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Back A Night of Flames
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

I too was desperate to search for my cousin, Aelfwyn. She had been taken by the sea wolves who had descended on Lindisfarnae before midsummer. There was also the matter of the strange book that brother Leofstan had become obsessed with. It was called The Treasure of Life. I had only seen the tome briefly, and had become enamoured of the jewel-encrusted cover and the meticulous artistry of the words and resplendent images on its parchment pages. Leofstan had spent a day and a night with the book, and he spoke of its contents in hushed tones of fear and awe. This was a work of heresy. Most men of the church would seek to destroy it, but Leofstan sought to study it. The destruction of such a thing would be as bad as heresy to him. I agreed with him then. I was bereft at the destruction of so many books in the conflagration of the scriptorium of Lindisfarnae. It was only later, after I had witnessed the darkness such teachings could unleash, that I would come to believe that perhaps some books are best consumed by purifying flames.

“As soon as we have roofs over their heads,” I said, looking across the fields to the scattered buildings and half-finished frames, “we can begin work on the ship.”

He hawked and spat again. In silence, we watched as the Pict, Drosten, stripped to the waist so that the whorls and swirls of his tattoos could be clearly seen on his sweat-slick muscled chest, carried a couple of long planks across his shoulder. I struggled with one such plank, but the Pict made two look effortless. I had wondered whether Drosten would head north into his homeland after the battle, but he made no effort to leave, instead throwing himself into the rebuilding of the houses, as willingly as he had stood in the shieldwall against the Norse.

Runolf gazed up at the sky, where a skein of geese flew over us, honking as their creaking wings bore them southward.

“If I do not start to build the ship soon,” he said, “I will not finish in time for us to sail next summer.”

“So long?” I was shocked. We had spoken little of Runolf’s shipbuilding plans since his revelation in the smoke-wreathed aftermath of his brother, Skorri’s, defeat. There had been too much to do, and for a time, we had little appetite to look to the future. But at such times when my thoughts had drifted to ideas of heading across the North Sea in search of Aelfwyn, I’d had a vague idea that it would be in the spring. It was a long time to wait, unknowing of her fate, but I told myself I had believed her to be dead. Surely whatever life she had as a thrall was better than death.