They had to wait several more days until Guthfinna came to round them up. She looked so stately and ominous in her seer’s garb, girt with a mushroom-studded belt and wielding a smooth, black magic staff in hand. On her shoulder gleamed a flat, graven brooch, clasping fast her fur-lined mantle. Her eyes shone, dilated and depthless as the sky, under her neatly wrapped headdress.

Oddny scrambled up from the deal floor the moment the woman beckoned them from the doorway. She threw on her cloak and flipped the deep hood over her head. Filed into the courtyard behind Hallgrimr and an awestruck Sigurlithi. Herdis already waited outside with the sibyl, a stout pine torch in hand. The light sparkled on the frosty soil. By the gate, Áslakr collected the horses from a company of dismounting maids. Oddny wondered at first to see them. But then, counting them, she remembered that Guthfinna must have sent for them from around the neighborhood. She would need nine maids for her magic—counting out pregnant Oddny and allowing Herdis to stay and mind the hearth. Not that the latter minded much being thus left out. Oddny noticed with amusement the goggle-eyed apprehension in the servant’s guileless face.

Guthfinna started off ahead of them, leaving Áslákr to collect the torch and guide the girls round the cliff behind the farmstead. Oddny shuddered as she hurried along. The roaring of the falls sounded hollow in the cold gloaming.

At last, Guthfinna drew them to a halt. Looking about, Oddny could still discern the surrounding forest—a grove of oaks, some mighty, ancient patriarchs of formidable girth; others younger, barely an ell about the bole. Behind a disheveled hedge of what must have been hazel, she glimpsed the river rushing. Áslakr brandished his torch aloft then. The fireglow rippled snakelike over the face of the water. Oddny turned to find the sibyl settling down for her trance. In the midst of the trees, the ground reared slightly. The crest of this mound was molded into a sort of shallow throne. Over this seat, Guthfinna spread a mantle of auspicious length before sitting down, cross-legged for comfort.

“Kindle the lights, Áslakr,” she instructed softly. “Go guard our guest at the edge of the clearing, no nearer. Maidens, come hither; I am ready for your aid.”

Oddny watched as the boy drove the torch into the ground some ways’ from his mother. Then, with his knife, he sliced four sturdy hazel wands which he kindled from the first light and staked around the hallowed seat in a square. The crowd of girls shifted restlessly nearby. But only once the boy had ducked into the hazel copse did they approach Guthfinna and join hands in a ring. For a second, they kept silence. Then, one by one, voices low, they took up a mystic chant.

Oddny burrowed into her cloak to stifle the eerie tingle in her spine. She could almost perceive the faintest rush of air pass by her, as of some spirits flocking to the call. Suddenly, she felt someone brush up against her shoulder. She would have screamed had they not clapped a hand over her mouth. It was Áslakr. He scowled at her, a reproachful finger at his lips. Embarrassed, she shrank aside. He took her hand and waited next to her.

The girls sang and sang. Then Guthfinna stirred and broke the spell besotting the place. Oddny shook her head, as if to clear it of some fell dream. She watched anxiously as the sibyl rose and folded the mantle on the ground. A weak mist was rising, and in it the torches shone like haloed globes.

“You sang most beautifully and skillfully,” the sibyl said, straightening in the glow. “I thank you for your aid tonight. Many spirits were thus lured hither that might otherwise have spurned my request. I have learned much from them—they showed me many things both good and ill.”

“There were good tidings, then?” asked one of the girls, hope in her hungry, dark-ringed eyes. Oddny sidled nearer, after Áslakr.

“Aye, that evil we spoke of earlier, Guthfinna—that may yet be avoided?”

Guthfinna shook her head. “Say nothing here,” she enjoined them. Oddny felt the blood drain from her face. Her head swam.

“Is the burden so heavy, then—so ill?” she cried. Guthfinna hushed her sternly as she passed by, leaving Oddny crestfallen.

“Silence! Say nothing here.”

They trekked back to the houses. Only once they were all indoors—for the girls were to sleep over—did Guthfinna speak and set them at ease. Herdis had a whole vat of hot gruel waiting for them, and every bedding space on the farm laid out. The sibyl suggested now they all sit down and eat before they slept.

Oddny accepted the invitation numbly, shedding her outer clothes piecemeal and climbing into bed. Her heart brimmed with despair. The drink tasted flat and bitter and she passed the ale bowl on without regret. She marveled at her fellows’ eager appetites, her own stomach twisted in a knot. The others exchanged a few words, but she took no interest, arms wrapped round her belly as she stared into the fire.

The sibyl spoke up...

 

— From Chapter 3