Page 42 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“You must see,” hissed Astrid, clutching my arm with surprising firmness, her eyes wide and bright. “Draw on our goddess Freya’s strength.”
I made myself look. Another of the men stepped forward, stunning the stallion just below its brow with a single stroke of his cudgel. Before the beast had time to fall, Gunnolf swung his blade to connect with its neck. The crimson spurt seemed almost to hang in the air, in that moment between life and death. Staggering, the horse let forth a rasping sigh and collapsed, the blood foaming to its mouth.
The slow arc of the jarl’s second blow sliced through the thick air, meeting the neck once more and severing the head completely. I swayed, bumping against Astrid, who reached around my waist to support me.
“Life for life, we offer this blood to nourish the soil,” declared the jarl.
“Do as I do.” Astrid stepped forward, lowering her bowl to the tangled gore, catching the oozing scarlet. By the time I’d done the same, the pooled warmth upon the ground had stained my feet, sticky between my toes.
While we women assembled behind the altar, the men of Svolvaen ranged upon the other side. I’d never seen them so still in body, so intent in concentration, following all that we did—as if in their own trance.
“These women dedicate themselves to you, at this time ofOstara,great Freya.” Gunnolf raised his arms skyward. “As your willing handmaidens, fill them with the desire that drives all creatures of our world and, in their pleasure, make them fruitful.”
He came to us in turn, dipping his thumb to the viscous liquid we carried, daubing each forehead. Reaching me, he placed his hands over my own and held me within the steady gaze of his pale eyes. I trembled as he lowered his thumb into the dark crimson, as on that day of falconry, when he’d marked me with the blood of the hare.
I dropped my eyes at the remembrance, waiting for his thumb to catch my lip, for his hand to raise my chin, that he might better see me. I waited for the press of his mouth to mine.
When he moved on, I was left with the disturbing knowledge that I’d sought more of his touch.
The last of us was Bodil, and her eyes did not lower. Gunnolf brought her bowl to his lips and drank, leaving a smear upon them, a gash of red across his cheek. He placed his hands either side of her head and drew her into a kiss deep and long. I could almost taste the blood upon his lips, as if he were caressing my mouth, rather than hers.
Breaking their contact, he led her to the foot of the altar, where Bodil unclasped her apron, letting it drop. Having removed her tunic, she stood naked, auburn hair loose over one shoulder, her skin pale and freckled. She was slender through the waist and hip but her breasts hung large, swollen from the milk with which she still fed her baby.
Gunnolf helped her step up, to lie upon the great stone. At his nod, the women moved closer, knowing their role, familiar with the ritual. The first raised her bowl, letting blood drip onto Bodil’s stomach, then tipping further, running scarlet rivulets. The second bowl splashed her breasts, trickling to her throat, while the third cascaded down her abdomen, bloodying her pubis. Bodil gasped and arched her spine as if in raptures of desire, craving more.
My mouth grew dry, observing her wanton freedom. She turned her head as I emptied my own bowl upon her stomach, her eyes filled with more secrets than the forest at twilight, mocking me with her womanliness, with her proven fertility, with her seduction of the man I professed to call my own.
What did I have? An empty belly and an empty bed. Eirik had left. When he returned, it would be to bring home his new bride.
My reverie was interrupted by Gunnolf’s voice, thick and slow and deep with lust. “Ripen our seed, Freya, in the soil of this woman’s womb, and inside all our women.”
His face was transformed, eyes half-closed, while his palm stroked his erection.
Bodil cupped her breast and slid her hand through the slippery crimson, leaving a path down her torso. Her bloodied fingers reached inside her silken sheath, opening her lips.
A moment later, Gunnolf had gripped her raised knees, pulling her towards the edge of the stone to meet his penetration. It took but a dozen strokes before he groaned his release. Parting from her, his length bobbed wet, his lower torso marked with the blood from Bodil’s body.
She stretched upon the stone as the next man stepped into the jarl’s place, elongating her bloodied body, reaching her arms above her head. She took him willingly, lying still as he aligned his cock and thrust inside her. His strokes were more measured, deeper, bringing a quickening of her breath.
I could not look away, imagining the cold stone against my own back and the stretch of this stranger entering my sex. My mouth grew dry at the thought of taking Bodil’s place, of surrendering myself to the same carnal abandon.
“Go, women,” announced the jarl. “Find the men of your choosing. Take your pleasure, and may your coupling be fruitful.”
None hesitated, setting aside their bowls, moving swiftly to claim their preferred partners. I watched them move away, quietly purposeful, leading their men through the trees or into the shelters we’d erected.
“Come,” urged Astrid, tugging my hand and scanning the men yet to be taken, eager to make her choice. “I know who I desire. Who will you choose, Elswyth?”
I looked again at Bodil, beckoning a third lover to approach, opening her mouth to take him there as the other continued his slow strokes between her legs.
I fought the languor descending over my body. Stumbling to the edge of the glade, I heard Astrid call my name but, when I looked back, my eyes found not hers but those of the jarl.
His mouth curled in a lazy smile, revealing the bloodstains between his teeth.
17
Idarted through shade and light, feeling nothing but my need to escape, to run from what I did not wish to recognize in myself, fearing all I’d seen.
Emerging from the forest onto the open cliffs, I gulped the crisp air, sobbing with relief at having left behind the strange enchantment that had threatened to overwhelm me. Burying my face to the cool soil, I slept.
