“I regret it had to be your friend; there’s never any way of knowing. You won’t be harmed, any of you. Tomorrow, when the giving is over, you can go.”
“Where’s Skapti?” Brochael roared. “What are you doing with him?”
The shaman looked at him gravely. “The darkness will eat him.”
He glanced at Kari. “As for you, enchanter, I’ve made sure you can’t harm me, and I’ll be with him from now until the end. If there’s any disturbance, any hint of trouble, I’ll kill him at once. Do you understand?”
Kari nodded unhappily.
The Speaker turned and went out. They heard the door being bolted behind him.
Silence hung heavy around them. Finally Moongarm broke it.
“They’ll kill him anyway, and it won’t be a clean death.”
Brochael shook his head. “I’ve heard of this,” he said heavily. “The victim is chosen by chance—whoever gets the sacred seed, or whatever. Skapti would know more. They’d say the earth mother chose him. Then they give him to her—I don’t know how.”
“I do.” Kari leaned his head back against the wall. “They’ll take him to the bog, tie a garrote about his throat, and choke him—but not to death. Then they throw him in.”
Aghast, Jessa said. “Is that what you dreamed?”
He nodded. “I didn’t know what it meant till now.”
“But when? How much time have we got?”
“I don’t know.”
“They might be doing it now,” Hakon whispered.
The door bolt slammed; they were silent instantly. The girl Lenna came in, carrying a heavy tray of hot, steaming food. The feast must have really begun now, Jessa thought, now they all knew they were safe. Two men with spears were behind her.
She put the tray down.
“How are we supposed to eat?” Hakon asked.
She looked at him. “I’ll untie one hand for each of you—the left. But not him.” She glanced at Kari, a frightened look.
He shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
She undid the ropes very carefully, keeping well back. They looked at the food but no one had any appetite.
Then Brochael reached out. “Eat it,” he ordered. “We need to be ready for anything. Starving won’t help.”
The girl crouched by the fire, putting on wood. The flame light shone on her glossy hair, the thin fox outlined on her face.
Jessa said, “Don’t you care about him?”
The girl paused, her hands sticky from the fresh logs. Then she went on piling them up. “It will be for the best,” she said in a low voice. “His blood will enrich the land. He’ll nurture our crops, feed our cattle. Because of him the dark one will be pleased.”
Jessa felt rage swelling in her; she wanted to shake the girl and scream at her. “But he’s not one of your people!” she yelled. “He belongs with us, and we came here as guests; we trusted you! You lied to us....”
“No.”
“Yes! Lied! And now you’ll murder him!”
“Not murder … no.” The girl shook her head hastily.
“And he had no say,” Hakon said, watching her closely. “He didn’t know. None of us did.”
“He has to do it!” Lenna jumped up, her eyes wide with terror. “If he doesn’t, it will be one of us; don’t you see? One of us! And everyone is so happy now, so relieved. Every year this terror comes around … if the dark one isn’t given her choice, there is famine, death, disease. It’s for the best. I’m sorry. But it’s for the best.”
She hurried to the door, saying to the guards, “Tie them up. Quickly.”
“Wait.” Jessa looked up. “One question.”
The girl did not turn.
“When will it be?”
Lenna paused, her hand on the door. The long ends of her hair swung down and hid her face; her dress swished around the soft boots she wore.
“Dawn,” she said. Then she opened the door and went out.
They waited till the men had tied up their hands and left before anyone spoke again.
“Neatly done.” Moongarm looked at Jessa and Hakon. “Quite a team.”
“I can’t do anything with the ropes,” Kari said simply. “There’s some sorcery about them—they won’t burn or untie for me. Someone else will have to untie us.”
“Where are the birds?” Jessa asked.
“Outside. They can’t get in.”
“Even if we could get free”—Moongarm pointed out from his corner—“how could we leave the village? There’s a man outside, and the only way off is across the causeway. That will be guarded. So will the skald.”
“You seem keen to point out difficulties,” Brochael muttered. “Can’t you do anything else?”
“These are truths, tawny man.”
“There’s another way out.” Jessa had an idea; her face lit with thought. “Listen, Kari, we have to get free, but not yet. After all, they may look in on us. It needs to be just before dawn. Is there anything you can do then?”
He smiled at her sideways. “Oh, I can do something, Jessa. No matter what the Speaker says.”
It was difficult in the dim room to keep track of time. The night seemed endless. Outside the wind had dropped; the faint sounds of voices and music drifted from the hall. Later a drum began, just one, a low muffled beat like a pulse from somewhere nearby. Kari recognized it; he had heard it before, like a warning. They all lay awake listening to it, a shaman’s drum, like the beat of a heart. They came to wait for each beat, dreading it, yet fearing it would stop. Lying in the dark, Hakon thought it was the beat of Skapti’s heart, and he wondered in what hut the thin poet was lying, and if he had guessed what was happening to him. Knowing Skapti, he had. And he must know they wouldn’t desert him. Hakon smiled sadly. The skald’s acid remarks had cheered him up many a time; his sly teasing, his songs, his endless, useless knowledge. Already they were missing Skapti.
Finally Moongarm, who had some strange instinct about time, told them it was near dawn. Jessa sat up, restless. “Right. We go now.”
Each of them looked at Kari, not knowing what to expect. But he sat against the wall, unmoving.
“What can you do?” Hakon asked at last.
“Quiet!” Brochael growled. “Look!”
The door was being unbarred, quietly and smoothly from the outside. A figure slid around it, well muffled against the cold. It was the guard. He leaned his spear against the wall and came forward; they saw his eyes were wide with terror.
“Don’t make me do this,” he pleaded hoarsely. “How can you be here in my mind?”
“I’m sorry.” Kari shifted from the wall. “I have no choice.”
The man bent; despite his own will his hands went to the ropes about Kari’s wrists.
“Hurry up,” Jessa said, “or they’ll notice he’s missing!”
When they were all untied, the man stood still, as if Kari had forbidden him to move. His eyes watched them as they gathered their belongings, buckled on belts and weapons, picked up the sacks of supplies.
“Now,” Kari said to him gently. “Outside.”
At the door, he picked up his spear again; Hakon looked out cautiously. “No one about.”
In the snow the man bolted the door and stood against it. Even in the cold he was sweating. Kari reached out and touched him lightly, once, on the forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
Then he turned and walked away between the houses. The others followed; they paused in the shadow of a wall.
“Will he remember?” Jessa whispered.
“No. When they find us gone, he’ll be as surprised as the rest.” He sounded disgusted with himself. Moongarm looked at him with a strange respect. “I fear you more than them, Kari.”
Kari glared at him, his eyes cold as frost. “So you should,” he said bitterly.