Star of Daylight (Book Two of the Viking Series)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Cael

That last bout of hunting was the final straw. After telling the slave to run, I killed a deer and hung it from a tree deep in the woods. Taking my dirk, I sliced it down the middle. Hot blood sprayed my face and clothes.

"Perfect," I said aloud to myself. It was imperative that Vander believe I was just as crazy as he was. Taking my blade in hand again, I wiped it slowly and purposefully on the leg of my breeches. Each day I played this role, my self-disgust grew, but if he were to believe he could trust me completely, I would be able to find out what he did to my sister, Katryn. Had she become one of his slaves? Was she one of the many women he killed?

Vander had no idea that I was not his friend in truth. Sometimes, I feared I would become the man I portrayed. If it were not for my mother, I would have given up and gone home long ago. She would never leave until we found the truth, and I could not leave her on that island with no protection. We had to be extremely careful not to let anyone know our secret. One wrong word, one discovered meeting and we would both be killed.

He was a monster. Hiding behind that golden exterior and that laughing smile, lay the mind of a creature so alien to anything I could possibly dream of. The rumors circulating about Vander were vast, but nothing could be proven. Killing slaves was one thing, as he owned them and could do anything he wanted with them. Someone was making women disappear. Everything in me told me it was him.

He was smart enough to know that just because he was the leader of the clan, it did not mean they would not turn against him should gossip become a clear known fact. Some days, more than not, I wanted to gut him like I did that deer. Finding my sister was more important than my own fury and revenge, however. If she were yet alive, I wanted to find her and bring her home.

As I sat there contemplating my lot and wandering towards the general direction I had last heard the female slave's screams, I was startled by a sound coming from just ahead. I hid behind the nearest tree and witnessed a sight I thought I would never see. Vander was down on one knee, caressing the slave's long hair. She was clearly dead. His shoulders shook with convulsive sobs, and the sound coming out of his mouth was eerily similar to the keening from my homeland.

Being so distracted, he did not see nor hear me sneak away to a spot further from his position. I waited until I saw him stand and head back towards the village, then I skirted around him and met him on the path. I made certain he heard me coming. Gathering my courage, I pasted a smile on my face and reached around, slapping him on the back in a congratulatory manner. He took the bait and grinned in return.

I expected to see some sign of the remorse I had witnessed, but it was as if he were completely unchanged from his former self, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and I began to wonder if he knew what had happened. Of course, that was impossible. Deciding to play along and pretend nothing was wrong, I began to pay attention to his words. They made little sense to me, but I think I came a little late for the world he seemed to be in.

"She is a blight, a blasphemous blight." His voice cracked. "It would serve her right if Fa came back from Viking only to find her missing. I wonder if she is hiding under her bed again."

It was as if I was invisible to him at that moment. I cleared my throat and he looked up sharply, clearly surprised by my presence. For a second, his eyes appeared clouded over and confused. He shook his head, gazed back at me and suggested we go get some ale. I almost froze. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep my face placid. I gave him my best grin, though my insides recoiled. He was not just evil, he was insane.

Vander laughed and turned back toward home, and I was able to exhale before I caught up with him. Up ahead, the slave encampment stilled as they saw our approach. Though they stared, not one word was spoken as we passed. It was clear to them, I was sure, they knew the slaves were not coming back. My "victim" had gone to my mother as I instructed him, I hope. She would hide him. At least Vander liked to hunt alone. I had to be very careful that he never knew released the slaves he insisted I hunt and kill. To him, I was an eager partner. To myself, I was despicable. Not because I participated in the hunt, but because I could do nothing to save the ones that Vander chased. This hunt made the seventh dead slave girl.

No one missed a slave unless they owned them. Vander was discriminatory in whom he chose as his prey, only taking from his own stock. Among the people who served him, only the slaves seemed to know of the horror he could bestow. Either that, or they turned a blind eye. His other compatriots only cheered him on when he tormented them. Some cheap warrior rite of passage. Claim what does not belong to you and make it yours. Slaves were less than human to that crowd, and therefore, fair game. One day, I would follow him and see exactly what kind of serpent he was.

We reached the tavern and stepped inside. Going to our usual table, I glanced around at the other patrons. While Vander made his usual bluster, demanding his ale and usual fare in almost a yell, I witnessed worried faces and a tear in the barmaid's eye. I heard the whispers that Vander seemed oblivious to.

He dove into his stew with gusto then slurped some ale from his mug. Belching, he paused for breath. "Music!" he shouted. The room's volume rose by ten degrees and I could hear the tuning of some instrument in the corner. A rousting drinking song filled the air and people began to sing along. There was something missing in the presentation, though. Smiles appeared forced and I wondered what in the seven hells was wrong. Not one person in the tavern would look at Vander, but when eyes met mine, all I could see was disgust.

What did they blame me for? What had happened that I had become an object of derision. Not one person in that room knew what I had been party to. Yes, I did blame myself for the lives that were lost in my investigation. I still had not actually found one shred of proof that he was the devil behind the mask.

I decided to walk up to the bar to order my next ale. I could still catch snippets of conversation here and there and what I gathered from that short jaunt was that another girl was missing. Did the tavern patrons think I was behind it? A shiver of fear shot through me. If they believed I was the one who spirited away their loved ones, I would never be able to get their support when I could finally bring proof against them and all my work would be for naught. I wanted them to think I was vulgar and crass for the moment. It suited my disguise.

The minstrel started up another tune, slower this time. When he sang the first verse, my blood ran cold. The second had me in a sweat, and I could swear every eye in the place was on me. His words echoed through my heart, and it felt like a thousand knives. I could see myself on the day I heard of Katryn's disappearance. She had been taken right from the beach near our castle. I had told her a thousand times, never to leave the gates without an escort. I can still hear her laughter when she said, "Nothing e'er happens here, Cael. Dinna worry yerself so." I never saw her again, and a piece of my heart was cut away with her departure.

The music stopped with a yell from Vander, but my mind still echoed with the loss and self-derision that mingled throughout my core. I stood up straight and found myself looking into the barmaid's eyes. She had seen my pain and her face softened for the briefest instant. I swear I saw her wink at me before she turned and walked slowly to the kitchen doorway. As she reached for the door, she met my eyes one more time, then pushed it open with her behind and was gone.

Quiet had returned except for the gluttonous gulping coming from Vander as he downed another ale. I could not understand how the man could hold so much spirits and still walk, but he did. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looking at me, he said, "To the training ground, my friend. I need a bout to work off this tasteless meal and sour ale." Spitting on the table, he threw down his mug and stalked out the door.

I took a chance and peered at the people surrounding me. Instead of the murderous fire I expected to see, pity shown back at me. That brought a bout of guilt so thick, I was momentarily immobilized. A shout from Vander brought me back to reality and I ran out the door feeling as if all the ghosts in Christendom were after me.