Dragon Stones: Fountains of Power, #4

By Marcus Williams

The weight of history—a heavy burden to bear. 

 

With a baby on the way, Archie is running out of time to find answers. As he digs into his family history, he is shocked to find stories of the Power tracing back through the generations, from the famous Scottish witch trials to the time of the Viking raids. When the day finally arrives for their daughter's birth, Archie and Zaira anxiously look for any signs that she feels the Power. The genealogical trail for answers leads Archie to the barren and desolate landscapes of the Outer Hebrides of Scotland and the fjords of Iceland, bringing clarity to the story of his family and its connection to the Power. But with that clarity comes terror for their daughter's future and desperate preparation for the inevitable battle that has been waiting for centuries to be waged.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Williams & Co Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781959759140

Marcus Williams

Marcus has written thousands of pages of law enforcement reports describing the details of cyber crimes, sexual assaults, drug trafficking, and murders during his career as a federal agent. He now uses all of that "practice" to tell stories that excite, entertain, and engage. While life doesn't always have a happy ending, there is always hope found in family, friendships, and kindness. He and his family have lived all over the world and love exploring and making friends wherever they find themselves: from California's high desert, to Sicily's historical marvels, to the beaches of the mid-Atlantic coast, to the rain soaked forests of Washington, to the base Mt Fuji, and to the majestic Rocky Mountains. The world is full of mystery and untold stories.

Book preview

PART 1

Chapter 1

North Atlantic Ocean, Off the Coast of the Isle of Barra

798

Ulrik, third son of Fenrir, stood in the prow of the longboat watching the green hills spread across the horizon, their peaks swallowed up by swift moving clouds. Ice cold spray drenched his face as the boat crashed through the ice blue coastal seas. Ulrik looked back to his men, who pulled on the oars in a well-practiced rhythm. He nodded at his second in command, Erik, his friend and confidant, who busied himself readying weapons should they meet the islanders upon their arrival.

A seabird cawed overhead and swooped down to investigate the ship as it sliced through the waves. Ulrik lifted his face to the weak summer sun and sent a warrior’s prayer to Odin.

They sailed closer, and Ulrik pointed towards a cove that was protected on the windward side by high stone cliffs. The captain adjusted course, pointing the ship towards the calm waters of the cove.

Ulrik stepped down and walked on steady sea legs to join Erik amidships. He took up his ax and sword, testing their balance in his hands. He grinned, and Erik slapped him on the back. Their plan for the future was about to come to fruition.

As the third son, Ulrik had few prospects in his home village.

His eldest brother had been prepared since boyhood to take over for their father when he finally took the journey to Valhalla. But he was mean spirited and only interested in wealth and power. He had designs to conquer neighboring villages and saw himself as a great chieftain. Unfortunately, he treated his own people poorly and did not have their loyalty. Ulrik feared his reign would be a short one.

The second son was jolly and kind but uninterested in politics or war. He found pleasure in strong spirits and the company of the slave women brought back from their raids to the southern islands. He was weak and susceptible to the machinations of conniving men and rival chieftains.

Ulrik couldn’t stand the thought of being governed by either of them. With few prospects for a decent marriage and an even smaller chance of one day becoming chieftain, he had gathered a group of loyal followers to set out for the southern islands to find a wife and land of his own. He had his own ideas for how one should rule. Ulrik would miss his sister, a young woman wise beyond her years and more deserving of ruling the clan than either brother, but not the others. Their mother had long since passed.

He felt the sea change as the longboat slipped behind the cliffs into the smooth waters of the cove. A river, not visible from the open ocean, emptied into the cove between the cliffs to the left and sloping bank of sand to the right. The captain steered into the river, the longboat’s draft designed specifically to navigate shallow waters.

Tall grass lined the bank and closed in around them as they rowed upstream. The water faded from blue to brown with the infusion of peat from the hills beyond. Men rushed to pull down the square sail before it could be snagged and ripped by protruding stones.

They stood at the ready, lifting their round shields into a defensive position. Although this was not Ulrik’s first visit to the islands, it was his first time exploring this specific area, and this trip had a purpose other than raiding for riches and captives.

The river was quiet; the sound of the ocean waves fell behind them as they rowed upstream. Ulrik could see the tense readiness of his men, all combat veterans. They scanned the riverbanks, their shoulders tense. No one spoke.

As they rounded a bend, Asketill, who stood point in the prow, held up a fist. In unison, the men lifted their oars, leaving the boat to glide silently through the water. As soon as he determined the way ahead was safe, Asketill lowered his fist and then pointed to the shoreline on the steorbord side. The men took up their oars and rounded the bend.

The river took a wide turn, exposing a deep bank of sand and rock on the outward edge of the turn. The area was surrounded by thick undergrowth and would be easily defensible by both land and water. Ulrik nodded to the captain, who steered them onto the bank.

In a well-practiced drill, some men took up arms and jumped from the longboat while the others worked to secure their mooring. Each man knew his responsibility, and they made a quick sweep of the area, each reporting back to Ulrik when their sector was cleared.

As the last report came in, Ulrik smiled and grasped his friend Erik on the shoulder. The men gathered around.

Good work men. We have safely arrived and can now pursue our objective. I am honored to be your leader. He bowed his head.

The men cheered.

Tonight, Asketill and I will scout the area and identify the nearest village and its...prospects.

The men laughed and slapped each other’s shoulders.

Prepare your camp and inspect your weapons. This raid will be unlike any you have undertaken before. 

Chapter 2

The Isle of Barra, Outer Hebrides

798 

It was the heart of the summer season, and the sun set late into the evening. Ulrik and Asketill set out through the brush at the start of the long dusk, eager to blaze a trail through the briars and thorns to begin their search.

With sharp swords, they hacked their way through and quickly found themselves standing on a grassy plain that led to rolling hills with high craggy peaks in the distance, only visible for brief moments as low clouds blew past. They set out towards the nearest hilltop, hoping to gain a better view of the surrounding countryside.

As they climbed, the outlines of a round stone dún materialized in the fog at the crest of a hill, well positioned to guard the valley beyond. They inched their way forward, alert for the possibility that guards were posted on the rampart walls, but they saw no sign of human occupation. Stones littered the ground at the base of the wall where they had fallen from disrepair. The dún appeared abandoned.

As they rounded the stone wall to look out over the valley beyond, both men froze in unison. A melody floated on the breeze, faint yet unmistakable. Ulrik smiled and dropped to his stomach. He shimmied through the grass, until he was able to peek down the opposite side. He couldn’t believe their luck.

At the base of the cliff, a group of stone buildings with thatched roofs sat huddled next to a small stream. The stream flowed through the village and between two hills towards the sandy beaches of the bay. The village had no visible defenses—no wall or guards. For centuries, the difficult waters and isolated location of the island had kept marauders away.

Sheep grazed contentedly on the hillside and chickens pecked at the ground between the dwellings. People milled about, going about their lives and preparing for the upcoming night.

The singing grew louder, and Asketill nudged Ulrik in the side as he pointed to a cluster of sheep just yards away from where they lay hidden. As they watched, a young woman came into view, gathering the sheep. Her strawberry blond hair draped over her shoulders in curls, and she wore a simple dress of woolen fabric dyed the color of the earth. The simple clothing did nothing to distract from the deep green of her eyes.

The sheep seemed to know her voice; they gathered eagerly to her as she walked across the hillside.

Ulrik pushed himself deeper into the earth, hoping they would remain unseen, but he was spellbound by the lyrical melody ushering from the woman’s lips. He just couldn’t bring himself to back away. As she sang, she nodded and greeted each member of her flock with a smile.

One of the young sheep turned and ran away from the group, bleating its opposition at having to return to the safety of the pen for the night. Instead of running after the fleeing sheep or yelling in anger, the young woman changed her melody, raising the volume to be heard over the windy moor.

The lamb stopped and perked its ears, listening to her song. It turned back to her and she nodded, not skipping a note. It looked again at the freedom of the hillside before turning and racing back to the safety of the flock.

A cloud passed from in front of the setting sun, bathing her in a heavenly glow as she subconsciously turned her face to its warmth. Ulrik could feel his heart pounding in his chest. She was the one. He could hear kindness in her song, see her innate ability to lead in the way the sheep followed her, and sense her intelligence in how she dealt with the disobedient lamb.

Asketill grabbed him by the elbow. They shimmied down the hill on their stomachs until it was safe to stand and then trotted back to the cover of the brush.

If we approach the village from the north, we can hide behind these hills until we are upon them, Asketill said.

Uh huh, Ulrik replied, still gazing up at the hill.

Or we can leave some men here at the fortress to guard against their retreat and have the rest of the men circle around and approach from the hills to the south. If we come in at dawn, we can surprise them while they are preparing their morning meal.

Ulrik just nodded.

We can fly in from the hilltops like eagles and swoop down upon them, Asketill said dramatically.

Yes, Ulrik replied.

Asketill shook his head and slapped Ulrik playfully across the cheek. Wake up, man. Your head is in the clouds.

Ulrik blinked and shook his head, the spell finally broken. Did you see her? he asked.

Yes, although I actually scouted the village while you mooned over her. You, my friend, were caught in her spell.

Her singing...

Maybe she is a witch and was casting a spell on you with her song.

Hah! She’s no witch, Ulrik replied. She is my future wife. Tell the others to leave her for me.

Chapter 3

The Isle of Barra, Outer Hebrides

798

Aislinn gathered the last of her flock and led them down the hill to the village. She shivered as a small gust of wind blew across the machair and she tied a scarf over her hair. Cillian stood at the base of the hill, waiting by the sheep pen’s gate. He waved and presented his awkward smile.

Aislinn waved back but felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She was of age now, and Cillian had met with her father the previous night. Although she suspected the purpose of the meeting, she prayed she was wrong. She feared Cillian had asked for her hand in marriage.

It wasn’t that there was anything physically wrong with Cillian; beyond being simple minded, a cloud of darkness seemed to float behind him. He had no imagination or interest in the world around him. He was a quiet man with few friends. He was good with the sheep, but little else.

She loved going to the cliffs and imagining what lay across the ocean, while he was content to stay at home. He rarely even ventured out to neighboring villages, claiming he had everything he needed close by. He pretended to listen whenever Aislinn told him of her dreams or shared her many questions about the world. When she finished, he would smile and nod as though she were just a silly child.

She could only imagine how dull he would be as a husband.

As she approached the pen, Cillian opened the gate and shooed the sheep inside. He seemed energized and excited about something. Aislinn groaned inwardly. What other reason did he have to be so happy?

Good evening, Cillian, she said with a thin smile.

Good evening, he replied with a grin. How was your day?

It was pleasant, thank you. I saw a...

Our families will dine together tomorrow eve, he said, interrupting her.

See, she thought. He asks me a question with no interest in my answer.

Is that so? she asked.

He reached in and took her hand. Yes, now that you are finally of age.

She pulled her hand away to secure the gate.

Yes, she managed to say. I must see to the evening meal, she explained.

Of course, he said, stepping to the side.

She nodded and hustled past him towards the stone cottage she shared with her family.

Cillian watched her go, content his future was secure.

Chapter 4

The Isle of Barra, Outer Hebrides

798

Ulrik led half of the men up to the dún as Asketill brought the others in from behind the hills. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east when Asketill made the call of the falcon to indicate they were in place. Ulrik motioned for the ram’s horn to be sounded, and the skulking men suddenly transformed into a screaming horde.

The warriors’ screams broke the tranquil silence so completely that the villagers sat stunned in their beds, unable to process the attack until it was too late to resist. The viking men dragged the villagers from their stone hovels kicking and screaming. Women shrieked in terror as memories of horror stories told over campfires flashed through their minds.

They screamed for the impending death of their husbands, for the loss of their virtue, and for their certain futures as captives. They mourned their homes and warm beds even before the blankets cooled. Everyone knew what happened to a village when the northmen came to raid.

Ulrik’s men screamed their guttural war cries, but instead of slashing the men down in cold blood, they herded them upon threat of death to the town square. They brandished razor sharp ax heads at any man who dared look them in the eye. They dragged any woman who dared put up a fight by her hair and threw her to the ground in the square.

The attack took just minutes, and the villagers found themselves overwhelmed, defeated, and herded forcefully into the village square.

Ulrik smiled as he walked through the crowd of prisoners. The attack had gone precisely to plan. A woman screamed off to his right, and he looked over to find one of his men grinning lasciviously while trying to subdue her. Ulrik caught the man’s eye and shook his head ever so slightly. The warrior bowed in understanding and pushed the woman away from him. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Wincing in pain, she spat at the warrior’s feet.

Ulrik stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. He gently helped her to her feet. When she turned and realized who had helped her, she recoiled. Ulrik held up his hand and smiled.

Do not fear, he said to her in her native tongue.

She stepped back in surprise.

Ulrik continued walking through the crowd until he came to an elderly man who stood rigid at the edge of the square. The others looked to him for guidance and direction. Clearly, he was their leader.

The shepherdess, wearing only a linen night shift, stood defiantly next to the old man. He tried to not be distracted by the outline of her figure in the thin garment.

Ulrik approached the man and bowed slightly to the shepherdess. I am Ulrik, son of Fenrir...

What is it you want with us? the shepherdess snapped.

The old man put a hand on her elbow to stop her.

I am Fion, the old man said. And this is my daughter, Aislinn.

Ulrik nodded in greeting. If you will allow me to speak, I will tell you why I am here, Ulrik explained patiently. I am different than the others of my people who have come to these isles to rape and pillage. I do not come for gold or silver.

We have none anyway, Fion admitted.

Nor captives, Ulrik continued. Instead, I have come...

I don’t understand, Aislinn interrupted. What else could you want from us? And how do you speak our language?

Ulrik smiled. He had been right in his judgment of her on the hillside. Not only was Aislinn beautiful, she was intelligent and willing to speak her mind.

I will admit, this is not my first time on these islands, and I took the time to learn your language from our captives. But this is the first time I have led the expedition. These are men loyal to me and to my ideas.

Ideas which you still refuse to share with us while we stand out here in the cold in our sleep clothes. She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.

Daughter, Fion said. Why do you antagonize him so? Silence. You forget your position.

No, Fion, Ulrik jumped in. She has questions and thoughts and deserves to have them answered. I will explain it all in due time. Is there a place we can gather where it is warm?

Aislinn tilted her head and looked at this strange man from the north with new eyes. From tales she had heard from neighboring villages, the raid should have ended in seconds with the village men bleeding and dying while the women and children were herded like animals to waiting ships, never to see their homeland again. Why were they still alive, and more importantly, what did this northern warrior want to say?

Well? Ulrik prodded.

Yes, yes, of course. We can speak in the hall.

Excellent," Ulrik replied. He turned to face the crowd of people looking on with confusion and fear.

We will gather in the great hall. Anyone who tries to escape or causes a problem will be cut down with no further warning.

The warriors all stepped forward and growled menacingly to emphasize his point. So far, no one had been seriously hurt, but they would not hesitate to use violence if the need arose.

Ulrik turned back to Fion. Lead the way, he commanded.

Chapter 5

The Isle of Barra, Outer Hebrides

798

Aislinn pulled a dark wool shawl from a nearby clothesline as they shuffled towards the hall. She wrapped it protectively around her shoulders and chest. As they arrived at the hall, her father pointed towards Ailbe, a young man Aislinn’s age, and instructed him to build a fire to bring warmth to the room. He quickly obeyed as the others pushed their way inside.

Fion stepped onto a platform at the head of the room and took a seat in a solid wooden chair, plain in its design and sturdy in its build. He indicated for Ulrik to be seated next to him. Ulrik shook his head and took Aislinn by the elbow, guiding her into the seat. She started at his touch, its gentleness at odds with the early morning war cries.

Ulrik dragged another chair from the corner and placed it at an angle so that he could see Fion and Aislinn as well as the crowd. Asketill stood guard behind him. Ulrik sat down and looked out at a sea of terrified faces. An elderly woman stood in the front row; tears streamed down her face.

Your wife? Ulrik asked Fion.

Yes, he replied.

No harm will come to her, or you, if you listen to my offer.

Offer? I don’t understand. Aislinn said. Northmen do not make offers, only demands.

So, you have great experience with my people?

Aislinn looked down and shook her head. I have heard the stories.

Ah, yes, Ulrik replied. And they are mostly true, I suspect.

Can I get you something to drink? To eat? Fion asked nervously. He gripped the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white and his voice shook.

If you aren’t going to kill us, then leave, shouted a voice in the back.

Ulrik heard the unmistakable sound of an ax handle hitting flesh—a woman screamed. The crowd began to murmur. Ulrik stood from his chair. It was difficult to see anything in the crowded, dimly lit room.

Help him up, he ordered his man. Patience, everyone. I will explain.

So get on with it, Aislinn retorted.

Her father gasped at her audacity and her mother screamed in the front row. Ulrik smiled.

Of course, he said. I am the third son of the great chieftain, Fenrir, and as such will never rule my people. For years, my clan has raided your islands, stealing riches and taking captives. My mother, in fact, was once a captive.

Aislinn raised her eyebrows in surprise.

But my men and I believe there is a different way. We bade goodbye to our home in search of a new land, where we will live together in a new way—where wives will honor their husbands and husbands will honor their wives, and they will stand together to build their home in unity, each having equal say. We believe that our new clan will prosper when we work together with freedom to speak our minds. Riches will not be counted by the amount of gold or number of slaves you own, but by children who are eager to learn and explore. Every man and woman will contribute equally.

Aislinn felt something stir in her chest as she listened to the strange words of this foreigner. Husbands and wives standing together? Learning to be valued above riches? Are these radical ideas even possible? Her heart quickened with excitement as she turned her attention back to Ulrik.

...and so, we are here to find those who may share our desire for adventure and our love of freedom. We will sail to the northwest to the island settled by Ingólfur Arnarson and called Islandia by Hrafna-Flóki. There is open land there where we can settle and not be molested by other clans or raiders.

Why come here? Fion asked.

Well, Ulrik began before Aislinn interrupted him.

Father, isn’t it obvious? We are skilled at surviving on an island where the seas are rough and the weather is harsh. Who better to join these men in settling another island in the northern seas?

Ulrik smiled and reached out his hand, placing it gently on her arm. She felt a buzz of electricity course through her body at his touch. Who better, indeed? he murmured so that only she could hear.

Cillian stood in the crowd. He could not comprehend the ideas the northman spoke of. Why change a system that had served them so well for so many years? Even though the ideas were foreign to him, he recognized the spark in Aislinn’s eyes when the foreigner touched her arm and whispered in her ear. He felt jealousy and despair course through him. Last night, all was well. His future was planned and settled. Then this morning everything had fallen apart. He felt the despair turn to anger, the anger to rage. Cillian had never before felt something so intensely. He could not stand by and watch this man take his rightful woman away from him. He and Fion had an agreement.

Aislinn pulled her arm away and turned to her father. He seemed lost in thought. As a young man, he had been keen on adventure and had bravely sailed through the harsh coastal tides around the island with his friends against the explicit orders of his father. He had yearned to prove himself in battle. But his quest for knowledge and adventure had long since been buried and forgotten. He had found contentment in the comforting repetitiveness of their lives. Now, he felt a familiar tingle stirring in his belly as he listened to the man talk.

I am too old, he finally said.

Ulrik laughed. Of course you are. Although you would be welcome, I am here to find a wife who will stand by my side and counsel with me, a wife worthy of such a quest. As he spoke, he looked directly at Aislinn.

Fion did not seem to catch his meaning. Yes, of course. You may find such a young woman here in the village. In fact, Eoin’s daughter comes to mind. Yes, where is she? He looked out into the crowd.

A young woman with hair the color of a raven’s feathers raised her hand shyly in the back.

Yes, there you are. Step forward girl.

Aislinn shook her head and Ulrik chuckled.

Father, she said, but he remained focused on the raven-haired girl as she slowly moved forward through the crowd.

Father, she repeated more forcefully.

Hmm? he mumbled.

Father, look at me. She took him by the hand and he finally turned to face her.

It’s me, she said.

Fion stared at her blankly, uncomprehending.

Your daughter is strong, Ulrik said. She knows her mind and her heart. If she will agree, I would be proud to call her my wife.

The crowd erupted as they all spoke at once. Cillian stepped forward.

"If she will agree, you say? Cillian argued. As though she is the one who will arrange her marriage. Her husband will be chosen by her father, which he has already done, by the way. She is mine. You will have to look elsewhere." Cillian grinned triumphantly. For a moment, he even dared to hold his head high in defiance.

Ulrik looked him up and down in disdain, unimpressed with his little speech. The crowd gasped at the sudden announcement. Aislinn's cheeks turned red in anger and embarrassment. Did he truly think she would marry someone like him, especially after that display?  She turned in her seat to face Ulrik, eager to hear his response.

Clearly you have not been listening to what I have said, Ulrik said. Step back into the crowd before you make a bigger fool of yourself. She does not want to marry you, nor are you worthy of her.

Why you... Cillian hissed.

Ulrik remained patiently in his seat, curious to see what this little man would do.

Cillian stood still for a moment, his face burning with humiliation, before he shuffled back into the crowd. The others moved out of his way