Page 88 of Don't Let Me Go
“Our wives have dined already,” he answers.
“You will summon them,” the seeress commands as if asking for another bowl of hazelnuts.
“Unfortunately, that will not be possible,” Erik replies. “My wife has of late adopted the Christian faith. As have many of the other women here. It is a great inconvenience, to be sure, but my wife says it is not permitted for her or any Christian woman to be in the presence of a—” Erik catches himself before he can say the forbidden word. “It is not permitted that they dine with us.”
“I see.” Ulfhild’s thin lips curl into a dangerous smile. She rises from her chair, approaches the long fire burning in the center of the hall, and warms her hands in front of it. Circling the flame in slow, deliberate steps, she says, “Tell me, Chieftain, if you seek to know the secrets of what is to come, why do you not have your wife ask her new god?”
Erik has no answer.
“Could it be that her god has no words for Erik Thorvaldson? Or perhaps her god is too new to have acquired the great knowledge you seek.”
“It is indeed a strange religion,” Erik says carefully. “But I have always thought it best to let women worship as they will. It could be that there are things their new god will reveal to them that we men as yet cannot understand.”
“Perhaps it is so,” Ulfhild assents. “But if you wish me to tell you of your future, I will need your women. The spirits that I call upon are not my servants. I am theirs. And they must be appeased with song before they will deliver their secrets unto me. Surely your wife or some woman here still remembers the songs of the old way, even if they have found a new one?”
“They remember, but they will not sing them,” Erik answers solemnly.
“Then my journey has been in vain.”
The seeress turns to leave the hall, and Erik rises in dismay. I hear Ragnar’s breathing grow strained, as if each breath is a battle, and I am stricken with fear. The witch is leaving, taking with her any hope I might have of saving my beloved. That cannot happen.
“I know the old songs!” I shout, leaping to my feet.
Ulfhild stops at the door. Without a word, she slowly retraces her steps back to the fire and stares at me across the flames.
“How doyouknow the songs?” she asks.
“The woman who bore me was a healer. I was raised among women. They taught me their songs.”
“He has a fine voice,” Erik adds eagerly, though such praise he has never once offered before. “My men have oft remarked that his voice is sweeter than any of our women’s.”
I catch Thorsten and Asvald exchanging a knowing smirk. What Erik has told the seeress is true. What he has omitted is that when my brother-warriors made such remarks, they were not intended as compliments.
“We shall see,” Ulfhild says. “What is your name?”
“Rorik.”
“And how old are you?”
“Today marks the first day of my eighteenth year.”
Ulfhild’s eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise. “An auspicious day. You may serve me well. You know the Green Warlock’s song?”
“I do.” I sang it to Ragnar many nights in our childhood. It was one of his favorites.
“Begin, then,” the seeress commands. “Let us see what you have learned from your women.”
I look to Ragnar, and despite his fever, his eyes are bright with pride. If I can please the seeress, I am certain she will grant me the favor I seek. Just as I am certain that without her powers, Ragnar will die.
Erik resumes his place on the high seat and nods for me to commence. I take a deep breath, look once more at Ragnar, and let the song slip forth from my soul. It has been years since last I sang this particular song, but I have no trouble remembering the words. My voice comes out clear and strong, filling the Great Hall.
Ulfhild circles the fire. Chanting strange words under her breath, she pulls unfamiliar plants from a small black pouch that hangs around her waist and tosses them into the flames. Despite the warmth of the fire, I feel a sharp chill seep into the room. Something in the air shifts. I wonder if the other men feel it too. I think they must. Perched on his chair, Erik looks rapt, and all his warriors have fallen into silence.
I finish the song and look to the seeress to see if she wishes me to begin again. Her eyes are closed, but she seems to sense my question.
“Your women taught you well,” Ulfhild purrs with her sly wolf smile. “The spirits are pleased.”
“Will they speak to you?” Erik asks, leaning forward, his eyes shining in hunger.
