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409 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 11, 2013









Here, the very soil was sacred. Cai was an uncertain convert to the new faith, but he could feel that much, sense the rightness of the ancient name the tidal island bore, a name like the yearning cry of a bird. It rose up in his heart--Fara Sancta. The island of the holy tide. Fara.
"And while we are discussing names--do me a kindness and stop trying to call me Fenrir. You cannot pronounce it, and the sound you make pains me."
"What shall I call you, then?"
"Fen will do."
"Very well. And since you sound like a sheep giving birth when you say mine, you'd better call me Cai."
"(…)And as for your hair, I gave it to the tanner to stuff saddlebags." That wasn't true, but the look on Fen's face was worth the price of the lie. "Don't worry, it'll grow back. You can look like a great louse-ridden thug again soon enough."
Fen's brows shot up to the place where his fringe had once been. "You're a fine one to talk about lice. I've heard about you dirty Christians, mortifying your flesh beneath your robes until it rots--using your vows of poverty to excuse yourselves for sleeping in flea-ridden filth.
"There, Oslaf. Aren't you glad he's started talking? Go and get your breakfast."


He pressed tighter into Fen's embrace. This place had forever in it. Time couldn't end it, nor even the limits of life. Not distance--not even the wastes of the wild North Sea.
⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱*Nope*⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱
The Viking’s eyes flickered shut. Cai reached to ease him over onto his back, but he reanimated. “I am called Fenrir,” he rasped, the effort bringing blood to his lips. “Fenrir, after Fenrisulfr, the great wolf of our legends. You must make me well again, monk, and then you have to set me free. I am a prince in my own land—second heir to Lord Sigurd’s Torleik realm, and Sigurd and my brothers and my comrades will be back for me. You must let me go.”
“Happily. I’d dump you back on the beach in a heartbeat, your majesty.”
“A prince in my own…” The Viking writhed, fresh sweat breaking on him. “Oh, gods. Kill me now, monk. I have soiled myself. I am disgraced.”
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“Ah.” She clapped her hands. “Yes. Yes.
The vikingr are coming.”
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
‘There was a sail on the horizon. A great square sail, pregnant with that breeze. In front of it—impossibly clear to him just for an instant—rode a dragon’s head.’
‘He could hear bells. Disconnected thoughts flicked through his head. He would never know the voice of God, not if it depended on chastity. He’d better get the mattress ticking off, rinse it under the pump. Perhaps he should just leave Fara. A wolf from the sea.’
‘He crashed to a halt face-to-face with a young man whose surpassing beauty was visible even behind the nose guard of his iron helmet. The noble face registered—what—surprise? A strange recognition? Red-bronze hair streamed in the wind. Golden wolf’s eyes flickered wide.’
‘Beyond all of those places, here they would be. He pressed tighter into Fen’s embrace. This place had forever in it. Time couldn’t end it, nor even the limits of life. Not distance—not even the wastes of the wild North Sea.’
“I’ll hurt you.”
“I want that, this once. Carve your shape into me. So I won’t ever forget.”
It was for her sake, for the sake of every creature different, unknown, unable or unwilling to conform to the law of the church or any authority, that Cai would teach his villagers.




