Valknut

CHAPTER|15 That Which Doesnt Kill Us...

“Silence!” 

The noise in the longhall had been deafening. Fergus couldn’t take the bickering any more. All his men had gathered around the table two nights before Kieran’s expected arrival. Much drinking had been done during the discussions pertaining to the treatment of Kieran and his party upon their landing at McDermott shores. Hours after the discussion had begun, no headway had been made. The suggestions put forth had left Fergus with a pounding headache. Perhaps the headache was more the result of the screaming in his own head? The voices… oh my! The gruesome death each had advocated mixed with the suggestions from his own men. No wonder his head felt like it was about to explode. He couldn’t silence the voices. But he could silence his men. 

His fist met the table as he roared at the people in the longhall. A mug of ale tumbled over and all dishes scattered over the table, rattled with impact. Just like that, the ale dripping down the side of the table was the only sound in the hall. Not a breath was released from its numerous occupants. Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed tight. Slowly the voices quietened. As Fergus took in the quiet in the hall, his heart began pacing itself better. The pounding in his head reduced to a low beat. He could feel the intensity in the room as all eyes trained on him. 

“I agree with Brian. We have no fleet. More than half the army travels with the Dark Knight. An ambush when the Norse land would not give us an advantage. Their numbers maybe fewer than ours, but their skills out-weigh ours.” 

And the noise started again. Soft whispers between the men slowly became louder and louder to the point where men were screaming to drown out the unfavorable opinions of the others. Some stood and shouted their concerns directly at Fergus. Some hammered down their ale mugs sloshing more ale onto the table. Much shifting and shuffling of feet took place. Few chairs scraped backwards as men stood, hands reaching for swords. Fingers pointed everywhere, angry eyes promising violence. The screeching only made the voices in Fergus’ head grow louder. 

Silence befell the hall once more as a knife whizzed through the air and landed in the unexpecting forehead of a very large man who had the misfortune of being the loudest. As he fell over backward with the impact, everyone stopped what they were doing. Frozen like statues. Slowly they sat down on their chairs, none wanting to look at Fergus. Some trained their eyes on their ale mugs, others simply grunted. Fergus rose and walked over to where his knife lay deeply embedded in Colman’s ale saturated brain. He put his foot on Colman’s chest, bent low to grab his knife and pulled hard. He wiped the blood on the tunic of the closest man to Colman and then walked back to his chair. 

“It's final. We wull welcome Kieran 'n' party as our guests. They will nae be harmed during their stay. We will hold the festivities of my marriage to the Shaw lassie a few days after Kieran's arrival. We will find a way to extend their stay until the return of the rest of the army. Only then will the boy meet his fate. Piked next to his mother.” 

With that announcement, Fergus ordered the hall to be cleared of all men, except Brian. An hour later, a weary Brian left the longhall. Relishing the chill in the air and deeply inhaling the saltiness of the ocean that it carried, he made his way to the barracks. He had his instructions and he would see them carried out to their fullest. All able bodied men and boys were to be rounded from the village the next morning and armed. 

The watch at the gates and towers would be doubled, and Fergus would get two round-the-clock personal bodyguards during Kieran’s stay. Men selected personally by Brian to ensure Fergus’ safety. A missive would be sent the next morning to inform the Shaw’s of the impending nuptials. The missive contained Fergus’ dowry demands. Brian shook his head wondering if the Shaw’s were even capable of such a hefty dowry. 10 horses, 5 oxen, a flock of sheep, two ships, the lass’s weight in gold, spears, swords and a few smaller things. Fergus would be the death of all around him, Brian muttered under his breath as he put the missive inside his cloak. 

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Four days of nothing. Absolutely nothing! No land in sight, no women, no baths, no beds. No respite from the cold winds and the hot sun. No color for as far as his eyes could see - except blue. Not a single decent meal. Sure they were well fed, but Kieran longed for a hot meal! Officially, blue was now his most disliked color! As he wondered how Olaf and his men traveled like this for months at a time, a loud thud and a sharp sting shook him from his thoughts. 

Wincing, he rubbed the shoulder Olaf had ‘patted’ him on. That man doesn’t know his own strength he thought. 

“Not far now. Be tomorrow at sunrise when we land. How are ye feeling?” 

Kieran simply shrugged and looked back out at the ocean that sprawled endlessly before him.

“There are a few things we must be prepared for” Olaf muttered. 

But Kieran wasn’t listening. As Olaf spoke, Kieran imagined what it would be like to come face-to-face with his father’s killer. With the man that had destroyed his family so many years ago. The guilt he had carried for so long would finally find release! Kieran barely caught the last of Olaf’s orders 

“… Scouting 'n' speaking with spies. That's all. Promise me!” 

Kieran nodded curtly before walking off to grab a bite. More stale bread and cheese. 

That night was as restless as restless nights came. Everyone seemed on edge. The skies were dark once more. Not a star graced them. The winds howled eerily. Wave after wave crashed at the sides of the ships, each threatening to tip them over. Rained poured down in wild torrents. The only thing safe and dry were the goods Olaf had carried along for trading. Kieran had half a mind to drag out the fur coats and shield himself from the rain and the cold. Njord’s blessing … he wondered if this was the God’s idea of a blessed journey, what would be his idea of a cursed one! Kieran simply drank himself into oblivion. The next few days he would be in enemy territory and he would need his wits about him. There would be no drinking. 

The next morning, the ocean looked calm. Peaceful. Welcoming. Enchanting. The sun’s rays danced on the still surface waters and glittered like diamonds. The sky was clear of all clouds. But the sun was peculiarly not… overbearingly hot. A chill seemed to hang in the air, almost like a forewarning of sorts. Oh what he wouldn’t do to feel land beneath his feet again! He may have grown up on an island, but a sea-farer he sure was not. His mother’s words come back to haunt him. He shook his head trying to send the thoughts away. Sea-farer or not, this journey had to be made and it had to be done now. 

A noise distracted Kieran from his thoughts. He turned to follow the noise. Little else registering in his head. His eyes met with a strong shoulder. Following the shoulder down the arm to a bulging forearm and past it, to an outstretched finger. His gaze landed on the source of all this noise. 

His heart beat quickened!