“It rained constantly, Mirana.”
“No matter. Now, what do you mean he would have no other choice? He doesn’t need choice. He doesn’t need any sort of excuse. He would kill you because he would enjoy it, he would savor his revenge for the killing of his friend. Most men are like that. They bring misery because it pleases them to do so.”
Entti shook her head. “Nay, Rorik isn’t like that. Before you came, I heard talk about what had happened in the Vestfold. Everyone always spoke freely in front of me because they believed me simple.”
Mirana sat forward, her eyes on Entti’s face. “Please tell me,” she said. “Rorik has said naught about it.”
Entti stabbed the needle into the material and laid it on her lap. “Your half-brother came to Rorik’s farmstead when Rorik and many of his men were trading in Birka. They killed everyone they could find, including slaves, old men and women and children, the reason being, so I heard, that your half-brother had been told that Rorik was hiding much silver. But I don’t know if this was true. It didn’t matter. Some, like Old Alna, were hiding in the forest beyond the barley fields, and thus were alive, when Rorik returned home only hours after the slaughter, to tell him what had happened. They murdered Rorik’s small twin son and daughter and raped and killed his wife.
“Shortly after that, Rorik moved here to Hawkfell Island, all his people with him, those who had survived the slaughter, that is. Even some of his father’s people came as well. They rebuilt the longhouse, planted the crops, and strengthened the island’s defenses. Then Rorik began his search. It took him nearly two years to find Einar. He heard of him quite by chance through a traveling scald, who sang of his heroic deeds at King Sitric’s side against the treacherous Irish chieftains.”
“I don’t believe that,” Mirana said slowly. “It is beyond vicious. If Einar had heard about hidden silver, then he would have known who Rorik Haraldsson was, but he didn’t know his name, not until Rorik told me at Clontarf and I told Gunleik. And since Rorik wasn’t there, why would Einar kill everyone so cruelly? Nay, it makes no sense, surely Einar wouldn’t—” Her voice dropped away. She felt his presence before she raised her head to look at him. Rorik was standing directly in front of her and he was pale as death, his hands fisted at his sides.
“It is all true,” he said, and she hated the roiling pain she heard in his voice even though she guessed he was trying to sound calm and emotionless. Ah, but the pain and his fury sounded through, at least to her ears. “I would impale your half-brother through his miserable guts on a dull-tipped stak
e and let him squeal like a pig. I would let him die slowly, and I would feel joy at his every scream.”
She was shaken. She just stared up at him. He hadn’t lied. Not for a moment did she believe that he lied. Perhaps Old Alna had exaggerated. No, she didn’t believe that either. She closed her eyes against the knowledge. She’d seen Einar in his rages, though he was careful to hide most of them, both from her, and from his most powerful men and allies. He laughed even as he wielded a whip. The louder a victim screamed, the more he delighted in it. He was ungoverned; he lost control. He was frightening. She allowed herself to remember all of it now, to see him now with clear eyes.
She stared up at Rorik. She felt the tension in him. Then, finally, when the silence grew too painful for her, she said, “What would you have me do? He is still my half-brother.”
Rorik dropped to his haunches beside her. “I would have told you had Entti not done it now. When my foot was on your neck and I was goading you, mocking you with my sarcasm, I knew I couldn’t allow this to continue, this unending tug of strength between us. Aye, it was my decision to tell you, for I could determine no other way to gain some loyalty from you, to keep you with me of your own wish perhaps, to keep me from having to chain you to my bed. I cannot allow you to escape and return to him, to tell him of Hawkfell Island. He holds powerful sway with King Sitric in Dublin. Do you understand? I must find a way to get to him, some way to use you to help me get to him.”
He simply stopped talking and looked at her, studying her now pale face, her every expression. Finally, he said, “Do you believe me, Mirana?”
“Aye,” she said with no hesitation. “I believe you, but I don’t believe this tale of hidden silver. Einar is many things but he isn’t stupid. But, why then did he attack your family and your farmstead? Vikings don’t raid and plunder and kill other Vikings, at least it is not the common practice. And he went to the Vestfold, and he would know it would enrage Harald Fairhair, the king. He couldn’t be certain that he wouldn’t be recognized. He even killed your slaves instead of capturing them. It makes no sense. Einar isn’t wasteful. He wants more slaves, as would anyone with power and holdings. Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it amused him, all the pain and death gave him a sick pleasure. From what I know of him, he would find enjoyment in causing all that suffering and death. Is the tale about the silver true? I don’t know that either. But I do know that Einar is a vile man. I don’t understand such a man or such a mind.”
Rorik paused a moment, looking at a rush torch light just beyond Mirana. His voice was low and deep and hoarse as he said, “He raped my wife, making a big show of it, having all his men and all my people who weren’t yet dead stand in a wide circle and watch him do it. She fought him, mayhap even hurt him a bit, and so he had his men hold her arms and legs away from her body and watch her and him whilst he raped her. He laughed as she screamed. Then he gave her to all his men. And he laughed whilst they raped her. Then he killed her. Old Alna was one of those who saw him rape her and beat her, then stick his knife through her heart.
“Then he had my twins brought before him. They were babes, not yet two years old. He spitted them both on his sword.”
She felt bile rise in her throat and quickly swallowed. Entti looked from Rorik to Mirana. “How could a man be so very evil? Mirana, did you ever see such viciousness, such cruelty, in your brother?”
Slowly, very slowly, Mirana nodded. “I refused to recognize it as such. I looked away. I pretended all was well. Einar is like his father, Thorsson, a man who nearly beat his wife to death—our mother—before a slave killed him to protect her. Einar killed the slave, of course, to give a show of revenging his father’s murder. He wanted what was his father’s. He didn’t care if his mother lived or died. When she married some months later, my father took her away from Clontarf. She must have known even then that Einar had grown crookedly. I went to live with Einar when I was eleven years old, upon the death of both my parents. An Irish chieftain looted our holdings and killed them.” She spoke calmly, with acceptance. Life was many times violent. There was nothing to be done about it. The pain of her parents’ death had dulled over the years. She could sometimes remember her mother’s scent, a soft fragrant rose smell, and the sound of her voice when she was humming.
Rorik frowned at her, saying, “I’m sorry. It was a bitter thing for a child to see. Did Einar treat you well enough? He didn’t abuse you, did he?”
“Nay. At first he simply ignored me, but when I showed interest in weapons and in the war games he and his men played, he allowed Gunleik to train me. I think it pleased his conceit to have a sister who could both fight and kill and cook and sew. I think Gunleik wanted me to learn all I could so I could protect myself. He is honorable. He knew all about Einar, but still, he looked away. I know from Gunleik what happened to Einar’s father and what Einar felt about it.”
“Gunleik,” Rorik said. “He is the man who sent that knife into my shoulder.”
“Aye. He could have killed you but he is not like that. I regret that he was left at Clontarf to brave Einar’s fury when he discovered you’d taken me.”
Rorik said nothing, but Mirana saw him rubbing his shoulder, doubtless an unconscious gesture. She wondered if the wound was completely healed.
“I wonder why this Gunleik told you so much.”
“He cares for me.” She added, “I believe he told me so that I would have some understanding when and if Einar turned on me.” Mirana paused, then looked up into his face. “I fear that Einar has probably killed him because he allowed you to escape and to take me.”
“If he has killed him, he is a fool. Gunleik is an excellent warrior. That is more wasteful than I can comprehend.”
She sighed then, deeply. “I have not looked at Einar straightly. I know now that he would kill Gunleik for letting you escape. It wouldn’t matter to him, no it wouldn’t. He was only seventeen when he became master of Clontarf. He has become very strong over the years. Those who have known him since he was born would say that he has gained his mature years, for he is thirty-five years old, but he looks much younger, not much older than you, Rorik. He is very handsome. Gunleik has only forty years, yet he looks old enough to be Einar’s father.”
Rorik looked away from her. There was rage in his eyes, clouding them. She knew that he must be picturing this handsome half-brother of hers raping and killing his wife.
“What will you do?” she asked finally. There was fear in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. She despised herself for letting him hear it.