Ryan broke the stillness. "Can't argue with odds of five for one. I think we'll take you up on the offer, Mildred. After all, we pulled you out of the ice and saved your life. Least you can do is give us that life back again."
Krysty stood up, her finger pointing at Ryan like the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. "I don't believe what I'm hearing, lover."
Ryan faced her. "Well, you better believe it, lover, because I'm the man in charge here and I say what happens. And what's going to happen tomorrow evening, is that Jak does what they want and takes Mildred's life. The rest of us'll walk free. That's the way it'll be."
Doc leaped to his feet, his face glowing with righteous anger. "I do not believe that I have been traveling with such an unprincipled scoundrel! If I were a few years younger and more spry I vow that I would teach you a lesson you would not forget in a hurry. Blast you!"
Jak didn't stand, and he wouldn't look directly at Ryan. "Since father chilled, thought you... Fucking wrong, Ryan."
"That only leaves you, J.B. Let's hear your thoughts on the matter."
His oldest friend looked at him. "We'll do it like you say."
Chapter Thirty-Two
The baron of Markland was delighted when Ryan told him their collective decision.
"The black woman will offer herself willingly on the stone of darkness?"
"Sure."
"And the blade of mercy will be wielded by..."
"By Jak? Yeah. And all this'll be tonight, will it?"
"After the sun has set. The whole of the steading will make its way in a procession of flaming torches through the forest to the arena of seeing. And there it will be done."
"And the rest of us can go free?"
Jorund nodded solemnly. "I have given my word as karl."
"Can we leave before the chilling?"
Ryan held his breath as the Norse leader considered the question. "No."
"No? But you gave your word."
"And I shall keep it. But the sacrifice to the gods must be completed first. You and the others, but not Jak Snowhead, may leave us at first light on the morrow."
Ryan nodded. "Will you give us food and milk for our journey?"
"We will. And the wisewoman will instruct Jak in the ceremony. It is simple. And the black one will feel little pain. It is swift."
"Glad to hear it."
"Jorund agreed that we didn't have to actually go along and watch the execution. Says he'll let us stay here in the hut, with just a handful of guards to watch us."
"Ryan?"
"Yeah, J.B.?"
"How many's a handful?"
"Not more'n six, I'd guess. I've promised we'll stay and wait until the chilling's done. I gave my solemn oath on the bones of Odin himself that we wouldn't try to escape again."
Jak had been taken out to be schooled by the wisewoman. By the time he returned, the afternoon sun was already slipping away behind the hills.
"How d'it go?" Mildred asked. "Wouldn't want you to screw up and give me a messy ending. Wouldn't like that at all."
"By the three Kennedys!" Doc said. "I fear that I do not find this a fit topic for merriment. This is life and death for all of us."
Mildred patted him on the arm. "Simmer down, Doc. It's your life and my death."
Ryan turned to Jak. "What did the old woman say to you?"
The boy looked down at his feet. If he'd been able to blush, Ryan suspected there'd have been a pink glow to his cheeks.
"Wanted fuck. Grabbed cock. Lay down, legs open. Wanted."
Krysty grinned. "Gaia! That must be one of the sidelines of being the wisewoman. You get to lay every young god that comes by. What did you say to her, Jak?"
"Said too old."
Mildred laughed. "She must have loved that, honey. Way back when I was alive — when I was first alive — it got to be common for older women to take a much younger lover. They were called toy boys. So the old bitch wanted a blond toy boy, did she? Tough shit, lady."
"Said gods didn't fuck old women," Jak muttered embarrassedly.
"Good one. Ace right on the line for her," J.B. said. "But did she tell you about tonight? What's going to go down?"
"Mildred's on altar. I cut throat. End story."
"Yeah. End of story," Mildred agreed.
They came at dusk, when the gray mist lay upon the sullen waters of the lake and the sun had all but disappeared.
The entire population of the ville seemed to be there, other than a half dozen grizzled warriors left behind to guard the outlanders.
Mildred's farewell to her friends was one of restrained emotion. She hugged them all, one by one, finishing with Ryan. There were no tears from any of them. The Vikings watched approvingly, though the capering wisewoman couldn't hide her disappointment that there was no weeping and tearing of hair.
Jak stood aside from it, simply giving the black woman a cursory embrace, his face set like carved ivory.
Jorund Thoraldson and the senior men wore their greatest finery: horned helmets, the brass glittering like beaten gold; cloaks of leather, trimmed with white fur or with layers of heron feathers; high boots, laced to the knee; their best swords or long-handled war-axes, blades polished like mirrors. But Ryan noticed that very few of them carried blasters to the ritual.
He wondered whether all of their blasters were still stored in the longhouse by the blazing bonfire at the center of the ville. The friends had their knives, but against the armed mass of Vikings, knives would be little use.
"After the..." Jorund hesitated a moment over precisely what he might call it. He tried again. "After the ceremony is concluded, we will celebrate with a great feast. It would be better if you outlanders remained within this hut. Food will be supplied to you. Then, at first light on the morrow, you will all go free. As we have agreed, Jak will stay with us as a token against further harm to the steading. Is all of this well, Ryan Cawdor?"
Without looking at his companions, Ryan simply nodded his head.
At a signal from the karl, one of the warriors began the slow beating of a slack-skinned drum, the hollow and sonorous sound carrying the melody of death.
Mildred walked into the cool evening air and threw her head back, taking a deep breath. The Vikings surrounded her and led her away. Jak kept pace at the side of the Norse chief. The procession quickly wound its way out of sight. Ryan and the others stood in the doorway until one of the older men gently gestured for them to go inside the hut.
The door was closed and they were left with only the flickering light of the candles.
Ryan looked at his companions. "Now we wait."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Timing was everything. Too soon, and Mildred would still die; too late and she would be dead.
The four friends sat in silence, while Ryan kept a careful eye on his wrist chron, counting the seconds away.
"Now?" Krysty asked, breaking the long stillness.
He nodded. "Now."
The sacrificial procession had reached the point on the main trail where the side path wound its way toward the natural amphitheater and the high stone above it. Nobody had said anything to Mildred, and the villagers made sure that they didn't get close enough to accidentally brush against her evil skin or catch a glance from her evil eyes.
The women and children surrounded her, and carried smoky torches that filled the evening with the tang of burned pine resin. Even by the flaring light, she could see in the people more evidence of the dreadful, pernicious seepage from the age-old storage site. It was the children who seemed to be suffering most. Several of them had ghastly sores around their mouths, cracked lips and bleeding gums. Some had weeping chancres near their eyes, and a toddler close to her on the left was struggling to carry his torch, because he'd lost most of the nails from his fingers.