. Another voice spoke, barely concealed excitement in his crisp tone. She understood not a word and spiraled downward, convulsing into the void.
Light split the blackness in jagged pulses. She couldn't see him, but she felt someone with her, someone's arms about her, holding her safe from the Raven, keeping the glistening wings at bay.
The phantom carrion bird retreated and she sailed on an obsidian sea, not a flick of silver on the smooth surface. The ship dissolved in the dark water and she sank into the oblivion of forgetfulness.
No light, no desire, no time or space. She winked out of existence as completely as the flame of a snuffed lamp.
“Valdis.” His voice reached down to her and lifted her through layers of mist and darkness, kindling the guttering candle of her soul and coaxing it to full brightness. When she came to herself again, she vaguely realized that she was no longer in the Hippodrome, though she could still hear the crowd in the distance, thousands of hearts beating in unison, roaring like a single being.
“Valdis, come back.”
She took a shuddering breath and smelled a mixture of horseflesh and leather—a curiously comforting masculine scent. Strong arms banded around her, cradling her head against the solid expanse of a broad chest. The great muscle of her protector's heart galloped like a chariot team, pounding a rhythm of controlled panic in her ear.
“Valdis,
dyrr.”
Her eyelids fluttered open and she felt cool blades of grass tickling her ankles. The little dog whined and nosed the curve of her calf. She found herself snugged between someone's splayed legs, being rocked as if she were a child. Then someone pressed his lips to the crown of her head like a benediction.
She sighed. Her whole being roused to life again, her senses stirring one by one. Wherever she'd been, whichever of the nine worlds her wandering spirit had seen, she had no clear memory of it. All she was left was a slight headache and a strangely restful heaviness, as if she'd slept deeply for the space of about a week.
Then she heard the crowd in the Hippodrome again and realized the race was still in progress. Not much time had passed while she traveled along
Yggdrasil’s
outstretched limbs. At least the World Tree's vast trunk and roots had allowed her to find her way back to
Midgard
, the world she knew. She could have easily wakened in
Niflheim
, the iciest corner of
Hel.
Perhaps the god of this city, the Christian's three-headed deity, had spared her. She could only feel gratitude for whoever was responsible for pulling her back from the depths.
She looked up at the man who still held her tightly. Erik's eyes were closed and she suspected he was praying to whichever god he judged most likely to listen.
“I'm here.” Her throat was raw and her voice strangely hoarse. She must have cried out in the throes of the fit. Her sister had told her all the horrible things she'd done when the Raven came for her in Birka— ranting and tearing at her hair, spittle flying as she convulsed on the ground. She couldn't really blame her family for looking on in horror along with the
jarl
and his son. A witching was no light matter. The spell could easily travel to another if anyone dared venture too close.
Yet this man Erik held her as she struggled with her curse. Her raving hadn't repulsed him. He stayed by her and protected her, even
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