The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,71
this land. There, destroy the stone disk and close the serpent paths.”
She shook her head. “It cannot be ‘destroy’... destroyed.”
When he spoke again, his words came so fast she could hardly follow. She caught “moon” and “sword” among the flurry of sounds. Cursing her faulty memory, she held her hands up to get him to slow down. “When the moon shows all her face,” she repeated. Switching to English, she muttered, “That much I got. I have a damn deadline, and no instructions.” She changed back to Norse. “What of the sword?”
“I swore on it that I would not rest until I have vengeance for her death. The sword will break the stone disk when the first spring moon, riding at its highest point, looks upon them both. It must be done using sacred wine.”
Just what the hell does that mean? If I had a bottle of wine handy at the moment, I’d probably drink it, and to hell with this serpent thing. “Blessed wine?” she guessed aloud.
Hakon jerked a knife from his belt, then raked it across his palm. Faith flinched. Blood, bright as rubies, welled in the weathered creases of his hand. “Sacred wine,” he repeated.
“Blood?” she murmured in Norse. The words “blood” and “wine” were different enough in his language that there could be no mistaking the two. She wondered if it were a metaphor.
Then she wondered how a ghost could bleed.
“Not the blood of common men,” Hakon said. “It is no longer powerful enough.” He gripped her hand, spreading her fingers so that it lay palm-upward in his. “Sacred blood that carries the gift of the druids must also be their downfall.”
Reeling, Faith shook her head. “You’re crazy,” she spat in English. “I want out of this. Let go.” She struggled, trying to pull her hand from his. “Let go!”
She woke from the vision sweating.
Faith threw the folds of oilcloth back over the sword, dropped it into its box, slammed the lid shut, then shoved the whole works under her cot and out of sight.
Gifted blood. The blood of the descendants of druids. He wanted her to avenge a thousand-year-old murder because she carried gifted blood, and somehow just happened to look like his dead wife. In addition to which, she’d been dreaming of him her whole life.
Nausea gripped her. Could this get any better?
The storm raged on outside. Faith bent toward her cot and prodded at her sister. “Hey, wake up.”
Sara mumbled something and opened glassy, unfocused eyes.
“I talked to Hakon. Sara, come on. Wake up.” Faith nudged her again.
Sara’s gaze fixed somewhere over Faith’s head. “Dad?” she whispered, a brittle, hollow rasp of sound that gave Faith chills.
She clapped a hand over Sara’s forehead. Her sister’s skin felt icy and fiery hot by turns. “Sara, don’t do this, not now. I need you. I’ve gotta tell you this.”
No response.
Yep. It could get better.
Faith spun around to get her first-aid kit, and started praying.
****
Rainwater dripped sulkily from the edges of Flintrop’s tent as he opened the flap. The storm had spent the last of its energy by dawn, but the sky remained gray and moody. Today’s weather promised to be little better. Pulling on his jacket, he headed outside.
Michael emerged from his tent. “Morning. Such as it is.”
“Yeah. Start setting up. We’ll see how far we can get today with the ground being so soft.”
His assistant nodded and moved off in the direction of the dig.
Flintrop crossed the moor to Sara’s tent to find the door flap already open, and the tent unoccupied. He turned toward Faith’s tent instead. Hers was also open, but sounds of activity came from within. He ducked his head inside. “Looks like we— What’s going on?”
Faith sat in a camp chair beside the cot with slumped shoulders. She squeezed water from a rolled towel. Sara lay prone on the cot, murmuring in her sleep. Faith pressed the damp towel to her sister’s forehead. “She has a fever. She hasn’t been coherent all night.”
Flintrop gestured outside. “I’ll get a couple of the team and a stretcher. We can take her to Mainland.”
“No. I can take care of her.”
Flintrop watched the way Sara shifted restlessly on the pillow. Her damp hair stuck in tendrils to her forehead. “Faith, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let you endanger her health because you think you can han—”
“I said I can take care of her. Please, Alan. Can you manage the dig today?”
His given name. That was a change. Reluctant, he nodded and left