Page 8 of Summer of the Viking

His stomach heaved again and he knew that the sands of time were slipping away from him. The memory of his brother’s drowned face haunted him.

‘You understand? Water?’

The woman cocked her head to one side, resembling an inquisitive bird. Her brow knitted. He tried to mimic drinking.

She gave a slow nod. ‘When we get somewhere safe, I’ll get you something to drink. But now we walk.’

He tried to form the words to explain and the effort caused the skin about his mouth to crack. The dried salt caused it to sting as if it had been attacked by a thousand needles.

Valdar’s body ached as if a thousand frost giants had stomped on it. His mouth tasted of the sea. He tentatively risked a breath. Another splutter of air mixed with seawater. Valdar attempted to ignore it, but his chest continued to heave.

‘I need water now or I die.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t understand what you are saying.’

‘Water or death,’ he yelled. ‘Your choice.’

She cringed. ‘There is no need to shout.’

He put up his hands in a gesture of supplication. ‘My throat. Too much seawater. Fresh water or I die.’

She nodded and said something to the young girl, who quickly went and fetched a large jug of water from beside a basket. The woman held it out. ‘Here you go. Drink. Then walk.’

‘Thank you.’

Valdar downed it, revelling in the sweet taste. Not water, but cooled mint tea. ‘More.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ll be sick. Soon.’

He swallowed. Some of the sea taste had gone, but he still felt parched. ‘Need more. You will get me more.’

‘Soon, first you walk.’

He shrugged off her arm. ‘I will try.’

She gave him a questioning look, but he stood straighter. She moved away from him. Cool air rushed in where her warm body had been. ‘Merri, let him stand.’

He attempted to move forward, but his knees threatened to buckle. He was weaker than a newborn colt. He took a step and the world swayed and the enveloping darkness beckoned once again. ‘Please.’

She came and put her arm about his waist. Her dark head barely reached his shoulder. And she had green eyes shot with silver. ‘Next time, maybe you listen.’

He shrugged her off, put his hands on his knees and tried to draw in deep breaths. Each time he tried, he found himself gasping for air. ‘Leave me. Let me breathe. Bring water.’

‘Time is running out. We need to get off this beach.’ She used her fingers to mimic walking.

Valdar shook his head. Her accent was pleasant and he found if he concentrated, he could understand her well enough. However, the effort made his head spin. ‘Where there is more to drink.’

‘You do speak my language.’

‘I have travelled far. Across many seas.’ He grabbed his throat. ‘After the drink, my mind clears. I can speak best...better.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘And you are from...?’

‘A place so tiny and far from here you will not have heard of it. Trust me.’

He waited to see if she’d accept his word. If he said from a North country, she might get the wrong idea. Northumbrians didn’t distinguish between the North countries. He hated that he was dependant on her. But the gods had spared him for a purpose.

‘Where?’

‘Sand, Raumerike.’

‘You are right.’ A smile hovered on her mouth. ‘I’ve no idea where that is.’

‘How far do you need me to walk?’

Her neat teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it deep red. ‘Off the beach and into the long grass. We can shelter there until all danger is passed.’

The long grass was a lifetime away. ‘What are you afraid of? What is on this beach?’

She glanced over her shoulder, watching shadows. ‘I have my reasons. Trust me.’

Their gazes locked. What choice did he have but to trust her? He hated relying on anyone.

‘After that water and shelter,’ he said. Instantly her brow darkened so he added, ‘Not for long. I...I wish to go home in peace. Peace, you understand?’

She tapped her fingers together.

‘Please.’

Her brow cleared. ‘I know of a vacant cottage where you can rest...before you continue your journey.’

Relief washed over him. His luck had changed. The gods had spared him for a reason. ‘You won’t regret it.’

‘I had better not.’

The sun had dried his sea-soaked tunic to complete stiffness. It rubbed salt into his raw back with every move he made, but that was nothing to the way his legs ached. About the best he could say was that they remained attached to his body. He did not know how long he had swum for and how far the tide had carried him. Then there were the rocks where the waves had dashed him. He could hear them pounding, pounding, pounding and knew he had barely got out alive.

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