We silently saddled our horses and made quick to leave at first light, and needless to say our departure from Dunholm was one that was not mourned by its residents. As we led our horses by the reigns and took to head towards the gates, what Danes that were awake at that hour made a point to spit the ground we walked on and threw several curses our way. We paid the Danes no mind as we noticed several grey ominous clouds forming above us on the horizon- spelling out a day of potential rain, as we finally took to mounting our horses.
As we approached nearer to the gate and passed its threshold, I noticed Brida leaning against a wall, and watching us silently and discreetly from a distance. She nods at me- a kind of farewell that only I seem to see. A kind of farewell that I couldn't help but feel an immense sense of foreboding from.
And as we rode on in silence away from Dunholm, away from it all, I felt the burning of the St. Christopher's medallion against my chest in a manner that I had not felt in a long time. My breath hitched, and I quickly clutched at my chest- frantically pulling the medallion out from beneath my tunic. I stared down at the medallion in my hand, whilst my horse continued to follow the others lead.
The medallion, it felt hot to the touch- burning, but the heat was not unbearable as it had been before. I stared down at this long-forgotten family memento with renewed fascination- tracing the carved image of the Saint and the holy child betwixt my fingertips. It glimmered and shone faintly, a small silver reflective light almost radiating off of it, before finally its heat subsided and faded completely.
I wasn't entirely sure what to make of the strange phenomenon, but I knew of its significance. I knew that it was an omen of dark things to come...of dangerous things. I knew that as we rode further and further away from Dunholm, that we would most certainly be riding into a kind of unfathomable darkness.
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BRIDA POV:
I nodded at the koli; the woman I knew would be Uhtred's inevitable undoing; and I watched as she and the man I loved as a child, unknowing walked into a trap set by my lover. I nodded my farewell to her, and not to Uhtred. It is never a farewell with Uhtred, this I had learned long ago.
I would see Uhtred again, and again. Our paths crossing like some kind of twisted joke laid out between the God's themselves. The God's planned our fates long ago- and, it was long ago that I realized, when it is time for us to see one another for the final time, it will be when either I kill him, or he kills me.
And, so I watched as the Dane slayer, and his men left our gates- their forms retreating into the distance. I watched, and I remembered my last night with Uhtred long ago. I watched and remembered, my family- watched and remembered Ragnar. Watched and remembered, how everything came to be as it is now.
I watched and remembered, as plots and promises were made.
Always watching. Always remembering.
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The Great Hall of Dunholm- the night before...
Several hours after the feasts, and festivities have died down. Cnut stands alone in an adjacent corridor leading into the great hall. It is quiet, save the snores and mutterings of drunken comatose men. He stands alongside his man; a large bearded man with braids; and whispers.
Brida stands obscured in the shadows against the cold stone wall around the corner of the corridor leading into the great hall. She stands out of sight and listening to the hushed words of her lover and his man.
"To get to the boy, we must first put down the dog that guards him."
The man with braids nods. "And what of Haesten? His role in this?"
YOU ARE READING
The Maiden Who Fell Through Time
Historische RomaneIn the 3rd century there is a story which tells of a man whom had carried a child across a river; a child unbeknownst to him, who was later revealed to be a savior. Time is fluid. It flows like the stream of a river, and also grows like the tendril...
