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She had the chicken, and that was good. She wouldn't need to go out of this room, and it had been bolted tight. She would live, and she might be able to get some information to the next ones, along with the few that hid, huddled in with her.
She took a deep breath, the burning herbs making her head foggy. The fog was important for what she had to do. It let her see things from a higher perspective, as if she were looking down from above. But it made it that much harder to think. If her teacher hadn't forced her to practice every motion until she could do it in her sleep, she might have struggled to recall what to do next.
Popping the chicken's neck was quick, easy, and above all painless. That was important. She needed what it could give her, but punishing defenseless animals for petty human needs was something that Brigid had warned her against more than once. She hadn't needed the reminder; she knew that she couldn't let animals suffer.
The knife went through the chicken's gut easily, as well. She kept it sharp as a razor. First because it made the whole process easier, and second because if it were any challenge she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it.
The guts spilled out, and she could hear voices crying out their displeasure, far below. She was floating, now, miles above. This was why she was here, but it was never something that she was good at. That was why divination required all of her attention. She was so much better at the herbs and poultices than this.
There was blood all over the ground. A symbol, or just a reality of what she had done? No. It was a sign, she decided. There had been a good chance she missed all the major arteries, leading to a slow bleed. This was more than that. The Old Gods communicated how they would.
She took another deep breath of fumes as the first screams started to rise outside. It broke her concentration, but she had always known that they were going to be here within the hour. It had been a mad flight just to make it into town undetected.
She tried to imagine that the blood only represented the villagers outside, but Deirdre had a sick feeling that there would be much more than just that.
She looked at the pile of guts and tried to read them. Watched her body lean over them for a better look, but her mind already had the best angle. It was too interpretative for her, too difficult to say what was real and what was not. She went by feeling. Her teacher had granted she was right more than she was not.
A powerful man, she saw. Five men in total. Another, weak. A third, seeking approval. Fourth, a madman. And a… priest? The word didn't seem to fit, but it was close. She would know them, she would be involved in this. She looked at a loop that seemed to circle back on itself. What on earth could it mean? She felt nothing from it. As if it weren't there, or as if it didn't matter, and yet so prominent…
She shook her head and reached aside to grab the bundle of herbs, planning to wave it beneath her nose. She needed to see clearer. This had been about trying to find a way to stop them, to staunch the blood. It was never that simple.
She took a deep breath of the powerful herbs and tried to clear her thoughts. A sound brought her attention away.
The weak man. She noticed, as her eyes darted to the door. There was so much blood, but none on him. Was that the answer…?
The door, thick and oaken, split with a crack. The noise went through the whole room, sending a shiver down Deirdre's spine. What was waiting for her? What was going to happen when she found out?
When he stepped through, Deirdre was surprised. In the haze of the herb-induced trance, she felt as if she had expected him. As if she'd known from the beginning that he would come here, and he would find her. What had been the purpose of all the secrecy?
She could see her body fall back to the ground, then watched herself surge back forward as the trance faded and her consciousness merged back with her body.
"Don't hurt them!" She had the
knife in her hand, but she realized as she moved that it would have been pointless to try. A long shaft stuck through his side, The sharp half of a spear all the way through his body. What she would do with her pig-sticker that some poor man hadn't already tried to do before her?
What could she do in the face of someone so powerful? She shuddered with the realization that there wasn't a whole lot. She was very much at his mercy.
The look on his face wasn't the one she had expected. She expected cruelty or love of slaughter, but she found neither as she looked at him. Nor, she thought, did she see any signs of anger, nor fear, nor pain. He looked relieved. When his hand grabbed her around her arm, she tried to fight for a moment.
He didn't stop to wait for her, just threw her across his shoulders like she'd been waiting for him to do it. The sharpened spike that stuck through him sat dangerously near her head as she dangled.
From over the Viking's shoulder she saw a man coming, someone she had seen once. She never knew his name, and as he started to shout "put her down," she wanted to thank him. And she wanted to tell him not to bother. The big man who carried her turned, and when he turned back away a moment later there was a dead man in the mud.
Gunnar didn't love seeing the boy die. But he couldn't afford to stop now. It was too important that he have this woman. He had felt it, that there would be the woman who would save him in the raid today. He wondered every time, if he would find her this time. But as if he were possessed by the spirits of battle he had seemed to know just where to go to find his prize.
There was no time now to let a boy who had only just gotten his first taste of battle take what was his. Gunnar's sword called out, but it was not the time yet. There was more to be done. Eirik called out as he saw the man, and saw the woman over his shoulder.
"Ho," Gunnar called back. "Where are the others?"
"They've each gone their own way," he confessed. "I think that Ulf and Leif have a bet going to see who can find more valuables. I think they'll find that they have a great deal of disagreement about what is valuable, and I think you should make sure that they don't cause too much trouble with it."
"That's good advice," Gunnar agreed. "Will you not go to glory, as well?"
"No," he answered. "It's not time yet. This wet… Odin weeps. No, I'll not go into battle until it's time."
Even still, Eirik turned the haft of his ax in his hand, as if the weapon itched for battle. There would be time for that, Gunnar agreed. Time later, once he had secured the small woman who could wield magics. He could see it when he looked at her, something unusual in her face. There were children in the room he'd found her in, and women as well, packed in like they'd bought a boat too small.
He felt a tugging doubt that the building would escape unscathed. English boys, no doubt they would come after the party if they could, but it would be years before that happened. Gunnar and his men would have moved on by then. Back to Denmark.
