C. Brittain - Voima

“Let’s make sure the way is still open while we wait,” said Roric. He led her a short distance from where a spring bubbled from the earth to where its water fell over a lip of stone into a sinkhole. It looked disturbingly dark to her, but he started climbing down. “I followed the stream back, and there I was, among the faeys near Hadros’s castle.”

She leaned over the edge of the little cliff, watching his progress. “The stream flows back here into a pool,” he called. His voice echoed hollowly. “And I think if I go back just a little further-”

There was silence. “Roric?” Karin called, then “Roric!” She swung over the cliff edge and was scrambling after him when she heard his voice again below her.

“There’s nothing there. There’s no way past the pool.” His voice was dull, almost expressionless. “I had thought I could get you home this way, but I’ll have to try something else.”

“There may be no way until the Wanderers open it for us,” she suggested.

“There was a way before.” He climbed back up beside her. “The Wanderer must want us to stay here, not returning home yet. I wish I knew why.”

They sat on the grass on the ridge, looking across the darkening landscape. Only a quarter of the sun’s disk, glowing a dark red, still emerged above the horizon.

“What’s that?” asked Roric after a minute. “It looks like signal fires.”

“Eirik’s men?” she suggested. “But who would they be signaling?”

“I don’t think those fires are Eirik’s,” said Roric, suddenly very tense and quiet. “Listen.”

From off in the other direction they could hear voices carried on the wind. There was a steady beating, as of a sword against a shield, and the voices were singing to the rhythm. As they came closer, the words gradually became more clear.

“… in fellowship, forged in war,

“Following Eirik and his swift sword!

“Conquering now, and forever more!

“Women all love us, for we brave death,

“Taking in victory with every breath:

“Stronger and truer than all of the rest…”

Karin jumped up. “I don’t need to hear any more of Eirik’s songs!” she said sharply, hands over her ears.

“And after our last meeting I’m not eager to meet him again myself,” said Roric. “Let’s get down behind those trees.”

They watched from hiding as Eirik’s men went by, singing enthusiastically. They led a magnificent white stallion that did not seem to want to be led. Karin looked for but did not see Wigla.

“It looks like they have captured someone,” said Roric, “or maybe even two people. Do you think it’s some of those beings from one of the manors? You’d think Eirik would realize no one is going to pay ransom for any of them.”

Karin gave a gasp and started to leap to her feet. “Roric!” she said in a whisper as he pulled her down again. “They have Valmar!”

He craned his neck, looking. In the heavy shadows of sunset it was growing hard to see clearly. The young man lying passively in his bonds, allowing himself be carried, did look like Valmar, but bigger, more muscular. A young woman with curling dark hair was also being carried, bound.

Then Karin saw what else Eirik’s men were carrying. Piled on litters were six dead bodies.

“Stay still,” said Roric in her ear. “It’s no use rushing them. When the Wanderer returns we should have a chance in the confusion to rescue Valmar.”

“I think I know what Eirik is planning,” Karin whispered back, feeling cold from her throat to her feet. “Some of his warriors were killed, and he is going to make an offering to the lords of death. We don’t have time to wait. Eirik is going to offer Valmar as a sacrifice.”

Roric’s eyes bored into hers. “But this is the immortal realm of voima!” he hissed. “They cannot summon the lords of death here!”

She shook her head. “Try telling that to Eirik. Look at how he’s having the bodies carefully laid out. He called on death from his fortress-and something answered…”

The sun was now only a brilliant red line, pulsing with light. The warriors stopped at the top of the ridge, only a few dozen yards from where Karin and Roric lay hidden by leaves and shadow. “It should be dark soon at last!” Eirik called to his men. “Bring some of the food; we’ll need it for the sacrifice.”

The men brought a basket of bread and a skin of ale. Taken from one of the manors, thought Karin, who could see even at this distance that the bread was moldy.

“Too bad we don’t have any of the women,” Eirik commented, fists on his hips. “The calling should really be done by a woman. Trust Wigla to desert me just when I needed her.”

“How about the mountain cat here?” one of his men suggested.

Eirik went to look at the bound woman with the curling hair. “We do seem to be having a run of women who think they can fight like men,” he said thoughtfully. “I never did get a chance to teach the princess more womanly ways.”

Karin ground her teeth and kept silent.

“So,” said Eirik, “how would you like to make the offering and call on the lords of death to take our brothers?”

“They will not hear you here,” she replied confidently. “I know the Wanderers had some plan of sending a mortal down to Hel to ask Death to come, but the lords of death are not going to answer a call from our realm.”

“What do you mean, our realm?” Eirik sneered. “You think you are a lady of voima?”

“That’s right.”

Eirik paused, then paced up and down for a moment, looking irritably to where the last of the sun still lingered. “If you really are an immortal,” he said after a moment, “what are you doing lying tied up here, or riding around with this young man who claims to be a king’s son? You should be off ruling earth and sky!”

“Well,” she said, a bit uneasily, “our full powers have not yet returned.”

Eirik shook his head and grinned. “What good are lords and ladies of voima without full powers? There is only one whose powers do not come and go, and that is death itself.”

“I will not, Eirik Eirik’s son,” she said firmly, “help you call on death. I have been thinking this over, and, when our full powers blossom, it would be best if our realm was just as it was before, an immortal realm with no taint of mortality.”

“Then how do you explain six of our brothers dying here?” He stopped in his pacing and whirled toward her. “How did you know my father’s name?”

“She already told you. She is one of the immortals.”

It was Valmar who spoke, and Karin clenched her fists at hearing his voice-not the good-natured, idealistic boy’s voice she knew, but one dull with pain.

“Have you made up your mind, king’s son?” asked Eirik. “Do you want to go down to death with the rest or join us?”

“Ever since I came here,” Valmar said in the same dull voice, “I have intended to face death for the lords of voima. Perhaps I shall do so now at last-if they will still take anything from my hands.”

Eirik shifted his shoulders back and forth a minute uneasily, then shouted, “Let’s get some fires going! I think real night is coming on at last!”

“Now!” whispered Karin. “We have to rescue him now. ”

Roric held her arm tight. “The Wanderers are coming.”

But those were not Wanderers. Eirik’s band reached for their swords at the sound of galloping hooves. A shadowy group of riders came rapidly toward the ridge, carrying torches. As they approached, torchlight flashed on their horned helmets.

“I fought against these,” Roric said in Karin’s ear. “The Witch said they are women but I am still not certain-they are small warriors but tough.”