“Only one choice brings victory,” said Owl Mother. She pointed to the sixth rune. “That is the rune for Death.”
“You talk in riddles,” said Aylaen shakily. She was sorry she had stayed. But still she did not leave. “Will I be barren?” she demanded. “The stones were supposed to tell me that.”
Owl Mother shrugged. “The stones have said all they can say. If they didn’t answer your question that was because you didn’t ask it. And now the vision is ended. You must go.”
“Vision? What vision?” Aylaen asked.
Owl Mother took hold of Aylaen’s elbow and steered her toward the door.
“This isn’t a vision,” Aylaen protested, frightened. “I’m home. I want to see my mother.”
Owl Mother yanked open the door. A gust of cold air blew inside. The dragon whimpered in displeasure and curled up tightly, tail wrapped around her nose. The seagull swooped down from the rafters, flying so near Aylaen’s head she ducked with a startled cry. The seagull sailed into the wind and perched in a tree. Aylaen shivered with the cold.
“I can tell you this much,” said Owl Mother. “Sund seeks to frighten you. Have faith in yourself and in that young hothead, Skylan. So far he’s turned out better than I imagined.” Owl Mother gave a shake of her head as though finding that hard to believe.
Owl Mother raised a gnarled finger. “And remember this, child. Love is never barren. Now before you go, give me back my shawl.”
Aylaen unwound the shawl and handed it to Owl Mother. The old woman shoved Aylaen out the door, then shut it with a bang that woke her.
* * *
Skylan lay in his bed in the small room they had given him. Wulfe was in the room with him, curled up in a corner, sound asleep, feet and hands twitching. Skylan was wide awake, gazing into the darkness that for him was as bright as sunlight with happiness.
Aylaen loved him. She was to be his wife.
Skylan closed his eyes and he could still see the sunlight that seemed to glow throughout his being. He pictured their children. Their firstborn would be a son. They would name him Garn. He would have his mother’s red hair and his father’s fighting spirit. Skylan would teach his son how to use a sword and shield, how to take his place in the shield wall. He would teach his son to hunt, sail, and fish. He would teach his son, too, how to be a good chief. Skylan imagined his joy as he laid his newborn son in his grandfather’s arms, beseeching Norgaard’s blessing. Such a moment would help make up for the pain Skylan had brought his father.
Their second born would be a daughter. She would be a redheaded, saucy little imp who could reduce him to pudding with a look from her green eyes. They would name her Dawn and he would teach her to fight, as well, for women must know how to defend their home and children. His little daughter would nestle in his arms and fall asleep with her curly head on his breast. She would be as beautiful as her mother and as brave and courageous. The young men would be wild about her, but she would scorn them all. And when the time came for him to give her to another man-though Skylan could not imagine there would be any man worthy of her-she would hold fast to Skylan’s arm and whisper that she would always love her father best.
And at night there would be Aylaen. She would be there to love him, to tease him, to chide him and scold him. And at the end, Aylaen would hold him in her arms as his eyes closed upon the world. He would wait for her in Torval’s Hall. The afterlife would hold no joy until she was with him.
Wulfe gave a violent sneeze that jolted Skylan from his dreams. Smiling, he rolled over and went to sleep.
* * *
Owl Mother sat in her cabin. The baby dragon lay at her feet. The seagull perched upon the arm of her chair.
“You gods,” Owl Mother grumbled. “You’re all mad, as far as I’m concerned. Is it any wonder I would rather spend my time among the fae? They know how to enjoy life.”
“They will not enjoy life if Aelon takes control of the world,” said Akaria. “We gods put up with their nonsense. Aelon will not. He views them as dangerous.”
“He views you as exceedingly dangerous, Owl Mother,” Vindrash added. “I wish you would come to live with us in Torval’s Hall.”
Owl Mother snorted. “Maybe in the old days, when Torval knew how to throw a feast. Not now. His gloom turns the ale sour.”
The dragon smiled and rested a clawed foot gently upon Owl Mother’s boot.
“I thank you for warning us of Sund’s scheming, Owl Mother.”
“I still think we should have stopped him,” said Akaria with a vicious snap of her seagull beak. “We should not have let him threaten the mortal. Aylaen will give in to her fear and all will be lost.”
“We needed to hear what Sund had to say,” Vindrash said, adding with a sigh, “He may be mad, but he still sees the future. I have faith in Aylaen. She will be a worthy guardian of the Five.”
“I am not impressed,” said Akaria dismissively.
“The two of you must go,” said Owl Mother, pushing herself up out of the chair. “Some of us have work to do. I have a sick calf to tend to at the Jorgeson’s.”
She began to gather together her stock of herbs and poultices. The two goddesses, in their true forms, gazed down at the casting stones that still lay where they had fallen on the rough-hewn table: five blank and one marked with Death.
“What do you suppose it means?” Vindrash murmured.
“That a bunch of rocks cannot predict the future,” said the Sea Goddess.
CHAPTER 27
Aylaen sat on her bed, watching the coming of day, hearing Sund’s words.
Destroy the spiritbones …
The Vektan Torque. Made of solid gold, adorned with jewels, the torque had been given to the Vindrasi people centuries ago by the hand of the Dragon Goddess, Vindrash. The torque was the most valued treasure the Vindrasi possessed. Countless warriors had given their lives to protect it. Skylan had fought an ogre-chief to keep it. Aylaen imagined taking a hammer to the torque, smashing the spiritbone of the Vektia dragon, pulverizing it, crushing it to dust and scattering the dust to the winds. She might as well smash the heart and soul of her people.
“I can’t do it,” she said softly.
Yet … to be barren! To never give Skylan a son to bring him honor, a daughter to bring him joy. And there was her sister, pregnant with Raegar’s son! A son destined to grow up to rule the Vindrasi!
Aylaen pressed her hand on her belly, her fingers clenched.
Owl Mother might say love was never barren. Skylan would love her. Aylaen was certain of that. He would always love her, but he would be unhappy that she could not give him children. He would never say anything to hurt her, but she would see the pain in his eyes when he watched other fathers playing with their children. He had already fathered sons, so he would know that she was the one at fault. If Aylaen was barren, Skylan was entitled by law to take a son by another woman into his home.
Aylaen was jolted from her unhappy reverie by the door opening. She had the impression that someone had been knocking for a long time. She rose to her feet.
“I thought perhaps you were asleep,” said the servant. “The Queen summons you.”
“Thank you. I will come now,” said Aylaen, hastily wiping her eyes.
She glanced at Skylan’s door as she passed, thought of saying something to him. She decided to let him sleep. He would want to come with her and she was not yet ready to face him. She had to decide what to do.
The servant did not take Aylaen to the throne room, as she had expected, but outside the castle to the garden. She found the Queen on her hands and knees, pulling weeds from the flower bed. Seeing her, Queen Magali rose and dusted the dirt from her hands and smiled at Aylaen’s look of astonishment.
“I enjoy working with my flowers, watching them grow,” said Queen Magali. “They are like my children-”
Aylaen felt a spasm of pain. She bit her lip. The Queen regarded her with concern. “Are you unwell?”