River of Destiny
From the bestselling author of Time’s Legacy and Lady of Hay comes a thrilling new novel, River of Destiny, an epic story that spans Anglo Saxon Britain, Victorian Suffolk and the present day.Perfect for fans of Kate Mosse’s Labyrinth.On the banks of the River Deben in Suffolk are ancient barns dating back to Anglo Saxon times – within these walls lie secrets that have been buried for centuries.New arrivals Zoe and Ken move into one of the converted barns, ready to start a life away from the hustle and bustle of the city. To the outside world they seem happy, but they are growing further apart by the day. Meanwhile the strange presence Zoe feels within their home and the ghostly shapes she sees through the cloying mists on the river are getting harder to ignore.Nearby, farmers are ploughing the land beside the river and human bones are found. Are they linked to the Victorian tragedy the locals whisper about? The secret of the grassy mound has remained untouched through history, but now that it’s been disturbed, will there be devastating consequences?
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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in 2012
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Barbara Erskine 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Charles Smith/Corbis (heron); Duncan George/Getty Images (horizon); Guy Edwardes/Getty Images (trees); Jason Edwards/Getty Images (reeds); Shutterstock.com (branch)
Barbara Erskine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780007455652
Version: 2017-09-07
For Jon, who keeps the wheels on the wagon
… rich swords lay … eaten with rust, as they had lain buried in the bosom of the earth for a thousand years … the princes who placed their treasure there had pronounced a solemn curse on it which was to last until doomsday: that whoever rifled the place should be guilty of sin, shut up in dwelling-places of devils, bound in bonds of hell, and tormented with evil …
Beowulf
The woman was watching, flattened against the wall of the house, her eye to a knothole. She hardly dared breathe as she watched the scene unfolding inside.
With the kiss of steam wreathing round the blade, her husband raised his hammer and struck sparks from the iron. The forge was hot from the blazing charcoal and sweat dripped into his eyes. Even she, his wife, could sense his power, sense the magic he was creating as he conjured the alchemy of metal and fire.
‘Is it ready?’ The thegn’s reeve, Hrotgar, stood in the doorway, his huge bulk blocking out the light.
‘Not until the gods say so,’ Eric said curtly.
‘The gods!’ Hrotgar echoed wryly. ‘Maybe the gods see no need to hurry, but everyone in this village sees clearly why Lord Egbert is so anxious for it.’
‘Tell him he’ll have to wait.’ Eric didn’t bother to look up. He could picture the shocked anger on the other man’s face. He bent back to his task, his tongue between his teeth, a soundless whistle drowned by the hiss of the fire. At his feet the flames reflected in the deep iron-bound yew-wood bucket of water. Like most of the tools in the forge he had made it himself. ‘You’re blocking my light,’ he yelled suddenly. ‘Get out of here. When it’s ready I’ll tell you.’
For a moment Hrotgar hesitated, then with an angry growl he stepped outside and disappeared. The forge was lit by torches thrust into brackets on the wall, by the red glow of the furnace, but even so, the sudden low shaft of sunlight through the doorway illuminated the dark corners and spun reflections off the blade. Eric gave a grunt of satisfaction. The magic was growing stronger.
‘Eric?’ The voice behind him was tentative. ‘It is true, you are making Lord Egbert angry with your delays.’
‘Go away, Edith!’ Eric spun round furiously. ‘Out! Now!’ Her very presence was weakening. He could sense the carefully built tension in the blade wavering. He could sense it in the air. Only warriors could come near the sword now, new born as it was, in its birthing pangs of fire and water. He muttered the sacred charms, feeling the vibrating waves of Wyrd settle. He wasn’t sure how he knew what to do but the smith’s magical art was in his blood, in the memory of his veins and bones, handed down to him by his father and his father’s father going back into the mists of time. Through that memory he knew the sorcerer was right. There was no place for a woman in the forge or in his bed while he was creating this particular weapon. He had called it Destiny Maker and it was his greatest challenge.
Outside, Hrotgar was standing staring down towards the river, shading his eyes with his hand against the glare of sunlight on the water. Behind him the villagers went about their business calmly stacking the storehouses against the coming winter.
