To Magnus’ horror, she pushed away from the boat, struggling frantically as she continued to call for her sister. Magnus saw immediately that she couldn’t swim. He caught up to her and grasped her arm, pulling her back to the boat. She fought him with amazing strength, until he realized, dimly, that he was exhausted.
Horkel caught her other arm, and together they got her back to the boat. Magnus pulled himself aboard, then took Zarabeth’s arms and lifted her upright. But he couldn’t bring her on board, she was fighting him too hard.
He leaned down and struck her jaw with his fist. She crumbled and he hauled her over the side.
Horkel said, “The men and I will try for a little while longer, we’ll go out into a wider circle, but, Magnus, the current swirls about oddly here, and those damned water reeds can sap the strength of a grown man, and the child is so small—”
“Aye, I know it too well.”
He wanted to dive again, but he knew that when Zarabeth regained consciousness she would leap over the side, and he would lose her too.
He fretted, feeling more helpless than he’d ever felt in his life, then hauled Zarabeth into his arms. She was cold, her body limp, her beautiful red hair matted and tangled across her face. He smoothed the hair back and cupped her face between her hands, saying, “They’re trying, Zarabeth, they’re trying. Ah, by Odin, I’m sorry, so very sorry.” He raised his head then at a shout from one of the men. They’d found Lotti!
He felt excitement and hope; then it died. Tostig had brought up a log.
He knew that Lotti was dead. He even accepted it. Too much time had passed. He knew it, but he found he simply couldn’t accept it. The child had died trying to save him. She’d called him Papa and she’d jumped into the water because she thought he was drowning.
He couldn’t bear it. He lowered his head against Zarabeth’s forehead and cried.
Time lost meaning. He saw the men either swim to shore or climb into the boat. He saw Horkel take the oars. It seemed but a moment later that the boat was once again firmly tied to the Malek dock. Magnus carried Zarabeth up the narrow path that led to the palisade. The men were trailing behind, silent and grim, colder now even with the hot sun beating down on them, for they had lost.
Zarabeth stirred against his shoulder. He hugged her tighter to him, thinking she would struggle when she realized he was holding her. But she didn’t struggle. He knew she was awake, but she didn’t move.
“I’m sorry I struck you,” he said, his eyes on the trail.
Her voice was a thin thread of sound. “Lotti?”
His throat was clogged with tears. He could only shake his head.
She tried to lurch out of his hold. She twisted and fought him until he stopped and set her down, holding her upper arms in his hands. He shook her. “Stop it! We could do no more. Do you understand me, Zarabeth? We could do no more!”
“No! You’re lying! Please, Magnus, please! Let me go. I must find her or she’ll be hurt, hurt . . .”
She was crying, tears streaming down her face, and she was twisting and flailing at him, until once again he struck her jaw and she fell forward against him.
“You had to do it, Magnus,” Horkel said. “Do you want me to carry her now?”
Magnus merely shook his head and lifted her once again in his arms.
“You did all you could. All of us did. Once we realized what had happened, all of us were in the water searching for her. She died quickly, Magnus. With little pain. You must remember that.”
He nodded. Tears thickened in his throat, and he kept his eyes on the trail in front of him.
He had never imagined such pain as this. It was inside him, deep and clawing and unremitting, and he knew that nothing could magically halt it. He remembered when he had been but ten years old and his little sister had died. But her death had not brought him anything like this pain.
He heard Horkel say gently beside him, “You knew, deep down you knew, Magnus, that the child couldn’t have survived. By Thor, man, she couldn’t hear!”
“What, then, Horkel? Better she die now than in two years? Three years?”
“I’m only saying that it was inevitable and no one’s fault, not yours, not Zarabeth’s. Not Egill’s either.”
Magnus knew Horkel was right, but it didn’t ease a whit of the deadening pain.
There was an eager audience awaiting them inside the palisade, for everyone knew that something of import had happened. Even Ingunn was silent, wondering, waiting, and hopeful that the woman was dead. After all, Magnus was carrying her, and she was limp, her head lolling on his arm, and she was wet, so very wet, and deathly pale.
But the woman wasn’t dead, and Ingunn felt impotent rage flow through her. The woman stirred. Ingunn stepped forward, blocking her brother’s path, suddenly hopeful that Magnus had finally realized the worthlessness of the woman. She had dumped all the milk, hadn’t she? And just for that little witless sister of hers.
“What happened to her? Did you strike her because of her insolence and disobedience?”
Magnus looked through his sister.
“What happened?”
“Be still, woman,” Ragnar said. “The little girl drowned trying to save Magnus.”
Ingunn’s breath hissed through her teeth. One of them was dead, not the one she could have wished had drowned, but still . . . She shrugged. “ ’Tis of no matter. The child could not have survived. ’Tis a wonder she lived so long. She could not hear. She—”
Magnus turned then, looking at his sister. Horkel had said nearly the same thing, but, by Thor, not with Ingunn’s meanness and pleasure. His sister’s words cut deep and raw. “You will be quiet, Ingunn. You will say nothing more, do you understand me?”
“But why do you care so? It was the woman’s fault in any case. She was naught but—”
Magnus lost control. He handed Zarabeth to Horkel, stepped up to his sister, and backhanded her hard across the cheek. She screamed in pain and went down onto her side.
Magnus stepped to her and stared down at her. She was holding her cheek, and there was hatred and a goodly measure of fear in her eyes.
He thought again how odd it was that Horkel had said nearly the same words, yet from Ingunn he’d been unable to bear it, for the venom was deep and vicious in her voice. “You will soon be gone from my sight. I will send a message to our father this very day. He will remove you. I don’t want to see you again.” His words were terrifying because of the calmness with which he spoke. Ingunn didn’t move; she was too afraid.
Cyra, no fool, stepped back, saying nothing.
Horkel had already carried Zarabeth into the longhouse. He laid her on Magnus’ bed, then stood back as his friend entered the small chamber.
Magnus merely nodded, and Horkel left them.
Zarabeth came back to awareness slowly, her mind sluggish and vague. She felt very cold. She opened her eyes, then lifted herself on her elbows. She saw Magnus sitting on the bed beside her.
“What happened? Why is my hair wet? Ah, my jaw hurts. Did you hit me?”
“Yes, I had to. I’m sorry.”
She felt the wetness of her hair against her shoulders and back, felt the rough wool blanket against her bare skin. She was naked save for dry cloths between her legs. How could that be? Had he replaced the cloths? She fell back, drawing the blanket to her throat. Magnus was still sitting there, looking at her, saying nothing.
She frowned and fought to remember and to grasp what had happened, and then she knew, all and everything.
“Where’s Lotti?”
His face tightened.
“Where’s Lotti?”
“She’s dead.”
She reared up, dropping the blanket, uncaring, and grabbed his tunic in her hands. She shook him, slammed her fists against his chest. “Where is she?”
But she knew; deep down, she knew.
Magnus held her wrists and pressed her back down. The cover was at her waist, her breasts heaving deeply. “I’m sorry,
Zarabeth,” he said, and his voice was harsh with his tears, but she didn’t hear him, wouldn’t accept his pain.
But she knew it was true. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “She drowned?”
“Aye. The current isn’t all that strong in that particular place, but it’s erratic. There are thick water reeds that can hold a grown man under. We couldn’t find her. She was so very small, you see.”
She turned her face away. Magnus felt her stiffen, even though she didn’t seem to move at all. She stiffened and she went away from him and he couldn’t bear it.
“Zarabeth, don’t.”
She made no response.
Then suddenly she turned her head to face him. She simply stared at him; then she began laughing. It was an ugly sound, raw and harsh, and she was gasping out the words through her laughter. “She tried to save you! She thought you were drowning! That little girl thought only to save you! By all the gods, ’twas madness! Why didn’t you drown? Why? I hate you! You killed her, you wanted her dead, you—”
Pain ripped through him. He rose unsteadily to his feet. Her laughing stopped. Her face was pale, her eyes dark and vague. Then she closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. Defeated, he pulled the blanket over her, then turned on his heel and left the chamber.
Horkel awaited him outside. He waved at the closed door. “The woman is all right?”
“No.”
Magnus started at the sudden burst of loud weeping. It was piercing and heartbroken. He started forward. Had Ingunn finally forgotten her hatred of Zarabeth? To his astonishment, it was his aunt Eldrid, and she’d covered her face with her hands and was screaming tears and fury, rocking back and forth on the wooden bench.
When she saw him, she got control of herself.
He walked to her, lifted her from the bench, and folded his arms around her scrawny back.
She wept until she had no more tears.
Magnus released her then and eased her into his own chair. “Rest,” he said. “I’m sorry, but we did all we could to find her.”
He turned then to Ragnar. “Please go to my father and tell him what has happened. Tell him . . .” Magnus paused a moment as if wishing he could leave the words unspoken. “Tell him that he must come for Ingunn, and soon.”
Ragnar left. Ingunn resumed her duties, her face hard, her eyes red from weeping, all feeling frozen within her, all feeling save a festering hatred. Magnus saw the imprint of his hand against her cheek but felt no guilt about it. She ignored him completely.
The day dragged into evening. He couldn’t seem to rouse himself. All his people were scattered into small groups, speaking quietly. The children were strangely silent. Even the animals kept themselves from underfoot.
Magnus went to his chamber and silently moved to his bed. Zarabeth appeared to be asleep. He sighed deeply, removed his clothes, and eased in beside her. It was then he knew she was awake. He decided to say nothing. She was lying quietly. He knew she couldn’t bear for him to come near her again, to force her to recognize that his own grief was bowing him to his knees, for in her mind he should have no grief. Lotti should have been nothing to him. He was, after all, a Viking, a man without conscience, a man who had no compunction about slaughtering, a man who cared naught about any other person but members of his family. She hated him. Lotti would be alive were it not for him.
Were it not for him, Lotti would be with Keith and Toki in York. Were it not for him, King Guthrum would have seen her killed.
She closed her eyes. There was simply too much to cloud her reasoning, too much pain and uncertainty to see through the emptiness and find answers within herself. She wanted to fall asleep and never awaken. Lotti was dead. All her focus seemed stripped away from her. Her reason for existing, for drawing breath, was gone.
No one realized that Egill was missing until very late that night.
It was Horkel who shook Magnus awake, drawing him from a terrifying dream that had no monsters, only a vast emptiness that drained his very soul.
He jerked up, shaking his head.
“Magnus, quickly, Egill is missing!”
Magnus could only stare at him in the dim light. “My son is missing,” he repeated as he frowned over the words. He hadn’t thought of his son, not once. He felt anew a wash of fear, and was held motionless by it.
It was too much.
“Come, you must hurry. No one has seen the boy since we returned with Zarabeth this afternoon. I fear he feels he is to blame for Lotti’s death.”
Magnus threw back the covers, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it would burst from his chest. Over and over he was thinking: Not Egill, not my son too, no, it would be too much. Not even the gods could demand that much.
He left Zarabeth, not knowing whether she had heard or not. It wasn’t important. He had to find his son.
By dawn every man, woman, child, and slave had searched within miles of Malek. There was no sign of Egill.
The boy had vanished.
When Harald and Helgi arrived with Mattias and Jon and a half-dozen men, Magnus was so weary and so deadened he could barely speak. His father drew near, stared at his son, and without a word drew him against his chest.
Magnus had forgotten that he had sent Ragnar to them. He leaned against his father, and it came to him suddenly that he was the larger of the two, that somehow his father had shrunk physically. Strange that it was so and that he would notice it now. Harald was his father and Magnus felt his strength flow into him. He didn’t weep. He was beyond tears now, nearly beyond feeling.
He stood back then and said calmly, “I do not know what to do now, Father. I am glad you are here. Mother, please come inside. Ingunn will—” He broke off and his face hardened, his hands fisted at his sides.
“You have come to remove her, I trust?”
Helgi stepped forward and lightly laid her hand on his bare forearm. “We will take her back with us, but now, Magnus, now let us go inside.”
Mattias simply hugged his brother briefly, releasing him with no words spoken. Jon merely looked at Magnus, his brow furrowed, then shook his head.
Magnus agreed. It was too much, far too much.
His family’s presence was a blessing. It gave him and all his people something new to focus on. He saw Ingunn run into Helgi’s arms and begin sobbing as if her heart would break. He turned away from the scene, saying to his father, “Wish you some ale?”
“Aye, I would like that.”
Helgi listened to Ingunn and her endless stream of complaints without comment until she knew she could not allow it to continue. She set her away and said sharply, “Hush now, daughter, I grow weary of your grievances, for they show me the depths of your selfishness. You have grown mean, Ingunn, and are filled only with your own importance. Get you to work now, for your brothers are hungry. I will speak to you of your future later.”
It was Helgi who took a tray of porridge and fresh warm bread to Zarabeth. She was surprised to see the young woman clothed, sitting on the edge of Magnus’ bed. She was, however, just sitting there, staring straight ahead, making no movement, making no sound.
“Zarabeth, heed me. Do you remember me? I am Helgi, Magnus’ mother.”
Zarabeth looked at her without interest. “Is it true that Egill is missing?”
“Aye, ’tis true.”
“Both of them. Egill and Lotti, both of them gone. It is too much, Helgi.”
But there was no expression on Zarabeth’s face. Her words could have concerned the porridge that steamed from the wooden bowl.
“Come and eat, Zarabeth. I brought you a tray only because I believed you would still be abed. But you are dressed. Come, now.”
Zarabeth simply looked at her. “Must I?”
“Aye.”
Zarabeth shrugged and rose. Her red hair was thick and wild down her back, dry now, cascading over her shoulder to cover her breast. She looked like a pagan, Helgi thought, her coloring richer than the most vivid threads on a tapestry. But her
green eyes, a green rich and deep, were dull and vague.
Zarabeth followed Helgi from the chamber and into the main hall. When she saw Magnus seated beside his father, she stopped abruptly.
“I cannot,” she said. “I cannot.”
Magnus sensed her, nay, felt her before he saw her. It was odd, this effect she’d had on him since the first moment he ever saw her. By Thor, it seemed decades upon decades ago, yet it was just moments, just a few weeks of time in the past. He stared at her and silently willed her to look at him. She did.
Then slowly she raised her hand to her throat. He watched as she fingered the iron collar around her neck, the slave collar he’d had the blacksmith fasten on her. Then, just as suddenly, she went wild She began pulling at the collar, jerking at it as if it were choking her, as if she were strangling. She tugged and yanked, saying nothing, making no sound at all. She was like a madwoman. All eyes were turning toward her, talk ceasing. Magnus rose quickly and strode to her.
He grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms down, holding her. He saw how she’d torn the flesh of her throat with her own fingernails, and he saw the scratches that now trickled blood, and he yelled, “Stop it!”
She looked straight ahead, at his throat, strong and brown and unfettered, and said, “I would kill you if I could.”
He felt anger then, cleansing anger, and shook her until her head jerked back on her neck. “The same way I saw to it that your life was saved? The same way I brought both you and Lotti out of York? You are not being fair, Zarabeth.”
“I care not. There is nothing now.”
Magnus closed his eyes and loosened his hold on her. She jerked free and made a soft keening sound, her fingers pulling and jerking again at the collar. He grabbed her arms once again and drew her very close. He stared down at her pale face, into the depths of her vague, wild eyes. Then he said, “Enough! Come with me. Now.”
He dragged her from the longhouse.
His father raised a thick blond brow at his wife. She merely shook her head, turning when Ingunn said, “He’ll kill her now. Finally he realizes that she has ruined everything. She killed Egill, she—”