“Why did you ask for me?”
“I told you. Someone has a message for you.”
She untied a small pouch from the belt at her waist and withdrew a wad of leaves, placing them in her mouth and chewing them. She rolled her neck. Her silken hair fell over her shoulders as she rocked forward and back, forward and back. Her movements, once smooth, became jerky and erratic. Her breathing became labored. She wrung her hands. Her legs fidgeted.
A burning smell filled the air. Not one of oak chips or firewood, but one that smelled of sizzling flesh.
I scooted away from her.
Her hand clamped onto my ankle. “No!” she snapped. “Do not retreat. She is near.”
I looked over my shoulders, all around the shadowy wood. If someone was close, I couldn’t sense her. No branches snapped. No leaves rustled.
She removed another small bundle of herbs from her pouch and offered it to me. “Chew.”
I shook my head when she insistently pushed it toward me. I didn’t take it from her. “It is the gateway to the weavers… to the norns.”
Blood whooshed through my head, through my ears. “The norns?” I asked breathlessly. The weavers called for me? By name?
“Skuld wishes to speak with you. This is the only way.”
The witch dipped her fingernails into a pot of lamb’s blood and flicked it toward my face. Small droplets sprayed my skin.
She shoved the wad of blood-soaked leaves into my hand. My clammy palm wrapped around them, then unfurled. It wasn’t wise to eat certain plants. Some would cause visions, but some… some killed. And völva often sacrificed humans to the norns and to the gods.
They would drug them, and when they did not know their head from their feet, the witches would tear the heart from their chest and hold it, still beating, in their hands, calling out to the gods to show what they’d done for them.
“I won’t eat it.”
“But, Skuld—” The witch’s voice cut off. Her breath hitched, then a squeak escaped her throat. My mother stood behind her, the tip of her knife biting into the woman’s skin, her knee in the witch’s back.
The runes began to writhe on her forehead, cheeks, and throat as she called upon her magic, but my mother didn’t care. She held her blade tightly and refused to relent.
What is she doing? The witch will kill us both! Or Skuld may decide to clip the threads of our lives for refusing her... I leapt to my feet.
“I believe she declined your request,” Mother gritted.
The völva’s dark eyes locked on mine. “You are making a mistake. You’ve seen the first sign of what is to come.”
The first sign… Does she mean Hodor’s dream? “Tor?”
The woman managed a small nod, her eyes pleading with me. Her lips trembled.
Mother fisted the woman’s hair. “Leave this village now. Do not stop for your entourage of faithful dogs. If you return, if you come for my family, you will taste my blade at the back of your throat. Do you understand?”
The woman’s face mottled, whether from fear or shame, I wasn’t sure. “I’ll take my leave.”
Mother smiled cruelly. She waited until the völva stood and pointed north, away from the village. “Go.”
The witch reached for the wooden staff, still lying on the ground, but Mother kicked it away, far out of her reach. “But my wand!” she protested.
“Make a new one,” Mother insisted. “I know you can.”
The völva looked toward the pooled blood. She needed the animal blood for her spells. I wiped at my face, dragging the droplets across my skin.
Mother cursed, then kicked each container over. “What part of ‘go’ do you not understand?”
The woman gasped and growled at her, a glint of hatred in her dark eyes.
“I told you to leave. I will not repeat myself again.” The leather on the handle of her knife protested as she gripped it tighter.
The witch flicked her eyes toward the blade clenched in my mother’s hand. Mother’s brows rose as she waited for the woman to flee. When the witch finally turned her back on us and walked north, I could breathe again, though not easier.
She walked quickly across barley and wheat fields, through patches of wood. Every time she stepped from shadow into the open, into the full moonlight, her crimson dress could be seen like a bloodstain on snow.
The further she walked, the easier my stomach felt. The cord she’d drawn me in with had been severed.
“Go to the house, Liv,” Mother said, still watching the völva. She crouched down and took up the witch’s wand. Her fingers gripped the wand so tightly, they turned white.
“Aren’t you coming?”
Mother shot me a harsh glare. “Go. Home.”
five
I didn’t sleep well that night. Father left, grumbling about going to look for Mother. After Mother returned, he still hadn’t.
A fierce wind roared through the valley, sweeping off the mountains and cutting toward the fjord. It tore at the thatching on our roof and more than once I braced, expecting it to peel completely off.
My bed, which I shared with Solvi, lined the wall closest to the mountains. Ingrid’s bed was at our heads, and Gunnar and Hodor slept in the bed closest to our feet. Mother and Father had a small, private room at the far end of the house.
I was not looking forward to the winter when the animals would have to be kept inside with us, lest they freeze. No matter how often we cleaned, the smell was horrible. Not even wind like this could drag it out of the house.
The hearth crackled and smoked with every gust. I got up, careful not to wake Solvi and crossed the room to add a few logs. The flames caught and soon the fire was more than just flickering embers and the room warmed between the gusts. I looked back at my vacated bed and decided to sit by the fire for a while.
“Why are you awake?” Hodor asked quietly as he climbed out of bed and came to sit with me.
I pointed to the roof.
“It’ll hold,” he whispered.
I shrugged.
His cool eyes met mine. Flame flickered within the hollows. “What did the völva want with you?” Hodor’s brow wrinkled.
“She said Skuld wanted to talk to me.”
His eyes widened and he scooted closer. “What did Skuld say?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t speak to her.”
I could see the question in his eyes, but I had no answers to give.