BooksBarbecue
Back A Night of Flames Save as PDF
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

“You have more faith in your god than I have in mine,” Ingvar said, shaking his head. He threw a piece of dry driftwood onto the fire in a shower of sparks. “But perhaps we do not have to leave him here.”

“How so?” I asked, voicing the question for us all.

“There might be another way.”

Forty

None of us had been willing to accept Ingvar’s suggestion that night. I had listened, making the sign of the cross as I interpreted his words for the others. On hearing his plan, Hereward had shaken his head. Leofstan had frowned, crossing himself just as I had. The others had whispered and hissed, spitting into the fire and muttering their clear disapproval.

Even Sygbald had said he would prefer to remain on this island and trust we would return, or that a passing boat might pass by and rescue him.

But as the sun rose, dew glistening like jewels on the grass and leaves of the willows by the river, the decision was taken for us. Sygbald’s condition had worsened in the night, and in the cold grey light of dawn, his skin had taken on a pallid blue tint, the colour of fish scales.

Or death.

He was in great pain and could barely shuffle to the boat. Os and Bealdwulf walked either side of him, and they had to lift him into Gullbringa.

“It is near?” Hereward asked Ingvar.

“We will reach there before mid-morning,” the old boatman replied. His face was haggard, as if he had not slept. Or perhaps he was having second thoughts about the plan he had put forward. But there was no turning back now. Sygbald would never make it back to Sand, he would surely not survive the rest of the journey ahead of us, and, if left alone on the island, we were all certain he would die from his injury before we returned.

Sygbald, it seemed, saw the wisdom in Ingvar’s plan, or perhaps he was in too much pain to protest further. He sat at the stern of the boat, wrapped in a blanket, his face pale, his lips blue. None of us spoke. We pulled on the oars with a focused determination, leaving the island behind us.