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Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise forMATTHEW HARFFY
  3. BY MATTHEW HARFFY
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Maps
  8. Epigraph
  9. Contents
  10. Place Names
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Thirty-Nine
  50. Forty
  51. Forty-One
  52. Forty-Two
  53. Forty-Three
  54. Forty-Four
  55. Forty-Five
  56. Forty-Six
  57. Forty-Seven
  58. Forty-Eight
  59. Forty-Nine
  60. Fifty
  61. Fifty-One
  62. Fifty-Two
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Sixty-Two
  73. Author’s Note
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. About the Author
  76. An Invitation from the Publisher

As the sunset turned the sky in the west as red as blood, Runolf had sought to pay Gudrun, pulling some silver from his pouch. She had shaken her head.

“If you return, you can repay me with the skull of that bastard, Chlotar.”

“I thought the animals in your hut were your friends,” he had replied.

“I will make an exception for him,” she said, her smile cold.

I did not see her again before we left.

We awoke with the dawn and made our way through the trees down to Gullbringa. Pushing the boat out into the lake, we began rowing northward on the placid water. Thin wisps of mist lay softly on the still surface around us. The sky was clear but for the beginnings of white clouds rolling slowly over the peaks in the east and north. The sun hazed the mountain tops, setting them afire with the early morning light.

“We should not have left Sygbald there,” said Eadmaer.

“She is tending to his injury,” replied Leofstan.

“Is she?” Eadmaer snapped. “She is a witch. She cannot be trusted.”

Eadmaer had not seen Gudrun, but he had listened intently to our description of her, and heard the awe in our voices. He had been nervous at the prospect of visiting her island when Ingvar had put forward the suggestion. Having spent the night there, his fears seemed to have coalesced into something harder and more brittle.

“She is a woman,” said Leofstan, “nothing more.”

“What of her eyes?” he asked. “Bealdwulf says her eyes are like those of a rat.”

“Do you judge people on the colour of their eyes, Eadmaer?” asked Leofstan. “Are mine a colour that you trust? Gudrun no more chose the hue of her eyes and hair than did you, or anyone.”

Eadmaer had no answer to that. For a while we pulled on the oars in silence.

“Her kind should be slain,” said Eadmaer into the hush.

“Her kind?” said Leofstan. “What kind is that? Women? Or only those with eyes you don’t like?”

“Witches,” hissed Eadmaer.

Leofstan shook his head sadly.

“Men will all too often seek to kill that which they do not understand. Was our Lord Jesu not nailed to a tree by men? Does not Ljósberari murder those he believes to be unworthy?”

“It’s not the same,” said Eadmaer, but his voice had lost its strength and he sounded petty now, like a child who has been told he cannot have another oatcake. “It’s not the same,” he repeated, looking about for support, but finding none.