Christopher Dinsdale's Historical Adventures 4-Book Bundle. Christopher Dinsdale
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the sky, she waited, timing herself for the peak. Then as the wave reached the apex of its swell, she raised herself up and looked in all directions. There! She could see a dark, rocky outline to her right, just before the ocean sucked her back down into the trough of the next wave.
Moving her two arms and one good leg, she swam as best she could through the rough seas, waiting for each wave to lift her up in order to regain her bearings. The shore was not far, but the chilling cold of the North Atlantic had worked its way through her wool garments and was quickly draining her strength. She pushed herself onward, aware that each pull with her arms was weaker than the last. She was nearly there. The boom of the surf against the rocks was almost deafening. She briefly wondered whether she would make it to shore only to be crushed on the rocks. She had no choice. Her strength was almost gone, and death was not an option. She continued her laboured swim.
The next wave grabbed her body and threw her forward. She bodysurfed within the curl towards the jagged shoreline. The wave passed by, and what now lay ahead terrified her. Just in front of her were two huge, jagged boulders. A small gap between them led to the stony shore beyond. It was her only hope. She could feel the next wave building behind her. There would be only one chance. With several kicks, she lined herself up as best she could and allowed the wave to rocket her forward.
She almost made it. While her body flashed through the gap with the surging water, her injured left leg caught the sharp edge of the righthand boulder, sending fiery pain throughout her entire body. In agony, she crumpled into a heap amid the frothing surf. Kiera was washed up like a piece of driftwood onto a rough beach of pebbles and rocks, tumbling until the water's momentum died, and she was left groaning in agony. Another wave swept over her. She writhed and screamed as her leg twisted in the surf. Her mind tried to rise above the anguish. Staying in the surf would be death. She tried to crawl but couldn't. The next wave burst through the rocks, submerged her and again twisted her injured leg into unbelievable explosions of pain.
The wave receded. Gasping for breath, she let her legs hang limply behind her as she dug her fingers into the slippery rocks and dragged herself, inch by inch, away from the churning water. How long it took, she had no idea, but somehow she pulled her body beyond the reach of the surf.
The pain was simply too much. Exhausted and curled up at the base of a rock face, she could no longer feel the icy rain pelting her body. She felt her mind slip away from the horror of reality and into the comfort of inner darkness. She welcomed the peace that was awaiting her in the world beyond. Her life here was over.
Then, before she completely submitted to unconsciousness, she felt something touch her. There was a slight tug on her neck, perhaps from her necklace. For a moment, she willed her burning eyes to open. In the dark twilight, she made out the outline of a face looking down at her. Where was she? The voice! The beautiful language of her birth tongue! Heaven! Only in heaven could it be possible. The voice of an angel had spoken to her. She allowed the darkness to envelop her once again. Before drifting away, Kiera let the glorious Celtic words sink into her memory.
SIX
It was as if she were trying to swim up from the depths of the darkest ocean. Kiera floated through layers of grey thoughts and foggy memories. She remembered the time she had burned her hand on the hot kettle, and the fiery tears as her mother bathed her injury in a barrel of cool rain water. She tasted the salt on the fish her grandmother had always prepared before the family attended evening mass. She felt the icy cold rain that had pelted her shivering body as she was led away, sobbing, in the hold of the Viking ship after the invaders had sacked her home and village. Kiera wondered if she was living her life in reverse. Was this the process of life after death? She searched for a beacon to follow, a light to guide her to the afterworld.
Pain! Her cry of anguish cut ferociously through layers of confusion and opened a cruel portal back to reality. Somewhere deep within her mind, she was aware that she was being moved, and with each bump, an invisible knife sliced cleanly through her lower leg. Her senses began to return. The thundering of the ocean surf was now only a distant rumble. The scent of wet pine tingled within her nostrils.
With great effort, she forced her eyes open. Perhaps she was still dreaming, for there was darkness everywhere. No. There was a strange shadow hovering above her. It looked like the upside-down and backwards silhouette of a man. In her delirious state, she found the angle almost amusing. What was happening? Under her, she felt a soft cushion that bounced in a rhythmic pattern. Her fingertips reached down and touched soft pine needles. It was then that she realized that she was being dragged on a thick bough of pine.
Before she could completely piece together her thoughts, the improvised stretcher jolted upwards as it struck something large and unseen. The stranger grunted at the impact. The collision rocked her body onto her injured leg. Unbearable pain tore through her. It was simply too much agony to bear. Her ragged voice managed a hoarse whimper before her tortured thoughts disintegrated back into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness.
Kiera's nose twitched at the tickling sensation of smoke. She wondered why she couldn't hear the children playing in the longhouse or the women chattering as they began the morning meal preparations. A gentle breeze kissed her forehead as she struggled to open her eyes. Something was wrong. The air in the longhouse was always stale and stuffy.
Kiera squinted into the bright morning light. She gasped at the unexpected sight. Next to her was a crackling fire. Several pieces of fish were skewered on sharp sticks and were roasting above the heat of the flames. Her body lay within a small, shallow ditch that encircled the fire.
Suddenly, the memories of the storm flooded back. The longboat. Her leg! Her hands reached along her body, checking for injury as her eyes continued to adjust to the morning sun. Her injured limb had been raised off the ground, supported underneath by several layers of folded fur. A large grey pelt covered her lower body, providing her with warmth against the cool morning air.
Kiera ran her hands under the cover and found that her injured left leg had been secured from her ankle to her knee by several thin but firm pieces of hewn tree limbs and securely bound together by many pieces of leather twine. Whoever had immobilized her leg seemed to know what they were doing.
From behind, a hand touched her shoulder. Kiera looked up, then screamed. Two concerned white eyes stared down at her from a female face stained blood red. The woman's exposed upper body, along with the knee-high leather skirt, were also stained a dark crimson. Her hideous skin colour looked like the hide of the devil himself.
The reddened woman, holding a large wooden bowl, also screamed. She flung the bowl high into the air, its contents spraying Kiera and the surrounding ground as it spiralled skywards. The woman turned and sprinted away, disappearing into the forest.
Kiera was alone again. It took several minutes to regain her breath. Where was she? Who was that strange woman? Could she have been the one who had rescued her from the beach? If she was indeed her rescuer, then she had frightened away the person who had just saved her life.
Shivering, a thought passed through her mind. Perhaps they were going to kill her. In the past, other skraelings had not hesitated to kill. But why, then, would they have bothered to mend her leg?
Tears began to trickle down her pale cheeks. She was crippled and alone with frightening people she did not understand. What was to happen to her?
A twig snapped. She wiped her eyes with her arm and turned towards the sound. Appearing silently from the stand of cedars was a man, completely covered in the same red stain as the woman. He wore only leather breeches hanging loosely from his waist. Kiera dug her fingernails into the soft dirt, readying to drag her body away in retreat, if need be, from the skraeling.
But the man approached no further. Instead, he slowly stepped sideways towards a birch bark basin. He knelt, held his stained hands up and opened his palms towards her. He lowered his eyes, cupped his hands and then began to splash water onto his face. With a piece of leather and what looked like a gob of animal fat, he began to vigorously scrub his skin. After a minute, he paused and lifted his head. Kiera's