Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

All was ash, without color or hope. Thrust into darkness, Viggo could see nothing, let alone defend himself, and the lamentable women seemed intent on abusing him.

“What has happened to me?” He beseeched the gods more than the wench who remained with him, and his wail intensified the throbbing in his head, compounding his torment.

“You’ve lost your sight.” Her voice was soft. “But ‘tis only the shock. Be calm, I beg you.”

Shock? What did she know of it?

He heaved in a breath, consumed by his calamity. Had she ever suffered as he did now? Clawing at his face, he encountered the wet warmth that seeped from his brow where he’d mashed his head to the ground.

So long he’d labored in the black of the pits, compelled to work for another’s gain. It had taken decades to overcome the doldrum his father had created for him and his brothers. Years of sweat grafting in the mines.

Only recently had Eldberg relinquished his serfdom, paying him a small wage for his efforts. Elberg had even offered to sell him back the land his father had forfeited. Viggo had clutched at that hope—of reclaiming the old farmstead and living with peace in his heart.

And now?

His chest constricted. He’d only agreed to join the jarl’s sea-bound mission to raise funds for the farm, but he’d woken to find himself cast into an abyss.

A boat, the woman had said, tossed upon her shore. His memory was dim, but he recalled pulling upon oars and the waves rising up like a wall. He’d been rowing alongside others.

Where were they now? Taken by the sea?

If so, why had the gods spared him? Merely to amuse themselves?

“Please, don’t fret,” she soothed. “I shan’t let my mother hurt you… nor anyone else.”

“What does it matter!” Viggo’s wretchedness spoke for him. “I’m useless. No better than a lame animal.” He dropped his hands to his sides. There was no point in fighting. Better that he be put out of his misery than live in such humiliation.

“No.” The woman entreated. “Not useless. Far from useless. Freyja has sent you here for a greater purpose.”

He grimaced. “The gods have abandoned me.” Despite his constant efforts and libations, the divine had never been kind to him. He saw no reason for the goddess to have bestowed him with any special intent. The woman said so only to placate him.

“I know it can seem that way, but the gods are always here,” she consoled. “They love us.”

Love? ‘Twas an absurdity.

He’d shared such with his brothers, but they’d passed into the next realm, leaving him to battle on alone. There was comradery among the men in the mines, but that companionship was far from what he’d call love.

He jolted as gentle fingertips grazed his forearm, tensing at the uninvited touch. When had she come close enough to lay a hand on him, and how had he not heard her movement? If he couldn’t even discern the deeds of one woman, what purpose could he possibly have?

None. The answer burned in his mind.

“You’re hurt.” Her voice trembled as though she, too, had something to fear. “I shall nurse you.”

“I’m cursed.” He loathed his self-pitying tone, but what good was a man without sight? He’d never be able to farm the land nor repay his jarl.

“Things seem bleak.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “But I pray they will improve. You shall see again, I’m convinced.”

“Get away from him, Signy!” There was a gruff shout. “He’s a madman!”

“He isn’t mad. Only injured and frightened.”

He felt the brush of skirts as she stood, addressing the woman who’d been there before.

“Is this the one you say is dangerous?” Another female voice came from farther off.

“He was shouting, going berserk!” said the first. “His bloodied face is the result of his frenzy. He can’t stay here.”

Other voices spoke, each drowning out the next, although their meaning was clear. They didn’t trust him. They wanted him gone.

He could hardly blame them.

He barely trusted himself.

He was abandoned.

Damned.

Burying his head in his hands, he prayed that his end would be quick.

The shouts grew louder until the younger woman beside him raised her voice. “You shall do him no harm! He was given to me.”

Given to her? What does she mean?

It was disconcerting to be spoken of as though he wasn’t even there, but he lacked the will to object. He was doomed, regardless.

“You mean to care for him still?” A new voice carried over the others, one with the cadence of an elder.

“I do.” Once more, the young woman beside him spoke. “I accept him on the same terms he was offered to me, Bothild.”

“Even though he is blind, Signy?” The older woman shuffled forward.

“His sight shall surely return.” The younger one, this Signy, implored. “Leave him be.”

“Foolish girl!” If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the same terse voice that had called him mad when he’d roused. “Are you so simple that you cannot see the threat he brings?”

“Bothild chose me to take him in.” Signy’s voice was filled with resolve. “This doesn’t concern you, Móeir .”

“Hark at her! She speaks to me as though I’m green and know nothing. But let me tell you, child, I am not?—”

“Enough, Ulva!” The older woman, Bothild, cut short Ulva’s rant. “Signy is right. This man was given to her. If she thinks he’s no danger, then I suggest we allow her the time she needs to complete the task.”

Complete the task?

Whether it was due to the pounding in his head, Viggo could make neither head nor tail of the things Bothild said. Why not let this Ulva have her way? Let the true darkness consume him and end this derisible existence.

“You’re both fools!” Ulva snarled. “If he stays, then I cannot. The gods can decide your fate, Signy. I’ll be with Agneta.”

“Do as you must.” Signy’s tone had hardened. “I’m content here with him alone.”

“She wants his staff!” There came a cackle from some unknown woman. “That’s what this is about!”

My staff?

Fresh pain splintered his head.

He’d never been lucky where women were concerned, even when he could see… What woman would want him now he was but half a man?

“Bind him up then!” Another voice interjected. “Let her have her fun. ‘Twill be easier if he’s unable to move.”

“Aye. There’s only one part of importance, and it’s capable of rising regardless of the rest of him being trussed up! If young Signy has any trouble, call on me to help. I’ll have him pointing skyward in a trice.”

More laughing ensued.

It made no sense to Viggo. Did these women want to kill him or to rut? Had they been the ones to render him blind, all the better to subdue him?

“Stop this talk!” The kindlier woman spoke again. “He deserves our compassion, and I won’t restrain him. If he’s a threat to anyone, ‘tis only I. He can no longer see. If he escapes, what harm can he do? ‘Tis only himself he may hurt.”

“It is decided!” Bothild announced. “Signy will stay here with the stranger, and we shall see how she fares. Leave them now. He needs to rest.”

There were grumbles as the gathering departed. Only the old woman remained, moving close enough that he heard the wheeze in her breathing.

“I’m here should you need me, Signy. I grant you this freedom with the stranger, but I beg you to take care, and to call for assistance if ‘tis needed. You are precious… to us all.”

“Thank you, Bothild.”

What was that in the woman’s voice? Emotion?

If only he could look upon the scene! To know what was happening rather than having to guess.

“May Freyja guide you, child.”

He sensed the old woman embracing her, then her slow-footed departure.

Were his senses growing keener already in the absence of his sight? Or did he only imagine it was so? Perhaps this Signy was right that he needed to calm himself and gain better awareness of his surroundings.

He’d spent enough time in the ill-lit mines to know the importance of hearing and touch, relying on his sense of smell to know when the air grew too stale.

“It’s just us again now.” Signy sighed. “I’m sorry for… the commotion.”

“What happened to me?” He ignored her apology, trying to force his thoughts beyond the blanket of pain within his skull.

“Your ship…” Her voice trailed away as though he should already know the rest. “It was wrecked, sailing past our bay. Yourself and five others survived.”

“Only five?” He could hardly believe it—all those men, strong and skilled upon the sea. Men in their prime, some with families. Men with so much to live for.

Instead of replying, she touched something hard to his lips. By reflex, he batted it away.

“A little water.” She drew in a shaky breath. “You said you were thirsty.”

“Aye, parched.” He leaned forward. Finding where she held the cup, he was struck by the cool softness of her skin. It caught him like a slender arrow in his heart that she did not pull away but let his calloused fingers touch her.

The vessel skimmed his mouth again, and Viggo supped thankfully at the water.

“There is more if you want it, and I’ve prepared a little broth. You’ll feel better when your strength returns.”

Viggo nodded. He’d taken no notice of the aroma of cooking before, but he smelled it now, and his stomach growled. It would take more than broth to cure him of his ills, but he was hungry and infinitely weary. Let the lass feed him if she’d the patience.

“Shall I fetch it for you?” she asked again.

Her prompting made him realize his hand was still pressed over hers. Ashamedly, he released her, but she did not move away. Instead, she brought her palm to one side of his face.

“Don’t be scared anymore.” Her voice was but a whisper. “I’ll look after you… in all things.”

A rough lump lodged in Viggo’s throat.

“Why do you care?” He fought the hitch in his voice. “I’m a stranger. I can mean nothing to you.”

“We won’t be strangers for long, I hope.” Her thumb rubbed lightly upon his cheek.

The tears pricking behind Viggo’s eyes forbade him from answering.