The Staff and the Blade Read online

  Einar looked ready to erupt. “Listen, girl, if you’re not up to the task—”

  “No single singer is up to the task of breaking virgin ground in a short season’s time,” Sari said. “If you’d told my mistress at Adna’s House the truth—”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Einar growled.

  “I’m calling you ignorant,” Sari said. “They should have sent three of us to break ground. I’ll need three times as long to do it on my own.”

  She ignored the stubborn scribe on her right, now fuming in the near-silent room. Through their argument, the bustle of the longhouse had ceased and all eyes had turned toward them.

  “You’re an arrogant chit, aren’t you?” Einar said. “I take it your father never used the back of his hand on that mouth.”

  Henry sat silently next to Sari, watching the argument but making no move to interrupt. He glanced at her, and she could see the curve of a smile at the corner of his lips. It gave her a surge of confidence.

  “My father didn’t need to raise his hand to me,” Sari said, continuing to eat her porridge like her heart wasn’t in her throat. “He is a wise man, and I was happy to listen to him and take his counsel.”

  Einar was the worst sort of petty tyrant. She’d seen his type before, scribes or singers who gained prominence in a small community only to forget the true meaning of leadership, which was—her father had taught her—sacrifice.

  His nostrils flared, and he looked seconds away from erupting in anger as the door banged open and a gust of the ever-present island wind blew into the room followed by the dark form of Damien.

  Sari’s gaze swung toward him without thinking. In her weeks on the island, the man had been a ghost. She’d see him for a moment at the end of the common hall, then he was gone. People spoke of him, but he never appeared. They’d passed in the village once, but he’d had his hood pulled up and she didn’t even know if he saw her. Ingrid told Sari that it had been Damien to ready the small cottage where she had taken residence. It was stocked with wood for the fire and as clean as Adna’s House.

  She wondered if he’d been the one to cut the clutch of wildflowers sitting cheerfully on the kitchen table.

  Probably not.

  Damien paused when he closed the door and turned slowly. Dark eyes swept the room as he pulled his hood back.

  “Brothers. Sisters. Good morning.” He took the offered bowl of porridge and inclined his head in thanks. Then he walked to the table as if his joining them for breakfast was a daily occurrence and sat across from Sari at the table. He met her eyes briefly, then looked away. “Good morning, earth singer. Henry. Einar.”

  The common hall, which had been silent, felt void of sound. Sari had never seen Damien take his meals with the rest of the village. Ingrid, who was the village cook, said he often took his meals with Henry in the library, but other than the old scribe, he didn’t appear to have any friends.

  “Damien,” Henry said with a smile. “Perhaps you can clarify something for us. Has the ground around the village ever been worked by an earth singer?”

  Damien paused and pursed his lips. “Not one formally trained.”

  “Ah!” Henry said. “There you go, Einar. Damien has a far better memory than I do for practical things. With books, of course, I am far superior.”

  Sari saw the corner of Damien’s mouth move up slightly.

  He looked up when Einar made a huffing sound. “Problem?”

  Einar glowered, but his volcanic mood had been tempered by the gust of cold and the new company. “The earth singer says we’re to order more grain. We won’t have a full harvest this year, even with her here.”

  Damien grunted. “I could have told you that if you’d asked. On her own, she’ll need two or three seasons at least.”

  Sari felt vindicated, but she didn’t say anything. She might have been bold, but she’d also listened to enough of Greta’s lectures to know when to keep quiet in front of her elders. These three scribes had been on the island far longer than she had. Sari had no desire to look foolish by talking too much.

  Sari spoke to Damien for the first time since the wagon ride into town. “Which grain does best?” She’d seen him plowing the fields south of town with some of the other men yesterday.

  “Barley,” he said. “There’s a variety that’s adapted well to the islands. The growing season is short, but it’s a rougher taste than wheat.”

  “If we’re looking for sustenance, we don’t worry about taste,” Sari said. “We’ll focus on planting the barley and working to strengthen the soil in those acres.”

  Henry perked up. “And if we have excess barley, we might have enough for brewing.”

  Damien smiled at his friend but said nothing.

  Sari said, “Your winters are milder here, I think.”

  Damien nodded.

  Sari turned to Einar. “Then I’ll be able to work with the soil through the winter. By next spring, you’ll have a better season. And a better season after that.”

  Einar sniffed. “If that’s the best you can do…”

  She reined in her temper and was surprised to hear Damien speak.

  “Sari is an earth singer of Adna’s House,” he said. “The island is fortunate to have her.”

  It was the first time he’d spoken her name since their meeting, and Sari found the impact of his low voice wrapping around it more potent than she would have liked. She lowered her shields and listened. In the confusing murmur of soul voices in the room, his rang clear.

  “Ya safeerta—”

  Sari raised her shields before she trespassed on any more of his thoughts. It wasn’t her place to eavesdrop on Damien’s soul, and if he knew she’d been listening in, she suspected he’d be offended. It was very bad manners.

  “But if you want her to have some help,” Damien continued, looking down at his porridge and stirring it without eating, “then you can let her borrow Mirren and her daughter.”

  “The healer?” Sari asked.

  Damien nodded and finally took a bite of his porridge.

  “Oh!” Henry said. “Why didn’t we think of that? Mirren is a very talented herb singer of Rafael’s line, but her gardens bloom all winter. Of course she has some of Ariel’s blood. Good thinking, Damien.”

  Einar grunted. “Healing gets precedence.”

  “Of course,” Henry said, “but she’s not needed that often, Einar. She could easily help Sari with the songs for the fields. We should at least ask her. And as her daughter is already apprenticing with her, their magic must be similar.”

  Damien said, “It is.”

  “Well then,” Henry said. “This has been a most illuminating breakfast. Sari”—he stood and offered his arm—“I’d be happy to take you to Mirren’s cottage and introduce you. You might not have met her yet. She’s been helping a human village with an outbreak of fever the past week, but I’m sure I saw her back yesterday.

  “Of course. Thank you, Henry.” Sari stood, only to see Damien’s shoulders straighten as she did. He didn’t stand with her, but it was as if his body came to attention when she rose.

  A warrior, she thought again. He is a warrior.

  A man of his bearing could only be a warrior, and his manners told Sari he was old. What was he doing in the middle of the North Sea? And why did his ferocious gaze settle on her like a brand? She felt Damien’s eyes long after she’d walked away.

  ※

  The next day was filled with laughter and teaching. Mirren and her daughter did have earth magic. Quite a lot of it, though their primary talent lay in healing. They were herb singers, and though neither had ever worked with grains or cereal crops, they were more than happy to learn. She took them to the edge of a barley field where seed was just springing up. The men were still plowing the field across the lane, and she could hear their shouts and laughter in the distance.

  “Tell me,” Sari said, “how do you make your garden bloom in winter?”

  Mirren smiled. “It’s not a
nything extraordinary, I suppose. Part of it is knowing where to place certain plants. It doesn’t snow often, but the winds are biting cold.”

  “And the soil?”

  “The soil is rich here,” Mirren said. “But cold. We know it must be coaxed.”

  “Exactly,” Sari said. “It’s no different for barley or wheat. Just larger scale. But you have a step up on me. The island already knows your voice. You just have to learn how to speak a bit louder, eh?”

  The women both laughed, and Sari proceeded to teach them a few spells that would coax the soil in the small field to feed the roots of the young barley. Taught them a variation on a song Mirren already knew that would help the soil hold on to the heat of the sun, even when the temperature dropped at night.

  It was instinctive, easy work, but tedious at the same time. Teaching songs was like Tala’s needlework. It took concentration and precision when Sari craved a burst of power. Mirren and her daughter Kirsten were quick students but obviously struggled with the scope of the field. They were also like Tala, detailed and precise, but they lacked the raw power needed to sing a field.

  Still, they could help. It would be far better than singing on her own. Once they learned the proper spells, they could sing along with Sari, adding their own power as she led.

  They stopped for lunch when the sun was high, and a young man from the village delivered a basket of bread and fresh milk.

  “Sari,” Kirsten said, “have you traveled much?”

  She shook her head. “Not much. My parents’ home is near Oslo, and I studied in Copenhagen. I’ve traveled along the coast of Norway quite a bit, but nothing too grand. My grandmother has been all the way to Vienna though.”

  Kirsten and Mirren’s eyes both went wide, so Sari didn’t share that Orsala was serving a term as an elder singer. It took more explanation than she wanted to give during a midday meal.

  “That’s exciting,” Mirren said. “For myself, I’ve traveled only in England and Scotland. One day I think I’d like a short trip across the water to France, but I prefer staying near home.”

  “No, you prefer Father.” Kirsten teased her mother. “And Father likes to stay on the islands.”

  Mirren laughed. “Well, that’s no lie.”

  The girl was full-grown, so the two women looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. They reminded Sari of her mother, her sister, and herself. The three looked so similar they always drew glances, even in Oslo where tall blond women were common.

  Mirren patted her knee. “You look like you’re missing someone.”

  “My sister,” Sari said immediately. “And my mother a little. But my sister is all the way in Spain. I-I can’t imagine it. She left for Spain at the same time I left for Orkney, so I haven’t received a letter from her yet.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Kirsten said. “How lovely to have a sister. You two must be very close. Are you twins?”

  “Yes.” Twins were as common as any other siblings in their world. Irin didn’t have many children, but twins happened with regularity.

  “A blessed family,” Mirren said, her eyes drifting across the field to where the men were plowing. “I think Henry mentioned once that Damien had been in Spain.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes wandered across the lane and she tried to smother her quick inhalation of breath.

  All the men had stripped their shirts off, and sweat shone on bared shoulders and chests. Among the pale, tattooed chests of the Orcadian scribes, Damien’s golden skin glowed. He was walking behind the horses, digging the plow into the soil. His ink-swirled arms flexed when he tugged or snapped the reins. His whole torso twisted with the effort of working the soil and preparing it for seed.

  His talesm…

  She’d never seen their equal. It wasn’t just the sheer number, it was the beauty of his hand. Her father’s glyphs were straight and economical, almost utilitarian in their neatness. Sari supposed they reflected the Norse influence of his forefathers.

  Damien’s script spoke of Eastern heat. Intricate and twisting, his spells curled from his wrists up his left arm, across his shoulder, and down his right. His torso was similarly covered from the right side down his abdomen, covering the sharp cut of his muscles before the ink dipped below his waist. His left side was bare—he wore no mating mark—and dark hair dusted his chest and trailed down the center of his stomach until it too disappeared beneath his breeches.

  Sari tore her eyes away from his harsh beauty before others caught her stare.

  “Damien has traveled more than anyone on the island,” Mirren said. “I remember when I first came here. He seemed so mysterious.”

  Kirsten laughed. “He’s still mysterious. All the girls try to talk to him though.”

  Sari smiled. She had no problem seeing the allure of a silent, mysterious warrior on a small island like Orkney.

  “I think he only confides in Henry,” Kirsten continued. “If he confides in anyone at all.”

  When Mirren spoke, her age reflected in her eyes. “I think Damien saw many battles before he came here. Often those so wounded don’t seek the company of others.”

  “He’s quiet,” Sari said. “He’s barely spoken to me.”

  “That he speaks at all to you is notable,” Mirren said.

  “Has he ever come to you for healing?”

  “No.” Mirren rose and held out her hand to help Sari up. “The kind of wounds I suspect Damien carries are not the kind I can heal. Those can only be healed by the touch of a mate, and he seems to have no interest in finding one.”

  Kirsten said, “Not that any number of singers haven’t offered!”

  “Including you, daughter?”

  “I’d have to be blind and dumb not to notice a scribe like him,” Kirsten said. “But I’m not content to bash my head against the rocks. Damien has no interest in women.”

  The women got back to work for the rest of the afternoon. Sari forgot the time during the summer when the sun stayed high and there was so much to do. She taught Mirren and Kirsten two more songs before the older woman raised a hand.

  “Sari,” she said with a laugh, “enough. I don’t know where you get your energy, but I am exhausted.”

  She paused in the middle of explaining the warming spell. “I’m sorry, Mirren. I forget the time.”

  The sun had sunk, but there was still plenty of light. With nothing else to do and no one to socialize with now that Tala was gone, Sari had been working late into the evenings. Glancing across the lane, she saw that only Damien and another scribe remained plowing. All the others had taken themselves back to the village.

  “I can see the chimney smoking in our cottage,” Mirren said. “Bernard is probably cooking already, and I don’t want to make him wait to serve supper. Would you like to join us for the evening meal?”

  Kirsten nodded. “You’d be more than welcome!”

  “Thank you.” The invitation meant much, but Sari felt like she was bursting at the seams. Hours of fine magical work with none of the intense expulsion of energy she craved. She eyed the heavy plow across the lane and the horses that plodded along the rough ground. “I do appreciate it, but I need to work a bit longer or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Understood.” Mirren patted her shoulder. “Thank you for your patience, sister. Kirsten and I have learned much today.”

  “No.” Sari grabbed her hand. “Thank you. It means much to me that you’d be willing to help with this. I know it’s not your true responsibility.”

  “Always good to learn new things,” Kirsten said. “But I’m with Mother. I’m exhausted. I hope you don’t mind if I abandon you and Father for the common room tonight.”

  “Of course not, dear.” Mirren brushed Kirsten’s chin with dirty fingers. “Enjoy the time with your friends.”

  The two singers bid Sari good night and walked back to the village while Sari paused and finished the water in the drinking jar. She eyed the slowly plodding horses and the rough, gritty soil.
/>   Taking a deep breath, she strode across the lane and straight out to Damien, who was clucking at the animals as they pulled the plow. His arms were outstretched and gleaming. His hair was tied back with a fine leather strap, and she could see the straining muscles and tendons in his neck.

  “Damien,” she shouted, striding across the rough ground.

  He halted, and his whole body turned toward her. She felt branded by the force of his attention, though he said nothing as she drew near.

  “Let me take the plow,” she said.

  He frowned. “No.”

  “Let me.” Her skin felt as if it would burst. She crackled with power. The awareness of his strength and physical appeal was not helping. “Please,” she forced out, hating the word. “Let me take the plow for a while.”

  “You’re not—”

  “For heaven’s sake!” she shouted, stepping closer. “Don’t you know that I’m perfectly capable of plowing this field? I could plow five fields in the time you men have plowed one. Let. Me. Take. The. Plow.”

  He left one hand on the handle and put the other on his waist. Slowly he stepped back as she stepped forward.

  “Fine,” he said over her shoulder as she took the reins, “but don’t take your frustration out on these animals or you’ll answer to me.”

  It might have been the longest statement he’d ever spoken to her, but she rolled her eyes and snapped the reins, letting the horses surge forward as she raised her voice in song.

  It was an old song, one that she remembered hearing her mother sing as she walked in front of her mate. Sari’s parents had plowed their fields together, her father steering the plow and her mother walking beside the horses, singing at the top of her lungs in a laughing voice, easing the path of the horses and the metal as it worked the ground. Sari sang the same song now, letting the raw force of her power shoot down her body and release into the earth. The ground softened under the force of her magic, and the horses sped up.