Weeks passed and the thaw came, until there was no more cause for delay. The evening before their departure, we sat about the fire as we’d done many nights before. The flames leapt, and the shadows with them. We were subdued in our conversation, each consumed by our own thoughts.
Eirik gave me an amulet to wear, engraved with the hammer of power. “Like Mjolnir, Thor’s magical weapon, I shall return.” He fastened the leather thong about my neck. “Gunnolf will watch over you.” I smiled weakly at that, for I’d no doubt that the jarl’s eyes would be upon me.
I’d been angry with Helka for a long time, unable to put aside my belief that it would be Eirik who returned with a bride, rather than she with a groom. But she was my friend, nonetheless, and I parted from her with a kiss.
The next morning, I watched them ride away. I wrapped my cloak about me to ward off the early morning chill, then went to rake the remnants of the fire. Nothing remained but blackened ash.
* * *
There had been other deaths over the frosted months, each accompanied by the same disfiguring blisters, but none spoke openly of the strange outbreak, which affected some and not others. The old and weak seemed to suffer most, and the very young. There was a rumour of dark magic, Astrid told me—of a curse upon Svolvaen—though such whispers bided behind closed doors. The confinement of winter had likely curtailed the spread of the disease but spring was on our heels, with all hands needed in the fields. There could be no more hiding.
“Show them your healing,” Gunnolf demanded, bidding me visit every household. “Take whatever you need; do what must be done.”
I gave my promise and hoped with all my heart to find a cure. With it would surely come the respect I sought. I might yet earn my place among these people.
With the jarl’s authority at my back, Svolvaen’s doors opened to me and I took my remedies to all who needed them. I prevented sores from festering and eased the sting of open wounds. Some regarded me with suspicion and were reluctant to accept my touch; others were grateful for my care. I gave my time to all, whether they wished me there or not, for the blight was no longer a private matter. What strength would Svolvaen have if half its people were lost to the disease?
I refused to give up hope. The blooms were flowering afresh in the meadows and plants’ leaves unfurled in new growth. The answer, I felt sure, lay close to hand.
Despite this shadow hanging over Svolvaen, life continued. The fields needed ploughing, ready for their seed, and Gunnolf commanded that the fortifications of our settlement be strengthened. Men were charged with cutting branches for sharpening, and a second row of outward-facing spikes were added to our perimeter.
One day, around this time, I realized I no longer had the dried mushroom I’d picked so long ago, in my own forest, over the sea. I’d kept it in a leather pouch, convincing myself that I’d never need to use it. It seemed an age ago that I’d been tempted to put its poison to evil use, on the first night on which the Viking raiders had feasted in our hall, drinking my dead husband’s ale.
It had been a foolish whim to bring it with me, and to keep it, secreted in my pocket. With the bright sun returning, it seemed best that it had dropped and fallen somewhere, without me having noticed. I imagined the pouch lay somewhere in the forest, long since covered by leaves and moss.
Meanwhile, I thought often of Eirik and Helka, making their way through the hills, to the lands beyond. Each day that passed took Eirik further away, but the needs of those about me called on my strength and were a distraction from the disappointment eating at my heart.
Both Gunnolf and Asta had need of my skill, for we were a house of troubled dreamers. My lady woke often with a mournful cry, though she shook her head when I asked her to unburden her fears. Whatever darkness filled her thoughts, she wished no longer to tell me of it. I was wary of giving her too much of my sleeping draught, lest it robbed her of her growing babe. Gunnolf, meanwhile, urged no restraint, drinking down whatever I gave him to chase away his own vile visions.
My own nights were filled with the faces I saw through the day. In those sleeping hours, I roamed the forest, searching for the plant that would bring our cure. The wolf of old still prowled the shadows of my slumbered world, its gaze upon me, though it did not approach. One night, Asta walked with me in my forest reverie, not by my side but following behind, her footsteps in keeping with mine. When I turned, she gave not her usual smile. Her face ashen, she looked with pained expression, clutching the roundness of her stomach, her eyes beseeching, though I could not discern what she wished from me.
I woke with beating heart and hurried to her chamber, fearing she suffered some further malady.
The jarl had risen early, it seemed, for she was alone. Though pale, indeed, she was still her own sweet self, refusing to grumble at any discomfort from the growing babe. I helped her in her toilette, then bid her rest.
“You’re near your time, my lady.” I unhooked the goatskin from the small window, placed where the roof met the low stone of the wall to let in the sunlight and the pleasant-scented air.
She nodded her assent, easing back upon the pillows.
“I’ll bring porridge with extra honey, for you need your strength.”
“How attentive you are, my Elswyth.” She smiled her thanks. “I know not where Faline gets to…” She let the thought trail away and I did not take it up.
“It’s good to hear the birds and feel the warmth of the new season.” Asta rested her hand upon her belly and closed her eyes again. I wondered if there were not one babe but two within, so large was she. It worried me, for she was small of frame and such births were rarely easy.
“A fitting time for new life to enter the world,” I said, pushing aside such thinking.
“Time to redden thehörgrwith sacrifices for Freya,” she replied. “’Twas my own hand that did so at the lastOstara, dedicating them upon the forest’s sacred stone.”
“My lady?”
“The sacrament of dying to be reborn,” she murmured. “A time to give up old illusions and habits; to recognize the changes in the world before us.”
“And to welcome the spring?” I asked.
“Of course.” She yawned, and I saw that she would soon be asleep again.
“I’ll bring yourdagmal,” I said. “Remember that you must eat, my lady.”
