Alys Clare - Blood of the South

I wasn’t very proud of myself for that.

I’d hoped to see Hrype, for then I could have asked him to act as intermediary. But Hrype was away from the village, and, when I asked my aunt when he’d be back, she merely shrugged. Finally I went back to the little inlet where Thorfinn’s boat had been moored, but, as I had feared, he was no longer there.

‘Did you find out what you were so desperate to know, Grandfather?’ I asked softly, gazing out over the marshy, treacherous ground and the numerous small waterways threading through it. ‘When I shut you out of using the shining stone, did you get Hrype to read the runes for you?’

I was still deeply curious about what he’d wanted me to see. What was the dreadful mission that Skuli had embarked upon? Had he succeeded? Was he even now on his way home, or had he and his crew perished? And – the question wouldn’t leave me alone – why had that image of Rollo intruded?

I had no answers.

Bending down, I gathered a handful of dry grasses and the last of the autumn wildflowers, weaving them into a little wreath. I threw it in the water where Thorfinn had moored his boat. ‘Be safe, Grandfather,’ I said. ‘And please come back soon.’

Then I turned and walked home.

I looked into the stone again that night. I cleared my mind, deliberately banishing thoughts of my grandfather and Skuli. I tried to let the stone speak to me. For a long time, I saw nothing but a sort of dark mist, with the ribbons of green and gold weaving through it. I was on the point of stopping when, just for an instant, I saw a long, beautifully shaped ship, flying on dark blue water under a huge square sail.

Then, in a flash so brief I couldn’t be sure if I’d really seen it, I saw Rollo. For an instant, he looked straight at me. Then he turned away.

The stone withdrew into darkness. With shaking hands, I wrapped it and put it back in its leather bag, then I stowed it away.

I would not look into it again, I vowed, until I had Gurdyman to guide me.

I walked back to Cambridge singing.

The resumption of my studies and the request for Gurdyman’s help with the shining stone were good enough motives for returning; both were true enough, after all.

But the real reason I wanted to be in Cambridge was because that’s where I’d find Jack Chevestrier.