Nineteen – 09

Posted on November 27, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

The pair froze for a second, staring at each other with wary disbelief and barely contained hope. Phelan realized he couldn’t breathe. They’d nearly given up hope as the weeks had gone on and Thordin showed no signs of waking.

And now, here was Neve, pounding on their door and telling them that he was suddenly, impossibly awake.

Jacqueline recovered her voice first, climbing out of bed with Phelan right behind her. “Who’s with him?”

“Sif was there when he woke up; I left them together.”

Phelan winced, thinking that could be both a good and a bad thing. She’d been taking his condition hard, but that wasn’t going to stop her from telling him exactly what she thought of the stunt he’d pulled—and the jury was still out on whether Sif thought it was idiotic or ridiculously heroic.

The fact of the matter is that it was absolutely both.

“We’d better hurry,” he told Jacqueline softly. She barked a rough laugh and shook her head.

“You think so, huh?”

Phelan laughed weakly and caught her hand just long enough to give it a quick squeeze.

“We’re coming, Neve,” he called through the door. “Just give us a few minutes.”

“Good. I’m going to get some soup or something.”

“Good call,” Jacqueline told her as she stopped to pull her boots on. Phelan stood transfixed for a moment, watching her in the simple act of lacing those boots back up and barely managed to swallow a fond sigh.

Jacqueline glanced up at him, her brow arching slightly. “Are you coming with me?”

He shook himself and nodded. “Of course I am. You might need someone to hold him or Sif down.”

Jacqueline grinned at the wry humor and stood up. “I might, but I hope not.”

“Me too.” He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek lightly. She reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, smiling fondly, then turned and headed out the door, clearly trusting him to follow in her wake.

Phelan smiled, his throat tight.

Interruptions or not, he had a lot to be thankful for.

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Nineteen – 08

Posted on November 25, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

 Phelan reached over to turn down the lamp as Jacqueline’s hands slid up beneath the hem of his shirt, fingers cold against his skin. He smiled, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “Now we hope that the storm prevents any major crises from erupting,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

“That would be amazing.”
 She’d just tugged him down into a horizontal position on the bed and he’d started to unbutton her shirt when the not-quite-expected knock at the door came.  Jacqueline bit down on a groan and Phelan pressed a finger against his lips in a shushing motion, whispering, “Maybe if we’re really quiet, they’ll think we’re not here and they’ll go away.”

 “We can only hope,” she whispered back, grinning at him in the dim of the lowered lamplight.

 Hope’s about all we’ve got, I’m afraid. Phelan exhaled a nearly silent sigh and cuddled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Something tells me they’re not going to go away. They never just go away. There’s not enough places for us to be hiding.

 Still, just once I’d really like it if we could just have some time alone without being interrupted by some kind of crisis.

 Suddenly, he wondered if Thom and Marin ever felt the same way.

 I might owe them a little bit of an apology.

 Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked a little more insistently a second time. Jacqueline sighed, fingers lacing through Phelan’s hair.

 “I don’t think they’re going away,” she murmured.

 “No,” Phelan agreed. “Doesn’t sound like it.” He raised his voice slightly. “Who the hell is it?”

 “It’s Neve. Is Jac with you?”

 She was already sitting up in bed, fixing her shirt and disentangling herself from Phelan’s embrace. “I’m here. Is Cameron okay?”

 “It’s not Cam,” Neve called through the door. “It’s Thordin. He’s awake.”

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Nineteen – 07

Posted on November 23, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

“How does your sanity feel?”

Phelan looked up from his book and smiled faintly at Jacqueline as she closed the door to their space. She looked tired, hands red from scrubbing and probably the cold. “No better, no worse. Sounds like a hell of a storm out there.”

“Maybe spring’s finally come,” Jacqueline said, sitting down in the chair next to the door to remove her boots. “I’d get my hopes up if they weren’t so often dashed.”

“How’s everyone out there?”

“Cameron’s asleep—he’s battered, but he’ll make it. J.T. did a quick and dirty patch for him in the field and it did its job. I’m letting Marin deal with Thom, since he’s already been stitched back together. Seamus wasn’t really hurt—just bruises and a few shallow cuts—and J.T. barely had a mark on him.”

“Cariocecus?”

She winced. “Still unconscious. Greg’s keeping watch.”

“Bet he’s thrilled.”

Jacqueline laughed quietly. “He seemed like a good choice. He’ll welcome a chance to have a heart-to-heart with the man if he wakes up, I think. Besides, he knows what kind of questions to ask.” She stretched before she got up and padded across the floor to the bed, where Phelan sat with their blankets and his book. He lifted one corner of the blankets so she could join him. She slid beneath them and cuddled against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“What are you reading?” she asked softly.

Smiling a wry smile, he closed the book on his finger and showed her the cover. Jacqueline smirked, giving him an amused look.

“Mythology, Phelan? Really?”

“Just brushing up,” he said, kissing her ear. “Never know when I might need it.”

“You realize that you are mythology, right?”

“Funny,” he said. “I don’t feel like a myth right now.”

“No,” Jacqueline said, eyes sparkling with affection and mischief. “You certainly don’t.”

Phelan grinned. “I need to put this book away, don’t I?”

“Only if you don’t want to lose your place.”

“Right,” he murmured, twisting toward her and letting his finger slip from between the pages. “Not worried about that. I’ll figure it out later.”

Jacqueline gave him a smile that sent the best kind of shivers skating along his nerves and not for the first time, Phelan counted himself lucky that she’d fallen in love with him, and he with her.

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Nineteen – 06

Posted on November 20, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

Gods and monsters.

Neve didn’t dare to breathe as Sif froze, poised somewhere between reaching for Thordin’s hand and leaning in to kiss his forehead. Her friend drew a rasping breath, then finally spoke with a shaking voice, “Thordin?”

He grunted softly and Neve pressed her spine against the door, feeling like she was somewhere she shouldn’t be as Sif dropped heavily into the chair at Thordin’s bedside, as if her legs wouldn’t support her a moment longer. Her shoulders shook with a sob she clearly fought to hold inside, the sound of it tearing free of her throat in a soft explosion of sound. Neve swallowed hard, torn between going to her friend and quietly stepping out to give them space.

And yet, she stood paralyzed, staring at the two in the dim light of the lamp.

Sif whispered something in their native tongue, so soft that Neve didn’t hear what she’d said, then leaned down to press a kiss to Thordin’s forehead. He lifted a shaky, pale hand to tangle in her hair, fingers tightening as he held her forehead against his.

“How long?” Thordin asked Sif softly, his voice rusty, raspy from disuse.

“Too long,” Sif answered, then sighed. “Oh Thordin. I am so sorry.”

“Why?” There was a hint of wry amusement in his voice. “Did you send that thing after me?”

She recoiled as if he’d struck her. His fingers slid from her hair, hand dangling off the edge of the bed, limp as if he didn’t have the energy to lift it again.

“Of course I didn’t,” Sif snapped. “Did the poison kill the last few brain cells you had left?”

A breathy laugh escaped him. “There she is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You,” he murmured.

Neve smiled faintly and slipped quietly out the door.

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Nineteen – 05

Posted on November 18, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

The door creaked softly as Sif pushed it open and Neve followed close on the warrior’s heels as the other woman turned up the wick on a lamp left near the door. Thordin lay in front of them, stretched out in the bed and covered by a pair of quilts—probably Jacqueline or Tala’s handiwork, if Neve had to guess. His beard had started to come in with a faint red sheen in the time he’d lain unconscious and as Neve stared at his pale, abused face, she thought he looked older somehow. The gash down his cheek had mostly healed, leaving behind only a thin, pink ridge of flesh and a few slowly flaking scabs that would disappear with the first good scrubbing once he woke up—or once Jac or Sif took it upon themselves to give him a scrub.

The small, close space smelled of sickness and blood but not of death. It was a strange realization, Neve realized, even as another rumble of thunder shivered her bones, but a true one nonetheless.

She lingered near the lamp and the door as Sif crossed the floor toward Thordin’s bedside. There was a chair there, another blanket haphazardly draped across its back. Sif had been sleeping there more often than she hadn’t—Neve knew that, it was hardly a secret.

It was what worried her the most about all of this—not the precariousness of Thordin’s condition, how he hovered silently somewhere between life and death, surviving only through the ministrations of their healers. No, she worried about Sif, who seemed to be spiraling ever closer to grief-stricken madness.

We have to do something about it, Neve thought, chewing hard on her lower lip. But what? What’s going to snap her out of this? Another fight? Something else?

She was starting to worry that the only thing that would bring the old Sif back to them would be for Thordin Amundsen—once called Thordin Odinson—to open his eyes once again.

We can’t afford to lose her to madness and grief. Neve closed her eyes, resting her head against the door. I have to think of something.

Then, a voice, whisper-thin and weak.

“Sif?”

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Nineteen – 04

Posted on November 16, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

“How long has it been since you slept?” Neve asked softly. “Really truly slept?”

“I don’t know.” Sif closed her eyes. “I don’t know, Neve. A long time ago, I think. Maybe too long. I feel so guilty, like this is my fault, like what happened to him is my fault. He didn’t have anything to prove to me. He proved himself a long time ago.” She took a deep breath and looked toward Neve. “It is my fault, Neve. How could I have done this to him?”

“You didn’t bring that lindworm here, Sif. This isn’t your fault. Hell, you rode to his rescue with the rest of them, didn’t you?”

Her friend uttered a strangled sob and turned away again. Neve reached for her arm, took it and squeezed.

“You can’t do this to yourself, Sif. You just can’t.”

“Too late,” Sif breathed, scrubbing angrily at her tearing eyes. “It’s too late. I’ve already done it.” She glared at the driving rain, at the roiling clouds above. “Wanderer promised me that all would be well. I think my lover’s out to make a liar of him.” Her hands curled into fists even as Neve’s fingers dug into the flesh of her arm. “That fool is going to die thinking I hate him. I don’t, Neve. I don’t.”

“I know you don’t,” Neve said, at a loss for what else to say, uncertain how to comfort the shield maiden—or if she even could. “I’m sure he knows, too, Sif, and he’s not going to die thinking you hate him. Add my promise to Phelan’s. You’re not going to lose him.” She slid her arm around Sif’s shoulders. “Come on. I’m putting you to bed. You need to rest. In the morning, maybe you’ll see things differently.”

“Doubtful,” she muttered, rubbing at her eyes again, but not resisting as Neve turned her away from the rain and started leading her back toward her cot. “But one must have hope. I want to look in on him one more time before I sleep, though.”

“Of course,” Neve whispered, altering course slightly. A few minutes looking in on him wouldn’t hurt, and if it let her get Sif into bed without a fight, all the better.

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Nineteen – 03

Posted on November 13, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

The wind began to howl that afternoon, the sky slowly edging toward black as the minutes passed. Neve watched the dark, heavy clouds roll in, shivered as the wind picked up even more, as if the gale was determined to tear away all they’d done of the past months to turn their little camp amidst the ruins into a home.

Nothing felt right.

How was that any different from usual?

As the first drops of rain spattered against the treated canvas of the tents, she sighed, trying to convince herself that it was nothing more than the first real rain of spring, just a storm rolling through, riding the edge of a weather front.

Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

“Quite the storm,” Sif said softly as she drew up alongside her. The warrior looked like death on toast, her face pale and eyes ringed by deep, bruise-colored shadows. “Reminds me of long ago.”

“The storm?” Neve asked, feeling foolish as soon as the words left her mouth. Sif gave her a wry smile.

“Aye. I can remember them sweeping in off the ocean, the waves coming up and breaking on the shore. They were never pleasant, but they heralded a change in the weather, one way or another. Maybe spring has finally come.”

“That could be a mildly pleasant change, assuming that storms like this aren’t going to be what we’ll be dealing with day-in and day-out until summer comes.” Neve shoved her hands into her pockets, wincing at the first rumble of thunder that seemed to roll on forever, like a herd of cattle over the moors. “Any change with Thordin?”

“Not yet,” Sif whispered. “But I still have hope. I have to, right? Someone has to.”

“We all do.” Neve took her hand and squeezed. “You’re not alone, Sif.”

“No,” she murmured. “I just feel that way. It just feels that way.”

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Nineteen – 02

Posted on November 11, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

Seamus sighed, staring after her.

She was right. She was always right about this kind of thing—he knew that from experience.

Would that their father had listened to her more often than he had. Perhaps the world they lived in would be a much, much different place if he had.

His hands curled into fists and he took a pair of breaths, trying to settle himself down. His muscles ached from the fight against the shadowspawn, but his senses hurt even more. It was strange, no longer being bound to the Hunt as he’d been for so many centuries. The world felt different now than it had then, felt different in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

Spending a few millennia riding among a warband of men and women who are all but dead to the rest of the world will certainly skew your ideas of what is and is not normal, won’t it? He had no doubt that doing the same had affected the abilities he’d honed while living amongst his own people, being trained to succeed his father on the throne—if and when the day came. They’d atrophied from disuse and worse, he knew he’d consciously and ruthlessly suppressed them from the time he’d left home as bridegroom to Albina until now.

Until he’d regained his freedom.

“Seamus?”

He sighed quietly, turning toward the sound of Leinth’s voice and managing a smile. “Did you see Neve?”

Leinth nodded. “She’s worried.” She took his hand, her fingers cool even against his chilled flesh. “We’re all worried, truth be known, even old enemies.” One corner of her mouth quirked into a faint smile and Seamus chuckled softly despite himself.

“They didn’t know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her tightly against his chest. “You don’t blame them, do you?”

“For loving you and hating the person they thought had betrayed you to your death? No. How could I?” She reached up and brushed her fingertips along his jaw. “They love you as much as I do. I would be angry if they hadn’t hated me for a time.”

“But they don’t anymore?”

“I hope not.” Her lips brushed his cheek. “Come on. You need a bath.”

“Mm.” He did.

Then he needed to sort out what was happening, in case no one else could.

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Nineteen – 01

Posted on November 9, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

“Shadowspawn.”

Seamus sighed, nodding. Neve’s voice was flat and her expression was dark—darker than he’d ever seen it.

That didn’t bode well for him at all and he knew it.

“How far out where you?” Neve asked.

She’d dragged him out into the snow when all he’d wanted to do was sit down by the fire and work some of the soreness out of his muscles. Leinth hadn’t seen fit to rescue him yet, either, though she’d muttered something about getting him a bath when Neve had dragged him out here, into the fading sunshine and a stiff, chilly breeze.

This wasn’t what he’d hoped for when they returned, but it was certainly close to what he’d expected. He just really hadn’t expected his sister to be the one interrogating him.

“Who sent them, Seamus? What were they, really?”

“I’m still trying to figure it out on both counts,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his face. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d say something?”

“Do they know that you don’t know?”

He winced and shook his head. “No. No, they don’t. You’re not going to tell them, either. I just…”

“You just what?” Neve started to pace, her arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts. “You just what, Seamus?”

“I just need time,” he snapped. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh, Neve, settle the hell down. Can’t you give me time to think?”

“I don’t know that we have that kind of time, Seamus.” She pressed her lips tightly together. “Something hit Cariocecus just outside our wards.”

“I know. I heard.”

“Did anyone tell you that Phelan’s gone half crazy, too?”

Seamus snorted. “He’s always—”

“I’m serious. This isn’t a joke, not this time. Something’s affecting him. Anselm saw it, Seamus. The Wild Hunt knows that something isn’t right with him right now.”

Seamus grimaced. “Even if Anselm knows, that doesn’t mean the whole Hunt knows. He’s wise enough to know when to keep things close to the vest.”

“Are you willing to bank on that?”

Seamus rubbed at his temple. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I’m certain,” Seamus said, fighting not to grind his teeth. “You have to trust them, Neve.”

“I do trust them,” she whispered. “I trust you. It’s the rest of the world outside of this place that I don’t trust. Not one bit.”

Seamus stared at his sister and sighed. “Too many times betrayed.”

She nodded slowly. “And it’s only going to get worse.”

Neve turned and started walking back into the tents.

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Eighteen – 07

Posted on November 6, 2015 by Erin M. Klitzke

Marin was shaking when she finally came up for air and Thom wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest, willing that shaking to ease and knowing that he wouldn’t let her go until it did. “We’re okay,” he murmured into her hair. “We’re okay, Mar. We’re here and we’re together and it’s all going to be okay.”

His stomach twisted at the words that might have been a lie for all he knew. That didn’t matter, though. Somehow, some way, he’d make everything be okay.

“Something’s out there,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Something got the better of Cariocecus and we don’t know what or who it was. He collapsed before he could tell us. I was so worried about you, Thom. I was scared whatever it was might have come after you guys while you were out there alone.”

I should have been here. We shouldn’t have gone. His arms tightened around her. “Everyone else is okay?”

She nodded, her forehead pressed against his jaw. “Everyone else is fine. It was just him. But there was—”

“More?” He felt sick. How the hell could there be more? “I don’t know that I want to know this right now.”

She laughed weakly and held him a little tighter. “I’m sorry. Let me go get some hot water. You need to get cleaned up.”

Thom stroked her hair and kissed her ear. “I love you, Mar.”

“I know.” She kissed his cheek and gently disentangled herself from his embrace. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”

Thom nodded and stayed where he was sitting for a long moment after watching her go, his throat tight.

Never again. I’m not going to do this without her ever again. Either we both go, or we both stay—this doesn’t happen ever again.

He would let himself believe that lie. It was easier that way.

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