Foretold Page 5
“That is not what I was saying,” he calmly replied. He crossed his arms in front of him.
“That I’m a witch? I already told you some people believe that I am, but I’m not.” She sniffed her voice calmer. “I am the Priestess of the Sisters of the Stone Circle.” Taking a deep breath, she proudly lifted her head. “I have healed people from time to time. No evil magic.”
He stood in silence. The fingers of his right hand tapped his left bicep.
“Then what?” she finally asked calmly.
“You have nothing to pay your taxes.” He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I have seen what little amount of honey you have to trade, and know that you cannot afford to pay what those two will want.”
She thought for a moment. “I have some mead left over.”
Lothar dropped his hands and stepped back. “They would take it and demand more.”
“Come with me, I will show you.” She smirked, then turned and walked away.
Lothar followed as she strolled back inside the hut, and waited while she lit a beeswax candle. She moved the pallet, revealing a hidden sub-terrain opening.
He raised his eyebrows. A passage had been dug leading to a room underneath the hut. He wondered what she had been up to.
Their shadows, in the candlelight, danced along the walls while they descended the short earthen staircase. The dug-out room opened up to reveal a large number of mead bottles lining the walls of the cavern. Other bottles contained herbs, some in liquid form, a few with herbs ground into powder. Leaves and flowers were laid out to dry between squares of linen.
“You may have enough mead for your taxes.” He nodded toward the honey liquor.
“To be honest, that is not why I brought you here.”
Lothar watched her extract a small wooden chest off one of the shelves, and open it. She withdrew a leather pouch, handing it to him. “Open it,” she said softly, closing the chest.
Unfastening the tied strings of the pouch, Lothar shook out the contents to reveal his small bag of stones, along with his two wrist cuffs.
“I thought you would like them back before you return home,” she uttered feebly.
Lothar stared at the items in his hands. “I thought I had lost these during the storm.”
“I was holding on to them, if you ... you ...” her voice trailed off.
“If I died you would have used them to pay the taxes,” Lothar ascertained. He waited. Her hands fidgeted. Finally, she nodded.
“So now you are going to use the mead for paying taxes.”
“I had planned to use it before you came, so yes, I will.”
“Thank you for returning these, Valkyrie.” He slid the cuffs on.
Satisfied with the cuffs’ position on his wrists, Lothar turned them over, the gold shining in the glow of the half-melted candle. Dara stared at the cuffs. Lothar leaned towards her, pointing out the design. “The wolf crest depicts Fenris, a wolf so large that even Odin and Thor fear him,” Lothar explained.
“The cuffs are quite unique,” Dara admitted. “I have not seen anyone wearing such a display in the area.”
Lothar detected a subtle warning; he removed them from his wrists, reopened the large pouch, dropped them inside, tightened the drawstring and tied the pouch to his belt.
“Where are you from, Lothar?”
Surprised at her question, he searched her eyes for a sign of deceit. “Tell me the reason why you ask.”
“I’d like to get to know a little more about you. I have shared some of my secrets with you. Trust me enough to share a few secrets about yourself.”
He stood before her, undecided on how to answer.
“So is my word, so is my bond,” she stated.
The words reminded him he had asked her to trust him once. Smiling at her quickness, he countered, “I will answer three questions for today. The answer to your first question earlier: no; to the second question: yes, I am; and to your third question: I am from a village on an inlet bay of the North.”
“Wait, what were the first two questions?”
“That is a fourth question, but I will answer it anyway.” He noticed her bewildered stare. “You had assumed I was asking if you were a virgin.”
“And you said that wasn’t what you were asking me.”
“But the answer to the question you asked, I say no. I was not asking if you were a virgin.”
She walked across the room. “Then that leaves the second answer. Yes, you are. Yes you are what?”
“That makes five questions,” he teased. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.” He tossed the small bag of stones in the air and caught it. “I’ll be back with dinner.”
Smiling, he quickly climbed the steps two at a time, gathered up the rope and knife, and went to catch dinner. He left her there with something to think about, to discover what he had admitted to her.
He’d observed her face change into a dark rage when Park and Serle left. He wanted her to think about something else, to free her mind of taxes and the hurt he saw in her eyes when she reminded him about his returning home.
As Lothar strode by the sheep corral, he mulled over his hard work on the repairs, and how the muscles in his shoulder were gaining their former strength.
He’d taken time to train daily, just out of sight of the hut, practicing swordplay by using one of the shorter trees he’d cut. He’d estimated the weight and length was appropriate to what his own sword had been. He visualized the intended target while he swung and jabbed, and his body stepped, turned and twisted in the motion of battle.
Tomorrow, he would use the images of Park and Serle to battle against.
Chapter 9
Dara realized Lothar was teasing her. He wasn’t going to tell her any more. She growled at him, her lips pursed together in frustration as she watched him race up the steps. With the remaining candlelight, she inventoried the number of stored bottles.
The candle was near the end of its wick when Dara finished, and trudged back up the stairs, her mind feverishly trying to put together the bits of conversation they’d had. It was maddening. Why was he doing this to her? She wouldn’t ask. That would make question six. She searched for something else to do with her hands, deciding on gardening.
Dara opened the door, glanced around the outside of her home for Lothar. He was nowhere in sight. She plodded to her garden, suddenly halting in her tracks as she spied two brown rabbits, scratching around in her freshly tilled soil.
“Arg!” she yelled, and dashed toward them. She watched each rabbit bolt in a different direction. She lunged after the one closest, but it fled into the forest.
Turning, she spied the other one sitting, its nose twitching while it kept an eye on her movements. Slowly, she crept towards it; the animal turned, watching her, then it scampered off past the sheep corral.
Glimpsing the hatchet out of the corner of her eye, Dara strode over and snatched it from the side of the barrel and raised it over her head to throw, when a hand grabbed the weapon from her fingers.
“I caught dinner already. We will not need rabbit tonight,” Lothar assured her while he tucked the hatchet in his belt.
Dara turned and spotted several brown trout hanging on the rope. “You don’t want rabbit for dinner?”
“Question number six,” he teased.
“You’re impossible,” she huffed.
“Yes, I enjoy rabbit, but fresh fish is a nice change.”
“Fine, you take care of them then.”
“The fish or the rabbits?”
“Is that a question?” she retorted, and pointed at the small furry-footed beasts in the distance.
“Never mind, I see you learn quickly.”
“I’ll figure out your answer yet, Lothar of the North.” she taunted back. Turning, she strode inside to prepare the fire for dinner.
“You may find out more than you want, Valkyrie,” Lothar whispered to himself as he followed her, leaving the rabbits to for
age for the night.
“Tell me about the Stones you carry.”
Lifting his eyebrow, he smirked. She did not ask this time. “These are called Rune Stones; they tell me about the present.”
He crossed the room and straddled the stool he’d made. He observed how Dara splayed the trout on two iron stakes, placed two more stakes over it, and tied the ends together with rope.
“Come, I’ll show you how they work.”
When she nodded, he opened the pouch and spread the small stones on the table before him. He waited while she placed the fish high above the open flame to cook, then sank onto her stool.
He watched her pick one from the table, rubs the smooth river stone between her fingers, her thumb grazing over the etched symbol. She peered up at him and smiled.
“The Runes were a gift from a Seiðr in my village. In order to interpret the stones correctly, Magda revealed to me, not to ask a question, but to state the matter, stand before the Gods as a true warrior. The Runes are used as a confirmation for the path I choose,” he explained.
“So, there is no wrong direction in your journey through life, the choices you make now become reflections of the challenges you will face. The experiences from those choices make you strong, as a warrior.”
“You understand the Runes very well,” he congratulated warmly.
“I had a lot of choices to make today, and I rose up to the challenges and faced them.”
“Like a true Valkyrie.” His hand lightly caressed hers. Dara shivered at his touch. He gave her hand a squeeze and grinned when he heard her inhale deeply.
Watching her eyes open wide, Lothar knew something was wrong, and then he smelled the smoke. He rose as Dara flew off the stool and bolted towards the fish on the cook fire. He quickly opened the door, then pulled the woven wool cover away from the window to let the cross breeze carry the smoke out of the hut. He turned back to see her scraping the charred remains of the trout off the stakes. She placed three small portions of what was left onto a plate. Lothar’s eyebrows rose when she placed the plate before him.
“Remember, I was set on having rabbit for dinner. Fish was your choice.”
He watched as she righted the stool and sat down.
“I leave the challenge of eating what is left of the fish to you. I'm eating the vegetables,” she stated firmly.
Lothar scowled. “Enough lessons for tonight.” He took a piece of the burnt fish into his mouth and chewed. He knew this experience would be hard to swallow, and he decided not to disturb her in the future while she was cooking.
Chapter 10
Abbott Sean ambled along the path towards the River Bóinne, a welcome part of his afternoon respite from the church.
Praying silently as he walked, Sean enjoyed the sounds of the river. He liked to believe that God talked to him there.
He paused at the fallen log to relax and reflect for a moment. A sudden sound splashing ahead of him broke Sean’s peaceful mediation.
Just up the river a few feet, Sean heard an unfamiliar voice yell, “You’re mine now!”
He crept along silently and stooped behind the tall grass, out of sight, until he knew what was happening.
Sean overheard a voice shout, “Come back here!” A man with blonde hair, his bare back to Sean, stood in the river with a sharpened spear in his hand.
Sean kept silent to observe the stranger, then flinched in surprise when the man suddenly stabbed below the water and brought up a trout pierced through its middle.
Sean stood up and said, “Good catch.” He watched the man turn his head and smile, then thread the fish through the middle, like the other three, on a length of rope that trailed from his waist.
“I’ve never seen someone catch a fish like that before,” Sean declared. He watched the blonde man move towards the riverbank while removing the rope from his waist. He wore only leggings and a pair of leather shoes, but a shirt sat on shore a few feet away. Suddenly, the rope of fish was thrust to Sean.
“Tell me how you catch them,” the man inquired.
“Before I became a monk,” Sean replied while he fumbled to keep the fish away from his robes, “my own father took me fishing with a line and a hook made of iron.”
“You hook them then.”
After the man put on the shirt and shoes, Sean handed back the rope of fish, watched him walk to the river’s edge, and pull one fish from the rope.
“Yes, I baited the hook with worms mostly, then tossed it into the water and waited.” Sean tensed as the man removed a knife from his belt.
“Waiting is for those who have nothing better to do.”
Swallowing hard, Sean watched him jab the knife into the belly of the dead fish and slice the knife towards its gills. Sean paled, watching the fish guts spill out, be quickly removed with a flick of the stranger’s thumb, and finally rinsed clean. Then the man repeated his actions with the other fish.
“Well,” Sean finally spoke, “sometimes it would take all day to catch a fish.”
The man pointed at the fish with his knife. “I got these beauties in just a short time.”
“But they have holes in them,” Sean continued.
“I still can eat them.”
“True.” Abbott Sean gazed at the man. He remembered something in the way the man handled his knife. A glimpse of a past memory emerged, then quickly faded.
“Have we met before?” Sean asked while the man rinsed his hands and knife in the water, then stood and faced him.
“I haven’t seen you before today.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lothar.”
“Unusual name. I am Abbott Sean of Kells Monastery.”
“Kells is a full day’s walk from here.”
“I’m here visiting the Brothers at St. Feckin’s Church. Are you new here?”
“Perhaps.”
“You look different from other men in the area.”
“Not everyone looks the same.”
“True, except for the very old, men are to remove their facial hair daily.”
“Fine,” Lothar groaned.
Abbott Sean stared while Lothar glided the knife’s edge along the surface of his jaw line, and farther. He flinched as an ooze of blood sprang up from a cut on Lothar’s face.
“Done,” Lothar proclaimed.
“You haven’t done that very often, have you.”
“Enough times.”
“Where will you be eating tonight, Lothar?”
“I have a place I’m visiting.” Lothar gathered the fish and spear.
“Enjoy your dinner. I should be getting back. Good evening.” Sean strolled ahead on the trail but turned to find Lothar walking up behind him. Sean stopped and asked, “Are you staying far from here?”
“Just up the trail a little bit, to the left of the fork in the path.”
“In the haunted area of the forest?”
“I don’t believe it’s haunted,” Lothar said and strode passed Sean.
“I have heard people in the town speak of mysterious things that happen there.” Sean followed behind.
“I have not witnessed any such magic,” Lothar stated, continuing his trek.
Sean walked faster to keep up with Lothar’s stride. “I have seen women, dancing among the rocks during last harvest.” He huffed, almost out of breath.
“Dancing is hardly magical.”
“I witnessed the spectacle myself. The aroma of herbs filled the air.”
“It was probably harvest season; they must have been burning the chaff from the harvest.”
“Maybe you are right.”
“I invite you to see the grounds yourself sometime, to prove it not haunted.”
“How about now?” Sean asked.
“It is time for the evening meal, and I’m bringing dinner.”
“Have you ever had battered fish?”
“Explain why you beat fish.”
“It’s fish that have been cooked with a breaded coating.”
“How about I show you how to cook battered fish tonight for you and the friend you’re visiting,” Sean offered.
“I’m not sure she would like anyone else visiting, although cooking fish has not been one of her best meals.”
As they came to the fork in the road, Sean crossed himself before entering the forest. The trail twisted here and there while he followed Lothar.
“You are not a good hunter,” Lothar stated.
“No, why?”
“I sensed you were there, even before I heard you speak.”
“How is that possible?”
“I was downwind from you, and noticed a change in the air.”
“You can do that?”
“Most good hunters can.”
“Baaa.”
Sean jumped. “What was that?”
“The sheep in the corral there,” Lothar pointed.
Sean looked around nervously while they headed toward the hut.
Chapter 11
Carefully scanning the area to be sure she was alone, Dara quietly approached the Stone Circle, stopping just outside the ring. She placed a basket beside the small fire pit next to the stones.
She unpinned the green cloak from her shoulders and draped it over one side of the basket. Her linen dress was tied at the waist with a woven leather belt, her long sleeves waving in the passing breeze.
She cleared the fire area of stray debris. From her basket, she removed a small strip of dry tree bark with lichen and two handfuls of twigs and sticks, forming a mound in the center. Next, she picked out a curved piece of iron and placed it over the bent fingers of her left hand, then finally removed a sharp edged flint from the basket, and held it gingerly in her right hand. She pushed her long sleeves up to her elbows, leaned in close to the tinder, struck the flint against the iron until a spark ignited the lichen and spread to the rest of the tinder.
Satisfied with the small fire, she stood, and her sleeves fell back into place. She grabbed her basket with the remaining items she needed for her invocation, bowed and stepped into the Stone Circle. Walking along the inside edge she placed a small ritual sand candle, with herbs mixed in the melted wax, at each directional quarter.