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CHAPTER XII

It looked to be a cold winter, according to those who read such things from their joints or the coats on the beasts. We came to the end of September—or the middle of Harvest-month as the Norse style it—and approached St. Michael's Day.

St. Michael's Day was one I neared with mixed feelings. As the feast day of the chief archangel it suited me fine, but it also marked the day for the Winter Sacrifice among the heathen. I knew they'd be gathering in houses and secret places to feast and shed blood and make their vows. My conscience told me I ought to do something to stop it, but then my conscience also told me to love my enemies—so I told my conscience to go away and come back when it knew what it wanted.

I was polishing the silver candlesticks in the church that afternoon when the light dimmed and I turned to see Lemming in the doorway, blocking it as well as any door. He didn't look much awed by the house of God, but he didn't step over the threshold either. I often wondered what the man believed in. I guessed he was one of those plain men who believe in their own strength and some kind of fate.

He just stood and looked at me. I knew I'd never get him to open the dance, so I went to him and asked, "What's on your mind, my son?"

He jerked his head to bid me come out, and I wrapped my cloak about me and did so. It wasn't bitter cold, but we could see our breath.

Lemming's face strained as he labored to squeeze words out. "Freydis will sacrifice," he said at last, and breathed heavily as if he'd given birth.

"She's not sacrificing herself, surely?" I asked. It might be a real danger with that strange child.

He shook his head. "Tonight," he said. "Asa's house."

"Does it matter to you?" I asked, looking him in the eye. "Do you really care what god she worships?"

He returned my gaze, unreadable as a wolf. Then he turned and walked away.

I stood and thought a moment, and decided that even my fuddled conscience had to agree that it was within my authority to tell a child of my christening not to sacrifice to Thor. So I went to seek Freydis.

I had a time finding her. No one had seen her for some time. I went from one building to another without luck. I'd have worried for her safety had I not known better.

At last I saw her, walking hand-in-hand with Thorir, whose feelings toward her seemed to have changed markedly. They were both flushed, and they had straw in their hair and clothes.

"Freydis, may I speak with you?" I asked. At the same time I gave Thorir a look that wilted him a little. He said he had to find his brother and eased off.

"I sacrifice tonight," she told me. "There's no use trying to talk me out of it."

"You're not an innocent pagan, child. You've been instructed in the Faith. Apostasy is a weighty sin."

"Do you think I do it lightly?"

"I worry for you. Your welfare matters to me."

"Thank you, I'm sure. But tonight will be a great night. The mer-wife is coming."

"The woman in the stories? The witch from the sea with the cow?"

"She comes this night, if she comes at all. The farmers put out sheaves of hay to keep her beast from eating up all their stores. She cannot come if the wind's wrong, but it will be right tonight. I feel it. Great things will happen."

"I fear for your soul, child."

"I'm like the undergrounders, Father. I have no soul. When I die I go to dust, like the beasts."

"Who told you these things?"

"My mother, of course. She speaks to me in the nights."

"You speak to the dead?"

"I do many things that would shock you, Father. I do not say you are wrong. I do not say your Christ is not a god. Perhaps he is, as you say, the Great God. But he is not for me, any more than for the goats or the horses."

" 'Tis a lie, child. And whatever spirit speaks to you is not your mother. 'Tis a devil out of the pit, sent to deceive you."

"What of it? All the world is but a seeming. How can you say truth is other than lies, when all's a lie in the end?"

I stood dumb a moment. "I know your demon's name," I said at last.

" 'Tis my mother. If I want it to be my mother, then that's what it is."

"No. Its name is Eyvind Kellda."

She laughed and walked away, and I went to the church to pray, and stayed there.

Evening was sliding in when I was roused by shouts outside. I went out and walked toward the steading.

There I found a cluster of people ringing a pair of young men fighting. This was no boys' fistfight—they both had knives and they were after blood. One was Thorir the hostage; the other was Arnor the horse boy. Arnor had blood on his left arm.

"What's on here?" I demanded.

Thorliv came and put her hand on my arm. "Stop them, Father! Freydis has bewitched them! She's got them fighting over her!"

"Stop this, boys!" I cried, stepping between them. I nearly got a blade in the ribs for my pains. They weren't in a listening humor.

I stepped back quickly, then sprinted to the smithy, where I found Lemming.

"Your confounded niece has set Arnor and Thorir on one another with knives!" I said. "Help me stop them, or she'll be the cause of a killing!"

Wordless he put down his hammer, threw off his apron and came out to me. We went together to the fight, and between us got them parted and disarmed.

Stymied in their cutting, the boys thrashed in our hold and screamed at one another.

"Peasant!"

"Sod!"

"Horse molester!"

"Mother—"

"Enough!" I shouted. "What's the meaning of this? Arnor—I thought you loved Thorliv! Thorir—I thought you wanted Sigrid!"

"Thorliv's a milksop," said Arnor.

"Sigrid's mad," said Thorir.

"Freydis is a real woman," Arnor went on. "She's destined for me, and this honey-nosed northerner thinks he can buy her away with trinkets!"

"No, Freydis is destined for me!" said Thorir. "This lowborn groom thinks he's fit to put his smelly hands on her fair body!"

"I've put my hands on her body, and more!" shouted Arnor.

"You lie! She's lain only with me!"

I saw Lemming's face go black-red, and it crossed my mind that he could snap both their backs with his bare hands.

So there might have yet been murder, had we not been distracted. We heard the voice of Freydis Sotisdatter, high and sweet, singing a song I'd heard somewhere before, and turned to see her approach from Asa's house, robed in a fur-trimmed black dress I'd seen her mother wear on the same terrible night I'd first heard the song.

 

"Musk for sporting; 

Steel for killing; 

Gold for stealing; 

Ale to forget. 

 

Lies for friendship; 

Oaths for treason; 

Blows for the weak and 

Truth for the dead."

 

"She comes! She comes!" cried Freydis. "The woman from the sea—the mother of all life! She comes to feed her cow, and all cattle not under roof will follow them home! I am kin to the mer-wife, and kin to her cow, and therefore I have loosed all the cattle!"

And as she spoke the mooing and bawling began. All around us the cattle and horses milled, mad and round-eyed, running with crashings into and through all things and anything. Then everyone was out of the houses trying to control them, and it was hard work, for it took several strong men to hold a cow, and the bull could not be held at all, even with Lemming's help. One by one we wrestled cows, twisted ropes around their horns to lead them, and dragged them into the byres where they grew quiet. But a dozen or so managed to jump the fences and lope toward the sea.

Some of us tried to follow those cattle. We caught one, but the others went into the waves like lemmings. And there among them I caught sight of a naked woman, green of skin and with hair like seaweed, whose great round eyes glowed yellow. She must have stood nine feet tall, and her giant cow, also green and yellow-eyed, stood beside her. I could clearly see the gills in its neck opening and closing, like those of a beached shark.

I should have exorcised her then and there, but I was forestalled again. The familiar screaming rose in the south, and soon the great gray headless horse was galloping among us.

And I caught one glimpse of Arnor, who shouted and sang as he caught the thing by its mane and swung himself up onto its back. He was on it as it galloped away, and if he was seen again in the world of men, I've not heard of it.

* * *

We were a sore and weary lot who gathered in the old hall that night. Thorliv and Asa wept over Arnor. Sigrid turned her back on Thorir and refused to speak to him. Thorir sat trying to be brave about the pain of a newly set leg, which I supppose was the only thing that kept Lemming, who fumed in a dark corner with his arms crossed, from murdering him. And among them all sat Freydis, looking well-pleased with her work.

Ragna stood among us and said, "This has gone far enough. It's time we made some marriages, and put paid to these caperings. Since Freydis seems to have been generous with her gifts, and since Arnor is gone, I suppose we should try to wed her to Thorir. Do you think your foster father would agree to this, Thorir? Or would he think her too lowborn?"

"I will not marry him," Freydis put in.

"What do you say?"

"I will marry no man. Men treat women as playthings. I will treat them in the same wise. I cared nothing for Arnor, and I care nothing for Thorir. Let Sigrid have him. I'm done with him."

"I'd never wed a man who'd touched Freydis," said Sigrid, tossing her hair. "But I'll take Sigurd."

"Sigurd and Sigrid," said Freydis. "How pretty it sounds. But mark what I say—watch out for seals."

I demanded to know what that meant, but she would say no more.

 

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Framed


Title: The Year of the Warrior
Author: Lars Walker
ISBN: 0-671-57861-8
Copyright: © 2000 by Lars Walker
Publisher: Baen Books