This had not been back-breaking work. Gunnhilda had merely taken her right as wise-woman for first planting.
Gunnhilda hailed her. “Sif. Welcome. Say a quick blessing with me.”
Sif nodded.
Gunnhilda patted the soil with the rake and said a few simple words. “There. That should be enough.”
“What did you plant?”
“The first of the three sisters, as your mother would have said. Squash.” Gunnhilda leaned on the rake, her long gray hair hanging over her face. Sif didn’t remember Gunnhilda with anything other than gray hair but over the years, her body had grown more stooped, her face more lined. But Gunnhilda’s mind remained as sharp as ever.
“Squash should grow well in this light.”
“All the plants will,” Gunnhilda said. “You and Ragnor chose this place well, despite the snow that covered it.”
Sif nodded. “I will tell Ragnor that. He’ll be pleased.”
“Good. But you did not come to me for compliments. What do you want?”
Gunnhilda also didn’t like to waste time. “I am not sure what I want. Wisdom, I think.”
Gunnhilda smiled, showing the lines grooved into her face. “It would be nice if age brought wisdom. But it depends on the subject. I could tell you about squash. But I suspect you are not worried about what to plant.”
That was exactly what she was worried about. But she wanted to grow something far more complicated than squash. “I think Freya is trying to tell me something. But what, I’m not sure.”
“Does this have to do with the cougar that saved Ragnor’s life today?”
“You heard already?”
“The story grows in the telling, even this early.” Gunnhilda smiled. “I’ve not heard of it happening before in my long lifetime. So if you think that is one of the signs from Freya, then I would say that you are right.”
Sif took a deep breath. “One sign, yes. But there are others. I think Freya is asking for something from me to ensure the fertility of our people and of our new land.”
Gunnhilda straightened and gestured toward a nearby tree. “And it disturbs you, that is plain. Over here.”
The old woman used the rake as a cane in the walk to the tree. Sif would have offered to help but she suspected that she would be rebuffed. Gunnhilda had been a chief’s wife once, before her husband had died. She still had pride, though she’d also lost most of her family. A son in a long-ago fight, and now both daughters. Gerhard was her grandson.
Before the sickness, she’d been one of those behind Gerhard’s interest in being chief. Death seemed to have knocked all the ambition out of her, as it had knocked it out of Gerhard.
Gunnhilda set her shoulders against the tree and closed her eyes. “Tell me.”
Sif started with seeing Mykle, Bera and Torger together.
“Not surprising,” Gunnhilda said.
Sif shook her head. “Did everyone know but me?”
Gunnhilda grinned. “Mykle is my grandson too, remember? My younger daughter’s son. I was trying to keep an eye out for him after his father’s death.”
Ah, yes. Sometimes, it worried Sif that the tribe was so entwined. Too much close blood was not good.
“So you watched out for him,” Sif said. “It does not bother you that he is more interested in men?”
“The Lenape honor men who like being with other men as shamans, god-touched. Your mother noticed it long ago and thought that Mykle had a bit of the native god in him. I think we are Lenape enough that most will shrug. And no one will want to fight with Mykle.”
“Very true.”
Gunnhilda jabbed her rake into the dirt. “I would have watched out for Leif as well, if I’d had warning. But Leif, he never much cared for his wife’s mother. At least Mykle has my daughter’s sense.”
“Some say that Ragnor’s reluctance to kill Leif makes him weak.” Was Gunnhilda one of those?
“Then they are looking for an excuse, something to complain about,” Gunnhilda said sharply. “I didn’t think Ragnor would be a good leader, but he is. It was a miracle how he managed to get us all here in winter, then set up the village during the time we were in the caves. But even he has limits. There’s been too much bad luck.”
“I think Freya is showing me a way,” Sif said. “I fear I will have to do more than plant squash, however. Plant something else, I think. Or be planted.”
Gunnhilda snorted. “It’s good you married Ragnor. You and Gerhard would have killed each other by now. Too much bluntness in both of you.” She sighed. “What other signs have you seen, besides Mykle and the others, and the cougar that saved Ragnor?”
Sif told of her discovery of the spring, of leading Ragnor to it and the appearance of the three cats after their lovemaking.
“Three?” Gunnhilda dropped the rake.
Sif nodded.
“That is…”
“Yes.”
“Three. That is a new number for Freya. You must worship there again, as you did with Ragnor. But when you go back, there must be three of you.”
Sif paled. Confirmation of her own fear. “You think I should do what Bera did?”
Gunnhilda shook her head. “Freya asks for a sacrifice, not wantonness. It must be as a ritual before the goddess.”
“Why me?”
“You know why. You are the chief’s wife and first of the women. Freya clearly chose both you and Ragnor because of it. But she wants three.” Gunnhilda picked the rake back up. “It could be worse. It could be a blood sacrifice.”
“No. No more of my people will die.”
Gunnhilda nodded. “You see? It is clear and you know it. But if it was easy, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”
“I am tired of things not being easy.”
“We all are.” Gunnhilda tapped the rake with her fingers. “But the goddess is giving us a chance to get past it. Perhaps the third is needed to help you grow a child.”
“As I have not before.” Venom led fuel to Sif’s words. She’d heard the whispers about her. “One of the few women left and not much good, one who did not bear the tribe more warriors.”
“Sif, I mean no insult.” Gunnhilda grasped her hand. “But it is true, is it not, that you have never been pregnant?”
Sif stared at the ground. “I cannot deny that.”
“The fault may lie with Ragnor, not you. To get a child, Freya may need to work through a messenger, as she worked through the cougars. The third may be her messenger, to provide…”
“What Ragnor has not.” Sif let that hang in the air.
Gunnhilda let go of Sif’s hand. “If you did bear a child, it would be the best omen possible for our people, no matter how it came to be formed. Especially if it was conceived during a goddess ritual.”
“I know.” Sif wanted to defend Ragnor. She wanted to say the lack of a child was her fault but she did not know if that was true.
“Would Ragnor accept this worship?” Gunnhilda said.
Sif shook her head. “I would have to talk him into it, all while I am unsure myself. It scares me. I’ve only ever been with Ragnor. But I…” She stared at the sky, as if an answer would fall from it. Maybe it already had and she was fighting it.
I want a child. I want the future to begin.
“You want a child,” Gunnhilda said, echoing the thought. “This may be the way the goddess is answering your prayer. Do you have other signs?”
Sif paced away, to the river.
“Yes. Gerhard spoke to me today. He was concerned about Bera’s being with two men causing some unrest. He made good sense.”
Gunnhilda followed her to the river’s edge, using the rake as a cane again. “Ah. How did he seem?”
“Gerhard seemed interested in others for once.”
“That’s good and he’s likely right. What’s between Torger, Mykle and Bera could cause problems between them. Torger likes his fun but Bera will lead and he’ll follow. Mykle’s no follower.” Gunnhilda played with the handle of her
rake, rocking it back and forth between her hands, making a bigger hole in the mud. “But that is something for them to sort out. So. The ritual. There must be three of you. You and Ragnor. Who else?”
“I don’t know.” Sif smiled. “I’d hoped you would tell me I am being foolish so I wouldn’t have to think about it.”
Gunnhilda shrugged.
Sif leaned against the tree at the water’s edge, content to stare out at the river and let the water lap at her feet. Maybe if she never moved from this spot, she would not have to face this. “If we believe Freya led my footsteps today, that would point to Mykle as the third. But he is my husband’s nephew. That is not acceptable. And certainly not Torger. He is—”
“—not enough of a leader. Your third must be worthy of you.” Gunnhilda snorted again. “Besides, Mykle and Torger have a woman, eh?”
Sif couldn’t help the smile. “True.”
“You know who it is, Sif. The only other person you have seen today. The one who immediately understood the problems caused by Bera taking both men. It’s part of why you came to me.”
Sif breathed out. “Gerhard.”
“Of course, Gerhard. He is worthy of the goddess.”
“And if I raise Gerhard up, equal to Ragnor, will he challenge Ragnor for leadership again? How can I do that, when Ragnor fought so hard for control?”
“You and Ragnor offer, chief to tribe member. Gerhard will not be equal.”
“So you say. But you can’t know.”
“Does Gerhard repulse you?”
“No. But, as you said, he and I would kill each other in a week, had we married.”
“Doing this will make Gerhard beholden to Ragnor. He would never betray him, after. I know Gerhard. He would take this seriously, for what it is, as ordered by the goddess, not as a means to gain power.” The old woman closed her eyes, suddenly deflated. “I also think that this might help him. He barely eats and he barely exists. I think the goddess might touch him, might make him want to live, if he is part of the ritual.”
“If he is so trapped in his grief, will he agree to do it?”
“I think Gerhard needs his own words thrown back at him.” Gunnhilda knelt down, cupping some water from the ground, and drank. She stood and stared over the river, much like Sif was doing. “I think it’s clear from how Gerhard saw that Bera’s actions might affect the tribe that he worries about this. He cares. I’ll speak to him. It is my right, as his grandmother. I will talk to him.”
“Ragnor still might not agree,” Sif said.
“Freya saved his life. He will have to see reason.”
“Hah!”
“There should be a ceremony,” Gunnhilda said, her voice gaining strength. “Something before all the tribe, something on Freya’s day. And under the next full moon, to honor her.”
“And must we do it in front of all too?” Sif realized that her voice held panic.
“No, no, I shouldn’t think the sharing should be public,” Gunnhilda said. “The ceremony will ask for the blessing of the gods, an omen, maybe, and then the three of you will go to the spring.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is simpler than burying daughters,” Gunnhilda said.
Sif drew in her breath. “So it is.”
Chapter Eight
Would the time to the full moon be enough to prepare herself, never mind Ragnor? As she walked back to the longhouses, Sif had no answer to that.
She would not trade Ragnor for a child. Or for the favor of all the gods, even. But she might for the safety and happiness of the tribe. Ragnor would give his life for that. So would she. This was not so different.
Sif spent the rest of the day letting the problem roll around her mind while she helped prepare for the feast. They had not much to go with the bear meat as their dried vegetables were almost entirely gone. But they did still have a few skins of mead left over from last fall. They’d been saving it for a special occasion.
Sif laid claim to the bearskin on Ragnor’s behalf, and no one objected. While the others prepared it, she took the claws and sat in a corner of her longhouse with string, a knife and the bear claws. Ragnor came in as she bored holes in the claws, careful not to crack them.
“Can the necklace be done by tonight?” Ragnor knelt down next to her.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Why the rush?”
“I thought to keep it for myself but now I would like to give it to Mykle. It seems fitting to give him a token to show there are no hard feelings between us. It will show we are still family.”
“I like that.” Sif curled her hand around Ragnor’s cheek. “I think he’ll be pleased.”
Ragnor looked into the fire. “Leif or Mykle?”
“Both. If Leif had been in his right mind, he never would have done what he did. Maybe he’s at peace now. And he would like you taking care of his son.”
Ragnor nodded. “Have you given more thought about what Freya wants?”
“A great deal. You are involved, of course, else the cat would not have saved you.”
He knelt and kissed her. His mouth tasted warm and inviting. She kissed him back, letting him draw her against him, letting him engulf her, letting herself be lost in him. His tongue flicked over her teeth and his hand fondled her breast. He drew her into his lap, rubbing his fingers between her legs. “We did not finish today,” he whispered in her ear.
Sharpness pricked her hand. She looked down and saw that she still held the bear claw. It had stabbed into her palm and drawn blood. Ragnor raised her hand to his mouth and suckled it. She shuddered, looking at the intensity in his eyes, his strong face and his mouth, which could be fierce and kind, sometimes both at once. How could she betray this feeling between them, even for the goddess?
“I did not finish what I wanted, at the spring.” He pulled down her leggings.
“I might not complete the necklace in time if you interrupt me.”
“You can.” He kissed her where her neck met her shoulder. His tongue flicked out to lick her skin. She shivered, dropped the claw, and her body curled around him. She licked his shoulder, his neck, and took his earlobe in her mouth. He still tasted of the spring water and sweat, and everything that meant Ragnor.
He captured both her wrists in his massive hand. “No, I wanted to finish my way.”
He gathered her into his lap, holding her wrists together, and pushed her leggings completely off. She squirmed, growing warmer. She went wet, ready for him. Part of his long red hair fell over her breasts, just barely touching her nipples. Sweet torture, enough to send delicious sensations through her body but not quite enough for what she really wanted.
“More,” she whispered.
“Quiet.”
She bucked, pushing herself against his hand, wanting his touch. “You. Need you.”
“Not yet.” Ragnor smiled and adjusted his hold on her wrists.
Her mind melted, capable of focusing only on his touch. There was only now, with Ragnor. It was what she’d wanted when she’d watched Mykle, Bera and Torger.
Ruthlessly, Ragnor did not let her go and did not stop. His hands flicked between her legs, teasing, barely touching her bud for a second, pausing and then touching again.
Sweet torture.
“Please,” she whispered, raising her hips, offering herself.
“Ah.” He bent down to kiss her, taking her mouth, suckling on her lips. She responded, opening her mouth wide for him as her body was open wide.
He slipped his fingers inside her, filling her. She thrust against his hand. His thumb tickled her bud. She twisted her hips, almost fighting his command, wanting release…
The orgasm took hold with force, curling her toes, curling her fingers as her body wrapped around Ragnor.
Too, too much, and yet not all of what she wanted.
“Please,” she asked again.
He took his hand out of her and spread it flat on her stomach, holding her down. “Mmm…so beautiful.” His hand snaked upward
and teased her nipples, using her own moisture as lubricant.
She closed her eyes and turned her head away, her body uncontrollable now.
“Eyes open.”
With difficulty, she turned her head back and opened her eyes, only to be confronted by his eyes, almost gray in this light. “Now?”
“Now.”
He shifted, keeping hold of her wrists, and loomed over her. Her bare legs felt the soft fur of the pelt underneath her. He spread her legs with his knees, kissed her hard and plunged into her.
She gasped, her hips driving to meet him, pushing herself at him. Inside, he filled all of her, touching places that his fingers had never reached. She writhed and closed her eyes again, totally lost in her body as it seemed to burst. Ragnor thrust, harder and harder, and she could not breathe and did not care. She could not escape and did not want to escape.
Sif could not get enough air. She could not get enough Ragnor. She could not get enough feeling. He thrust one last time and came, sending her into yet more moans and spasms that were cut short by his body covering her.
Her breathing grew more regular as he stopped moving. By the time he rolled off her, she could see properly again. Ragnor let out a deep sigh. “Very good,” he said.
“More than that.”
He raised himself on one elbow. “A new beginning, yes?” He played with a strand of her dark hair, rolling it around his fingers. “Perhaps this is what Freya meant us to do?”
She snorted, amused. “Because we love it, you assume it’s exactly what the goddess wants. I wish it were that easy.”
“I’m glad that you love it.” Ragnor kissed her cheek, tender now.
“Freya wants something more than our love.” She grasped his hand and entwined their fingers, feeling her body’s juices still on him. “We have always loved, from the beginning. It did not save our people.”
He rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. “Do you know what Freya wants, then?”
“I was thinking on it. You interrupted me.”
He laughed and stood. “I am not sorry.”
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