Page 55 of Mastered By the Viking King

“But the village in Wessex was burned.” The seer sighed. “I know of this.”

Njal hesitated. Had word got up the hill to the seer quicker than he had? Or had the wise old man—who had the ear of the gods—known all along? “Aye, seer. Did you know that would happen?”

“I saw a bountiful harvest under a blood-red sky. Men who spoke not our language, but another took the blood from the sky and stained the soil with it.”

Leif looked at Njal and raised his eyebrows.

“I seek vengeance,” Njal said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table between him and the seer. Heat from the stack of candles licked over his face. “I must have vengeance.”

“As any king should.” The seer nodded. “But beware the…”

“The?”

“Beware the god of the sea. He is restless, he is itchy for death.” The seer rolled his shoulder and twisted his face as if uncomfortable. “His appetite is big even though he has eaten recently?”

“Aye,” Leif tutted. “Two fine warriors, just days ago.”

The seer pointed at Leif. “You must make a sacrifice to him, to all the gods.”

“I will.”

“And you.” The seer angled his crooked finger at Njal. “You are a good man, but can you be a great king?”

“I want to be.” Njal raised his chin. “My people believe I am.”

“It is what you believe, in here.” The seer banged his chest. “And the gods, they see what is in here. You must do what you think is right. Follow the course fate has laid out for you.”

“But how do I know that course?”

“How do we know anything, King Njal?”

“I came to you for answers.” Njal’s irritation was growing, scraping over his skin and twisting his guts. “You have told me nothing.”

“I have told you what I see.” His milky eyes stared straight ahead. “The sea god is hungry.”

“In the name of Odin.” Njal stood. “Let’s go, Leif. We have many things to do.”

Leif pressed a coin into the seer’s hand and stood.

“Oh, and my king…” The seer coughed, clearing his throat.

“Aye?” Njal tightened his cloak in preparation for the walk home through the forest.

“Beware of storytellers.”

“Storytellers? You mean when I get to Wessex, I will be told a saga—and not the truth?”

“I cannot begin to explain. All I know is once again you must beware of storytellers. Now, go. I am tired. It has been a long day; the gods have filled my ears and my mind.” He yawned. “I must sleep for a long time.”

Leif stooped and placed a big log on the fire in the corner of the drafty cabin. “Sleep well, wise one.”

“I never sleep well. The gods are there in my dreams talking, probing, asking questions. Their riddles never quiet.”

Njal wished the gods would speak more clearly to the seer. It would make life much easier. Because now he was wondering exactly what story King Egbert would make up about the farm. Would he deny all involvement? Claim rebels had taken out their anger on the Viking farmers? Njal didn’t know, but the sooner he got to Wessex—and started demanding answers—the better.

He stooped, bowing his head against the hail and made his way down the hill along the forest path.

“The seer’s words will become clear,” Leif said. “I am sure of it.”

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