Soul's Fire (The Northwomen Sagas Book 3) Read online

  THE FREAK CIRCLE PRESS

  Soul’s Fire © 2017 Susan Fanetti

  All rights reserved

  Susan Fanetti has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this book under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ALSO BY SUSAN FANETTI

  The Northwomen Sagas

  God’s Eye

  Heart’s Ease

  The Brazen Bulls MC

  Crash, Book 1

  THE NIGHT HORDE MC SAGA

  The Signal Bend Series

  Move the Sun, Book 1

  Behold the Stars, Book 2

  Into the Storm, Book 3

  Alone on Earth, Book 4

  In Dark Woods, Book 4.5

  All the Sky, Book 5

  Show the Fire, Book 6

  Leave a Trail, Book 7

  The Night Horde SoCal

  Strength & Courage, Book 1

  Shadow & Soul, Book 2

  Today & Tomorrow, Book 2.5

  Fire & Dark, Book 3

  Dream & Dare, Book 3.5

  Knife & Flesh, Book 4

  Rest & Trust, Book 5

  Calm & Storm, Book 6

  Nolan: Return to Signal Bend

  Love & Friendship

  The Pagano Family

  Footsteps, Book 1

  Touch, Book 2

  Rooted, Book 3

  Deep, Book 4

  Prayer, Book 5

  Miracle, Book 6

  The Pagano Family: The Complete Series

  PRONUNCIATIONS AND DEFINITIONS

  To build this world, I did a great deal of research, and I mean to be respectful of the historical reality of the Norse cultures. But I have also allowed myself some creative license to draw from the full body of Norse history, culture, and geography in order to enrich my fictional representation. True Viking culture was not monolithic but instead a various collection of largely similar but often distinct languages, traditions, and practices. In The Northwomen Sagas, however, I have merged the cultural touchstones.

  In this installment, which takes place primarily in a fictional version of Anglo-Saxon England, I have likewise fictionalized history, culture, and geography, exploiting and stretching history to create story.

  My characters have names drawn from that full body of history and tradition. Otherwise, I use Norse words sparingly and use the Anglicized spelling and pronunciation where I can. Below is a list of some of the Norse and Anglo-Saxon names and terms used in this story, with pronunciations and/or definitions provided as I thought might be helpful.

  NAMES:

  Åke (AW-kyuh)

  Birte (BEER-tuh)

  Bjarke (BYAR-kyuh)

  Eadric (EE-drik)

  Eira (EYE-rah)

  Håkon (HAW-kun)

  Jaan (YAHN)

  Leif (LAFE)

  Leofric (lee-OFF-rik)

  Solveig (SOL-vay)

  Vali (VAH-lee)

  Ylva (IL-vah)

  TERMS:

  Dwale—(DWAH-luh) an anesthetic potion made of belladonna

  Hangerock—an apron-like overdress worn by Viking women.

  Hnefatafl—(NEH-va-tahpl) an ancient Viking strategy game, vaguely like chess.

  Pleasaunce—(PLEEZ-awnce) a garden designed to be pleasing to the senses.

  Skause—a meat stew, made variously, depending on available ingredients.

  Skeid—(SHIED) the largest Viking ship, with more than thirty rowing benches.

  Thing—the English spelling and pronunciation of the Norse þing. An assembly of freemen for political and social business.

  Úlfhéðnar (OOLF-hyeh-nar)—a special class of berserkers who took the wolf as their symbol. They were known to be especially ferocious and in some sagas are identified as Odin’s elite warriors.

  THE NINE NOBLE VIRTUES

  This story is organized into nine sections corresponding to the “Nine Noble Virtues” of Norse culture. These virtues were organized into this list in the twentieth century; however, despite that recent organization, they were taken from the ancient Norse eddas such as the Hávamál and might be considered to reflect a true Norse warrior’s code.

  The virtues appear in this story in the order that best corresponds to the theme and/or plot of the part to which they are assigned, but they are most commonly listed in this order:

  Courage

  Truth

  Honor

  Fidelity

  Discipline

  Hospitality

  Self-Reliance

  Industriousness

  Perseverance

  CONTENT WARNING

  The Northwomen Sagas takes place in a brutal, combative world, and, as is sadly always the case, women in such a world suffer in particular ways. The leads of these stories experience things that reflect the realities for women during this period of history. Even by the harsh standards of this series, Astrid’s story gets quite dark. She suffers badly through a few chapters. It is always my tendency not to go into much specific detail about the hard things that happen while they are happening and instead focus on the aftermath, and that is the case here. I don’t dwell long on such events, but I do dwell on their consequences. Soul’s Fire is a romance, and Astrid’s story ends happily, but if you thought God’s Eye and Heart’s Ease had some tough moments to deal with, this one will likely be even tougher.

  So have your shield and armor at the ready.

  For my fellow survivors of sexual assault and abuse.

  Our fire is our own, and no one may take it from us, try though they might.

  Many thanks, as always, to Lina Andersson, for her help with Viking history and culture—and for making sure the Swedish lines say what I want them to.

  Astrid kicked on her mother’s door. The move jostled the girl in her arms, and she moaned.

  “Mother! Are you there!”

  From behind the slatted wood, she heard, “Usch! I’m here! Why all the yelling and pounding, just open the—”

  The door swung open, and Geitland’s healer—her mother, called Birte—stood there, her face flushed and her hair stuck in wet sweeps over her forehead. She had been at the fire, probably boiling some new potion.

  “Öhm!” she exclaimed upon seeing the girl Astrid held. She moved her substantial body out of the way, and Astrid pushed through, carrying the girl to the cot in the main room of her mother’s house. When she laid her down, the girl moaned and clutched her side, where blood soaked her tunic.

  Birte dried her hands and pushed Astrid out of the way. “Another? You push these girls too hard, daughter. If you are not careful, one will die from your training soon.”

  “If they would die in training, then they are not fit for battle.”

  After she turned eyes full of weary displeasure on her daughter, Birte bent to the girl and plucked at her tunic. “Let me see, child.” She lifted the coarsely woven fabric and showed a wide, deep wound. She had been slashed with a true sword, sharpened for battle.

  Astrid had been training shieldmaidens for years, and she knew her work. There was li
ttle to be learned batting sticks at one another. She taught her charges the way she had been taught: with sharpened weapons. They learned because their lives depended on it.

  Her mother knew that, and also knew that Astrid’s shieldmaidens had brought great honor on themselves and on her. But it was true that this year, there had been more injuries. Astrid blamed the crop of new fighters, who were softer than any she’d known before. In the past, young women had come to her with some fighting skill already. All boys, and many girls, in their world were taught to defend themselves as soon as they could wield a weapon.

  But in the past few years, with Geitland basking in great prosperity, people had grown soft. They had only raided once each of the past three summers. Each raid had brought so much treasure that everyone had more than they needed, and the appetite for the fight had dwindled as warriors grew rich and drunk and made their women fat with their children.

  If not for the sneak attack during the winter from an inland clan, which had shaken all of Geitland up and awakened their bloodlust as well as depleted some stores, Astrid doubted the people of Geitland would have had the interest to raid at all this summer.

  But they did. In fact, Leif, Geitland’s great jarl, and Vali, the jarl of Karlsa, Leif’s good friend, and his northernmost ally, planned to raid again together this summer, in a daring journey to the other side of the fertile land they had plundered so fruitfully for the past four summers.

  Anglia.

  For this new, bold raid, a long voyage in new water, to new land, her shieldmaidens could not have any softness in them. They would need all their wits, all their strength. They would need to turn their hearts and bodies to stone and iron.

  As Astrid had, long ago.

  She watched as her mother pressed her fingers along the girl’s wound. When the girl whimpered, Birte shushed her, her voice and breath both crooning softly. These soft touches and sounds were not the kind of mothering Astrid had grown up with, and she felt a pluck of irritation at the bleeding girl.

  Then her mother pushed a finger into the wound, and the girl screamed.

  Astrid scowled at the sound.

  Her mother sucked the blood from her finger. “You are fortunate, child. There is no greater damage than this slice. I will close it, and you will heal.” She turned back to Astrid and waved her hand toward the door. “Schas, daughter! I have no need of you. You have done enough, I think.”

  Dismissed, Astrid left without another word and headed for the great hall. She had no more need to be there than her mother had need of her. The girl was of no more interest to her. She would make no shieldmaiden.

  A true shieldmaiden closed her mouth against her pain.

  ~oOo~

  Winter had crept away, and the afternoon bore the warm promise of dawning summer. The door and windows of the great hall had been thrown open. The night would likely freeze again, the sun was still young and its warmth did not last long, but for now they could enjoy the air and light.

  As Astrid came to the main doors, a trio of young goatlings trotted out on their stiff legs, bleating. Right behind them, laughing as he tried to catch one, was Magni, Leif’s son, born of his second wife, Olga. He had five years, and he had grown wilder with each of them. He was a goodhearted boy, and robust, but he was undisciplined.

  Astrid had never borne a child, and she cared not to do so. She had never had a husband or a man promised to her, and she cared not about that, either. When she wanted a man, she had one. When she was done with him, she went away from him.

  She wanted no man to seed her. A shieldmaiden who mated and bore children was a shieldmaiden no longer. A mother was bound to the hearth, to tend to the needs of others during her years of greatest strength. Such was not the life for Astrid.

  Her lack of experience about children or parenting did not stop her from judging the parents she knew, however. She kept her mouth closed, but she judged nonetheless.

  Leif and Olga, in her estimation, were soft. Olga’s mothering was sweet songs and gentle kisses. Leif’s fathering was play and laughter. Having five years, Magni was old enough to begin to be taught the ways of their world, which was a harsh place of long winter and cold iron and steel.

  Instead, he was being shown a world of love and warmth and joy. Without hard training to forge his will, he would make no good jarl to sit in his father’s place one day.

  Astrid doubted that Leif would ever be challenged for his seat; he was revered as jarl, he had earned the seat in battle, and he would hold it until his death. But he was not immortal, and his son—if Magni were not challenged even before he could claim his father’s seat, Astrid believed he would be challenged shortly thereafter. And he would be killed.

  Unless he found his stone and iron before that day.

  She watched the boy dive for a goatling, his blonde hair flying. He missed, landing in the dusty dirt with a gleeful shout, then jumped up and ran again. All around him, people at work made way for the jarl’s son, his only living child.

  Leif had put in the ground six children, his first wife, and the unborn son she’d carried. Olga had thought herself unable to bear Leif a child, until she’d borne their son. Perhaps there was good cause in that for the way Magni was indulged. Good cause, perhaps, but not good sense.

  Astrid shook her head and went into the hall to discuss with Leif their upcoming travel to Karlsa, where they would make their plans for this great raid.

  ~oOo~

  Vali, Jarl of Karlsa, strode down the pier to Leif, and the two men clasped arms and then embraced warmly. Though Leif was a large man among their people, Vali stood taller and wider. He was the largest man Astrid had ever known. His size and power, his ferocity and skill in battle, and his endurance had made him a renowned warrior. His steady hand, keen mind, and warm heart had made him, like Leif, an esteemed leader.

  Vali’s wife, Brenna, known as the God’s-Eye, who had once been a legendary shieldmaiden, stood behind her husband, their three children around her. When Vali and Leif had made their greeting, Leif moved on to Brenna, wrapping his arms around her. She released the hand of Ylva, her youngest, so that she could hold him. At the same time, Vali embraced Olga, who, with Magni, had joined them on this brief journey north.

  Then the women embraced and cooed over their children. Brenna and Vali’s oldest, a girl, Solveig, had six years. Håkon, their son, was only half a year younger than Magni, so had near five years. The three of them greeted each other like old friends and ran off toward town, their parents calling after them warnings to be careful, as if every eye in the town would not be mindful of the jarls’ children.

  Brenna and Vali’s youngest, Ylva, still bore the round cheeks and wispy locks of infancy and could not have had more than three years. With wide, still eyes, she studied the adults as they spoke together. Vali swept his youngest girl into his arms, and she tucked her fair head under his dark beard.

  Still in the ship, Astrid watched all that friendship and family with an evaluative eye. There was no denying the greatness of either man, or of Brenna. But the men were building on their legend, adding tales to their story. Brenna had given over to breeding and had not raided for many years, since they had traveled for the last time to Estland. There, they had met Olga, Leif’s wife. And there, Vali had wed the great God’s-Eye and turned a shieldmaiden into a broodmare.

  She did not understand the impulse. The children were well-made and good-featured, yes, and she supposed there was the drive to leave one’s blood behind after death. But she had admired the God’s-Eye as a great warrior, and here she stood, in a hangerock fastened with bejeweled brooches, smiling up at the man who had sheathed her sword when he’d sheathed himself in her.

  At the intimate image that accompanied that impatient thought, Astrid scanned the people of Karlsa who stood along the shore, watching the welcoming of the Jarl of Geitland. She did not see the face she wanted. When she joined Leif in Karlsa, she coupled with Jaan, with whom she’d often coupled in Estland as well. He
was good company, well built, and a fine rut. Usually, he was at the shore for the welcome, but on this day he was not.

  She found herself disappointed. No matter; she was sure he would show himself.

  Vali handed his daughter to Leif, then turned and smiled at Astrid. “Will you stand there glowering, my friend, or will you join us?”

  He held his large hand out as if he meant to help her onto the pier. She gave him the smile he sought, and she joined her friends, but she did not take his hand.

  ~oOo~

  “Again, you would have us be farmers? Was not our failure in Estland lesson enough?” Astrid slapped her hand on the hide before them, covered with thin lines and small pictures. A ‘map,’ it was. She was still skeptical of them. It seemed to her that to use such a thing for navigation was to trust someone they did not know to create an image of a place they had not seen.

  The sun and the stars. The wind. Her own eyes. Her own feet. These were things she could trust to show her the way.