“Well, that’s embarrassing,” she said, looking down.
How could anything be so genuine and beautiful? As if under a spell, Sweyn reached out his hand and caressed her warm, damp cheek. He raised her chin, and her pleading eyes met his. Sweyn could hardly breathe. Now he knew. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. His thumb trembled as he ran it over her lips and into her mouth. A jolt of tender desire coursed through his body as she took his thumb deep into her mouth.
“I need you,” he said hoarsely. “In this life or in the next, you will be mine.”
The touch of his hand ran through her body like fire. It hobbled Sigrid with weakness and a peculiar sense of joy.
My beloved.
They were back in the meadow, alone with their child, laughing happily. She felt the promise of the life they could share. You will be mine, he had said. How could something that felt so right be wrong? And yet it could never happen, not in this life. Regret was like a blow to the gut, and Sigrid forced herself to turn away.
“I am King Erik’s bride,” she said.
The words caused his eyes to darken.
“Not yet you’re not,” Sweyn responded. “And never will be, if I have my way.” He took a step back, pulled his hand over the back of his head while he calmed down. “Sorry, I had no right to say that.”
Sigrid slowly shook her head. None of this was right. Her desire for him made her crazy. She had drunk way too much, embarrassed herself like a vagrant without family or position. Now she was lusting, like a dog in heat, after a poor Jómsvíking, who was illegitimate and had just begged his father for ships.
Why are you doing this to me, Vanadís?
She had to go, leave Sweyn, and never give him another thought. Sigrid looked around anxiously, her heart pounding, almost expecting to see Axel step out of the shadows by the wall and scream that she was unworthy of becoming Erik’s bride.
“Sigrid!” Ulf’s voice made her jump and take a step backward.
The next moment her brother walked around the corner of the building.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Whoring with this Jómsvíking you’ve been yearning for? Have you no honor?”
Sigrid scoffed. Ulf had bedded every skirt in their village so he really wasn’t one to talk in this case.
“He walked over as I was vomiting my guts out,” she replied. “If you think that’s whoring around, then I guess so.”
“Are you following my sister?” Ulf asked, eyeing Sweyn with suspicion.
Sweyn held up his hand to stave off the accusation. “Look, I just came outside for a piss. I saw her throwing up and came over to help her. You have my word that’s all that happened.”
Ulf walked over to the fence and cast a distrustful glance at the evidence before coming back.
“Father will have to hear about this,” he said, slurring his words.
Sigrid shuddered. She carried Toste’s and the family’s honor on her shoulders. Men had died on her journey to her husband in Svealand. What in the goddess’s name was she doing?
“They weren’t alone,” a gruff voice said.
Sigrid was astonished when that seeress she’d met earlier in the day stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees. Yet again Vanadís had protected her and sent help when she needed it most.
“No one’s honor was in any danger, just the girl’s pride as she retched miserably,” Beyla said. “You have my word on it, and I’m sure you wouldn’t question that, would you?”
Ulf bowed his head to Beyla.
“Luckily I was too hasty,” he said.
The seeress scrutinized him.
“Your sister needs rest and care so she will be strong tomorrow. Take her to her lodgings.”
Ulf obediently held out his hand to Sigrid and said, “Come along, sister.”
“We’ll speak tomorrow,” Beyla said brusquely to Sigrid, who humbly bowed her head in deference to Beyla.
She didn’t dare even look at Sweyn as she, Sigrid the betrothed, obediently followed her brother away. All the same, Sigrid felt Sweyn’s eyes on her back like a warm caress. She bit her cheek. She cursed not getting to be alone with the Jómsvíking. She cursed the shackles that bound her. She cursed the storm that was tearing her apart.
Only after Sigrid had disappeared behind the cluster of buildings did Sweyn turn somberly toward the seeress. She had seen everything and was angry, which was clear from her face. There was no doubt that she was going to tell Palna what she’d seen. She would never lie to her own brother.
“I sincerely thank you, Beyla,” Sweyn said.
The seeress took his arm and led him in among the trees, away from all the watching eyes and listening ears.
“This evening I saw the most highly esteemed of the Jómsvíkings lose all sense, willing to throw away everything he had worked for, for a wench,” she spluttered angrily. “How could you be so foolish and careless? Don’t you remember the responsibility you bear?”
You can bear no better burden on your journey than common sense; in unfamiliar places it’s better than wealth; such is the comfort of the destitute. He had to get out of this.
“I swear that wasn’t my intention,” Sweyn said. “She put a love spell on me, bewitched me with her sorcery.”
Beyla laughed a low, scornful laugh and put her hand on the necklace of sticks and bones she wore around her neck.
“Never did I think I would hear anything so pathetic. A love spell? Who else has wronged you? Did Thor not hold your hand nicely in battle?”
Sweyn looked down at the ground, his cheeks feeling hot. He shouldn’t have tried to blame someone else.
“I beg you, please don’t say anything to Palna.”
Beyla sighed and then looked thoughtfully up at the moon.
“Well,” she said finally. “Maybe there is a love spell. If so, my counsel would prevail over such things, not my brother’s. When the moon reaches its full strength, the herons of forgetfulness will be able to break the spell. At Attil’s burial mound tomorrow night I can give you peace.”
So there was a way out of this. Sweyn exhaled and said, “Thank you for your silence. You have my gratitude.”
“This is going to cost you considerably. Go now. Your brothers may start to wonder where you are.”
Emma was shivering from the cold when she came to, curled up in the tent. Teeth chattering, she sat up and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The light from the tent opening stabbed at her head like needles. Her hands were washed, but there was something under her fingernails. When she picked it out, she saw that it was shreds of skin.
What had she done? Kára purred contentedly inside her, her hunger sated, but Emma didn’t remember what had happened. She remembered walking to a meadow with the stranger. He was lying in the grass, his face ashen. That was all she remembered. In vain she tried to capture the memories, but they receded and dissolved like an autumn fog.
Beyla sat in the tent opening. Using a rock, she ground herbs in a bowl.
“Drink,” Beyla said, placing a cup next to her. Emma’s hands shook so much she couldn’t lift the cup.
“Ah, so it’s like that,” Beyla said, and without waiting for an answer she pushed the wooden cup up to Emma’s mouth and forced her to swallow the stinking slush.
Emma’s stomach turned and she was on the verge of throwing everything up, but Beyla pressed her finger to Emma’s throat so the nausea abated.
“You’ll feel better soon,” the seeress said sternly and squatted down in front of Emma.
“When did I get here?”
“I don’t know,” Beyla said with a shrug. “You were lying on the floor when I returned. You don’t remember anything?”
Beyla gave Emma a concerned look. “Is Kára’s hunger sated?” she asked.
Emma’s quick nod answered the question, and Beyla started gathering her bundles of herbs.
“It is well known that dísir demand offerings when they take human form. They thirst for the life fo
rce they need to remain in this world.”
Emma felt the chill from the ground once again creeping into her body while her womb ached the way it did when she was a child and Acca had had her lie with many men.
“So I have to kill people so that Kára can stay inside me long enough to sacrifice me for Sigrid’s baby? That is no merry future,” Emma said, trying to smile. “I wish Kára hadn’t chosen me.”
Quick as a snake, Beyla reached for her staff and struck Emma hard on the back.
“Silence, you abomination!” she scolded.
Emma crept away, rubbing her back where the blow had landed.
“I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, cowering from the next blow.
Beyla sniggered and lowered her staff.
“Be grateful to have the chance to give your unworthy life for something bigger than yourself. Do you think the goddesses give without taking? Hel chose me, and every night and day I hear the whispers of the dead. They scream their sadness and longing for this world, yet I bear it with joy, grateful at having been chosen by the Mistress of Niflheim. I make sacrifices, heal people, prophesy, and overpower the dísir to protect the warriors, all in her name. She works through me, as I am her seeress and servant.” Beyla’s eyes darkened. For a moment, she looked old and frail. The next, she was filled with rage. “You were a waste of a life when Kára, the Wild Stormy One, took pity on you. It’s an honor granted not even to the most powerful seeresses.”
Emma looked down at the ground.
“I am grateful,” she whispered.
Her words appeased Beyla somewhat. She sank back down on the skin rug and pulled out a pouch she carried in her belt.
“The gods and goddesses choose seeresses and priestesses to interpret their will and assist them in their sacrifices and deeds. Kára chose you for something big. The Christians’ darkness is closing in on our world. Scandinavia has stood strong against the cross for a long time, but with the tempting talk and promises of power and riches, the Christians are succeeding in poisoning the Vikings. The Ragnarök you saw, I have also seen. It is going to destroy us all.”
She poured rocks and pieces of bone into her hand. Then she sang a spell that filled the air around them with sorcery before she tossed the stones and bits of bone on the ground in front of them.
“They give the same answer, every time,” Beyla said and picked up two stones with symbols on them. “A king who heals what is broken.”
Emma sat up and nodded. Beyla held up a piece of bone with symbols on it that glowed in the half-light inside the tent.
“Otherwise disaster, Ragnarök.” The seeress sighed heavily and put the piece of bone down on the skin rug. “The vision you had, the savior Sigrid will give birth to, is our only hope.”
Emma closed her eyes and saw how the threads wound in and out of each other in the tapestry that was everyone’s life. The drink started to take effect, and her body felt lighter as the pain and hopelessness abated.
“If she lives until then,” Emma said.
The seeress grabbed Emma’s arm brutally. “Who threatens Sigrid?” she demanded.
“Far too many people. Both her life and the child’s life are fragile,” Emma said. She blinked in surprise at the seeress’s alarm. How could the wise woman be so blind? “Don’t you see, Beyla, this is why Kára is here?”
Sigrid walked barefoot down the fog-shrouded shore along the sea, which was covered with thin ice. The pale grayish mist swept around her as she wandered through the emptiness, through what had happened and what would happen. Sól had burned out in the sky, devoured by the wolves that chased her across the heavens.
The snake biting its own tail burned there instead, the symbol of eternity.
The little boy holding her hand led her onward to the edge of a waterfall, which gurgled and laughed as it found its way to the sea. Two bears chased each other playfully. They bickered with such joy that Sigrid began to laugh.
Then the fog thickened. Shadows, pale figures in the vast, gray mist, came and went. The boy stopped in front of three burial mounds. He pointed to the one in the middle and urged her to go to it. Sigrid wanted to stay where she was, but he shook his head and made her proceed.
Then he let go of her hand and backed away into the mists, away from time, and she forced herself to walk up to the top of the burial mound.
She again found him there. Sweyn was kneeling with a broken sword in his hand. Her head was lowered and her eyes were wary as she knelt down in front of him and stroked his cheek. They watched each other in silence, locked in time.
“My beloved,” he said, undoing her clothes.
She felt no doubt as she opened herself to him and willingly let him penetrate her. Everything was as it should be.
“The summer festival is starting soon.” Alfhild’s voice disturbed Sigrid, yanking her out of the pleasing dream. She opened her eyes and looked with frustration at her kinswoman who sat on the edge of her bed.
“Go away,” Sigrid said, rolling over.
This was the second time Sweyn and the child had come to her in dreams. Sigrid curled up under the fur pelt, her body heavy with desire.
Why do you torment me with lust, Vanadís? Are you testing my will?
Yesterday she had drunkenly vomited in front of Sweyn and shamelessly offered herself to him. She, about to become a queen, had behaved like a lewd country mistress currying her master’s favor. But Freya had sent her Beyla the seeress, who had protected her honor. Soon Beyla would give her the answers she sought.
Sigrid took a deep breath and slowly sat up in bed. Alfhild came right over with a mug of milk. Sigrid looked down at the drink and turned her head away.
“Are you still feeling sick?” Jorun asked.
Sigrid shook her head as the loneliness closed in around her.
“Shouldn’t Vanadís make sure our queen stays healthy and beautiful instead of putting on a vomitous show outside the royal hall?” Jorun asked, her lips curling into a smile.
“Watch your tongue,” Sigrid said quietly.
Her kinswomen exchanged glances before looking down at the floor. They had put on their simple light-gray shifts for the summer sacrifice and wore their hair down and adorned with flowers.
“King Harald’s priests banned the sacrifice,” Sigrid said. “The old ways cannot be honored here.”
Jorun’s grin widened.
“Only the sacrifice is forbidden,” Alfhild said, shaking her head. “The festival will still be held, and people are coming from near and far to participate. It’s going to be held at the burial mounds and will be bigger than ever, even though King Harald is a cross worshipper. I can’t wait for it to start! I’ve seen a lot of people I would gladly dance around the maypole with,” she added laughingly and blushed.
“Orm told me that people were going to honor Sjofn, the goddess of love, in secret. As everyone knows, her power is too strong to resist,” Jorun said. “The priests are furious, but what can they do?”
Alfhild gave Sigrid a knowing look.
“Orm tells Jorun so many things these days when they’re whispering together in the darkness. It’s pretty clear who she’ll be honoring Sjofn with tonight.”
“Shut up!” Jorun said with a laugh, pulling a simple shift out of the chest for Sigrid. “Would you like to wear this, Queen?”
Sigrid noted the sarcastic edge to Jorun’s voice as she said the last word, but today was the wrong day to fight with her kinswoman.
“Gladly,” Sigrid replied and stood up. It was a suitable dress since she was going to visit Beyla. “I’m going to visit the Jómsvíking camp. Perhaps your Orm would like to accompany us there, Jorun.”
That would put her kinswoman into a better mood and give her something to think about besides what Sigrid was up to.
“It’s not like that,” Jorun replied, but she smiled her satisfied smile.
“Not yet it’s not, but tonight Sjofn will reign supreme, and she allows everything that is otherwise forbidden,”
Alfhild said with a wink.
Here’s hoping she’ll bless me as well, thought Sigrid. She pulled the shift over her head and waited while her kinswomen put flowers in her hair. Soon she would finally receive the answer she so fervently needed. How appropriate that it would come during the blessed summer festival.
“Quit pacing, otherwise I’m going to cut your Achilles tendon,” the giant Ax-Wolf barked.
Sweyn stopped pacing in front of Palna’s tent and sneered at Ax-Wolf, who lay on his back on the ground, moaning from the effects of too much mead. His companions had had a cheerful evening in the harbor while Sweyn and the ship captains sat at the king’s table. He wished he’d been off drinking with them instead. Thoughts about both King Harald and Sigrid had hounded him in his sleep, and they were still eating at him.
“There’s no worse travel food to drag across field and dale than an excess of ale,” Åke sneered. Then he pounded on his shield right next to Ax-Wolf’s head so it boomed.
“I’m going to rip your intestines out, you damned pup,” Ax-Wolf roared angrily.
Åke swore as a rock hit his arm. But then he noticed something and pointed to one of the king’s servants walking through the camp. Sweyn stretched his back and hid his concern as the servant walked up to them. The man looked at Sigvard—lying on the ground and snoring—with distaste, before he turned to Sweyn.
“The king summons you to his hall.”
Sweyn’s restlessness receded. It was time to find out what path his and the Jómsvíkings’ fate would take. He looked around for Palna but decided he must still be down at the harbor. He would have to face this alone. Ax-Wolf kicked Sigvard, who got to his feet, half-asleep, flushed, and bloated.
“You don’t need to bring any warriors or weapons with you,” the servant told Sweyn.
“We’re not going to let him go alone,” Ax-Wolf said, putting his hand on the servant’s shoulder. “That’s just how we work.”
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 16