It seemed he was always tired, yet afraid to sleep. Fearing that his fatigue would drive him mad, Bjorn had resorted to stealing away to make offerings to the dark goddess of dreams. The others who lived with them said nothing when he struck out into the forest with a lamb over his shoulder then returned hours later empty-handed. As master of the farm, it was his prerogative to do with the livestock as he saw fit, and he was sure they knew he was making sacrifices, but it was not theirs to ask who to or what for.
Of course, Kadlin understood Mara’s power, too, and she had borne the trials of Bjorn’s curse with unwavering grace. On this night, she had kissed his face and offered him wine then let him hold her while his stampeding heartbeat slowed. She’d given herself over to him completely, and in doing so, helped him find his balance.
They were both spent as the weak, predawn light gave the chamber an eerie glow. He stroked her soft skin and offered a silent prayer to the gods,
Please, let no harm come to her. I love her so.
Chapter Two
Grima dined with them the first evening of every full moon. Kadlin was always glad to see her, but never more so than tonight. The old witch sat across the table from Bjorn, and she seemed to be studying the big Viking. Kadlin thought she must see the dark stains of fatigue beneath his eyes and the weary slump of his broad shoulders.
The others were clearing the dishes when Hjortr climbed up on the old witch’s lap and tugged on her long, gray braid.
“Have you brought me a present, Grima?”
She shook the pouch that hung at her waist. “I have, but you must earn it.” Hjortr pushed out his lower lip, and Grima poked at it with a bony finger. “Don’t pout, boy. It’s not becoming. Now, if you want your gift, you must tell me the story of your name and of your father’s name.”
The child crossed his arms defiantly over his chest and scowled. Kadlin glanced at her husband and saw the amusement on his face.
“Give the witch her due, son,” Bjorn said.
Grima shook her head. “No, Viking, it is alright. Perhaps the child does not know,” she teased.
“I do too know!” Hjortr shouted, and Grima winked at Kadlin over his head. The boy’s expression grew serious, and he set his fists on his hips. “I am Hjortr, son of Bjorn. I am named for the white stag that led my mother to my father. She was riding through the dark forest to bring the…” His forehead furrowed as he searched for the word. “To bring the old…”
“Jarl,” Bjorn coaxed.
“Yes, the jarl. She was riding through the dark forest to bring the old jarl…” He glanced up at his mother, and Kadlin mouthed
jewels
. “To bring the old jarl her crown of jewels to win Father’s freedom. The crown was beautiful, and though she loved it very much, she loved Father more,” Hjortr continued. “The journey was dangerous. It grew dark, and she became lost. She was afraid, and then the great white stag appeared and led her to safety.”
The four-year-old smiled triumphantly and held out his tiny hand. Grima slapped his palm.
“That is only half, boy,” she said. He sighed then continued his rote tale. “My father is called Bjorn, and you gave him his name, Grima. You found him under a weeping willow. He was injured and almost dead. You made a litter of little trees and had your old horse drag him to your cottage. The trail was rough, and at every bump, he would roar like a bear caught in a beehive, and so you called him ‘Bjorn’, the bear.”
The adults laughed and clapped. Hjortr beamed. Grima wrapped her bony arm around his shoulders and squeezed him.
“Well done, young Viking!” she said, then released him and reached into her leather pouch. “And now your reward.” Hjortr snatched the little clay figure from her hand. “Which is this, Grima?”
“That is Bragi, the god of poetry and eloquence. He is the son of Odin. If you pray to him, he will help you learn your words.”
“Bragi,” the boy repeated and climbed from her lap. Grima caught him by the wrist. “Not so fast, little one. I’ve one for your friend Bassi, as well. Tell him this is Forseti, the god of justice and…”
Hjortr grabbed the toy. “I shall keep both for myself.” Grima pried open his tiny fist and took the two idols. “You will share, or you will have none.”
Kadlin watched her son stare down the old woman. “Why should Bassi get a reward when I did all the work?”
“Three other families share your home and work together to keep food on your table, boy. Each one under this roof depends upon the other. Perhaps I should give both idols to Bassi and let him decide whether you will get one or not. Isn’t it better to share what is yours than to have it taken from you?”
“If anyone takes what is mine, I shall split his skull!” Hjortr said.
Bjorn slammed his fist on the table. “That is enough, son!” he thundered.
Hjortr’s lip quivered, and Kadlin could see his eyes grow shiny with tears.
“Bjorn, please,” she whispered. Bjorn dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head.
“I shouldn’t have shouted, Hjortr. I…” he did not finish his thought, but held out his arm, and the child rushed into his embrace. Bjorn kissed the top of his head and murmured something that Kadlin could not hear. Their son nodded against his father’s broad chest then rounded the table until he was standing before the old witch again.
“I am sorry, Grima. I will share with Bassi.” She handed over the gifts, and Hjortr ran off to find his friend.
Bjorn rubbed his brow as Grima pulled her clay pipe from her pouch then filled the bowl with herbs. Kadlin hurried to the fire pit at the center of the longhouse and fished out a smoldering twig. She touched it to the herbs, and Grima drew hard until her pipe was lit. The sweet aroma of the smoke wafted into Kadlin’s nose and brought her back to the time the two women had spent together before she, and Bjorn had married.
The Viking had brought Kadlin to stay with the old witch rather than hand her over to the jarl as he should have. The memories of her journey with Bjorn drifted through her mind in odd little bits.
The day she had met the big Viking, she was being handed over to him as a captive. He had been tasked with delivering Kadlin to an aging chieftain as payment for her uncle’s gambling debt. The two had fallen in love on that trip through the countryside, and Bjorn had awakened in her a passion and a need she didn’t know existed. He had chosen to hide Kadlin with Grima and tell the jarl his future bride had escaped. Failing to deliver the jarl his prize would have meant serving the old man for another year, but Bjorn had said it was a small price to pay for a future with Kadlin. When Grima had a vision that Bjorn would not survive another raid serving on the jarl’s ships, Kadlin undertook a journey to save him. She had willingly risked her life and her liberty for this man, and she would gladly do it again if it would free him from his torment.
Before the group had sat down to their meal, Kadlin had pulled Grima aside to discuss the dreams. The seer knew that the night terrors had been plaguing Bjorn for months, but when Kadlin told her of the latest encounter—how he’d drawn back his fist as if to harm her—the old woman’s brow had furrowed.
“It’s getting worse then?” Grima had asked. Kadlin could only nod.
The old woman had said little during the meal. When the table had been cleared, she leaned in on her elbows.
“You look tired, Viking. Are you sleeping well?” Bjorn glared across the table at Grima before narrowing his eyes as Kadlin. The corner of his jaw bulged out as if he were gritting his teeth. She was sure he was angry at her for including Grima in his private struggle, but the Viking’s night terrors had become increasingly worse, and Kadlin didn’t know where else to turn. The other men of the house must have felt the tension because they hurried out the door with excuses about checking on the animals a final time before bed.
Kadlin rose to help Agata, Marget and Gudrior tidy up but then hovered near the table, finding crumbs to sweep.
Bjorn glanced up at her. “You might as well sit down, wife. Since you have involved the seer in our business, I am sure you would like to hear the conversation.”
Kadlin took a seat on the bench beside her husband and stared at the witch’s serene face. Grima drew hard on her pipe then tilted back her head, pursing her lips to form thick, white circles of the smoke. Kadlin watched the rings link—as if by magic—into a long chain before rising through the hole in the ceiling. The aroma of sweet, smoldering herbs hovered over them, and Kadlin pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. A drowsy sense of wellbeing dropped over her, and her eyelids felt heavy. She glanced at Bjorn, and he seemed to be likewise affected.
Grima pulled at the pipe again then smiled back at them before pointing the stem at Bjorn.
“The mirror is a strong omen. The fact that the man in the reflection is you—and yet not—tells me that something is hidden deep inside of you and you are searching for answers.”
Bjorn chuckled, and Kadlin thought the sound oddly deep. “Any fool could divine that, old woman. Even I know as much. Am I now a seer, too?”
Grima’s cackle filled the house, and Kadlin could not take her attention from the woman’s big, yellow teeth. “We are all seers, Viking, but sometimes we need help understanding what it is that we behold. Do you wish to understand the things that Mara has shown you?”
Kadlin turned back to her husband. He nodded his head slowly. “It is the thing I desire most,” he said.
The witch reached across the table and patted his hand. “Then understand, you shall, Bjorn. Tonight, we will petition the dark goddess, and when dawn breaks, all of your questions will have been answered.”
* * * *
When Grima told the others that the Northern lights would be bright, and it would be a good night to sleep beneath the stars, Kadlin marveled at how readily they had agreed. It was as if they were entranced. The three couples made quick work of gathering sleeping bundles, food and drink, then lit torches and filed wordlessly out into the night with the children in tow. Kadlin had never seen anyone hold such sway over the will of others. In all her years living with the Reindeer People, even the most potent shaman had not shown such strength. She was both awed and frightened by the powerful witch.
After the others left, Grima set a bowl on the table and drew several bundles from her leather pouch. She measured the dried herbs into the vessel then poured a ladleful of boiling water over the mixture. Her face became expressionless, and Kadlin could not help but sway from side to side as Grima swirled the brew and murmured an incantation. Her wrinkled face seemed to grow younger as she held the bowl over her head and stared at the place where the smoke from the cooking fire snaked through the ceiling. Grima then placed the bowl in front of Bjorn, and a serene smile crossed her face.
“Drink, Viking,” she commanded.
Bjorn lifted the potion to his lips and gulped then set the bowl back on the table. All that remained were the soggy remnants of black leaves. The Viking seemed to fight to stay awake, his chin dropping to his chest again and again. When finally his head remained bowed and his breathing deepened, Grima nodded to Kadlin, the two women positioning themselves at his sides. They looped his thick arms over their shoulders and hauled him to his feet, then led him, shuffling, to the master chamber at the rear of the house. Stumbling under his weight, they laid him back on the bed. Grima bent and began unlacing his boots.
Kadlin stared at her, and the old woman laughed. “I saw him naked long before you ever did, girl, and while he is magnificent, I assure you it stirs nothing in me. Now help me undress him.”
When they had finished removing his clothes, Kadlin looked down at Bjorn’s naked body, then studied his handsome face. His broad chest rose with the heavy breaths of deep sleep. Grima sat beside him on the bed then trailed her fingers from his forehead to the center of his belly.
She repeated the motion three times before she spoke. “Viking, can you hear me through your slumber?”
“Yes,” he mumbled. The word fell from his parted lips as if his tongue were too thick for his mouth. The haunting sound of it caused a knot of fear to form in Kadlin’s belly.
The old woman stroked him again. “Can you go to the mirror?”
“I can,” Bjorn murmured.
“What do you see?”
“I see myself, and yet, it is not.”
“May I speak to the man in the glass?” Grima asked.
Bjorn’s breaths came quicker, and his face contorted. He shook his head against the furs. Grima reached out and ran her fingertips across his forehead.
“No harm will come to you. Let me speak to the other one.” A chill passed over Kadlin, and the hair on her arms rose in fear, but Bjorn seemed to calm with her words. Kadlin held her breath until he spoke again.
“What is it that you want, witch?”
“Are you Bjorn?” Grima asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Are you the one who tried to take his life beneath the willow tree?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
When Bjorn’s face twisted into a menacing sneer, Kadlin reached out and grabbed Grima’s wrist. She wanted this madness to stop. Surely this kind of sorcery would anger the gods. Grima turned and glared at her, and Kadlin dropped her hand to her side.
“Who are you?” the old witch repeated.
“I am Rowyn, second son of the jarl, Arn.”
In the dim lamplight, the seer’s brow furrowed. Grima swallowed hard then flattened her palm on Bjorn’s chest.
“And who are you to the one you wanted dead?”
The Viking bolted upright, and his hand shot out, encircling Grima’s thin neck. The old woman’s eyes bulged as she fought for air, and Kadlin grabbed her husband’s arm, trying to dislodge his grip. His eyes opened, and he glared at Grima.
“I am the younger brother of Leif—the one who would be heir.”
* * * *
The summer sun shone brightly, and the others had returned well-rested from their night in the forest. No questions were asked as they helped Bjorn load his horse for the journey. The women prepared bundles of salted fish, dried venison and small loaves of bread while the men hung mead-filled wineskins from the saddle and stuffed Bjorn’s quiver with new arrows. The Viking felt a knot of anticipation form in his belly. Grima had helped him to see the past, but it was the future that excited him. The old witch strode from the house and stood in front of Bjorn. He winced when he saw the dark bruises at her throat.