That same summer, Eyvind and Somerled visited the cat woman in her strange small hut above the tree line, near the top of Bleak Hill. The seer had another name, but folk always called her the cat woman, as if she were only part human. The old woman’s powers were both feared and respected. She received visitors only when she chose. Karl went up sometimes to chop wood and deliver a sack of grain or a round of cheese. Occasionally, the woman ventured down the mountain for some festival or gathering, and they said if she was given enough ale, she would chant to the spirits until her eyes rolled back in her head, and she’d speak in a strange voice, and tell of what the future held. Men liked to hear of their destinies; farmers were eager for tidings of seasons to come, fishermen wanted advance notice of storms, merchants were keen for predictions of where the best bargains might be sealed. The cat woman did not always tell good news, but her warnings were useful, and she was received with great respect, and gifts.

Eyvind would have preferred to spend the day hunting, but when Somerled heard about the seer, there was no stopping him. He must go there before Ulf came for him again; he must know what she had to tell. Besides, it was an adventure.

Ingi gave them a little tub of sweet butter to take, and eggs nestled in a bag of down. The weather was fair and bright but chill for the season. It was a long journey, a full day there and back. They made their way up beyond the tree line and out onto the rocky hillside. Eyvind slowed his pace to accommodate Somerled, but not as much as he would once have done. They saw deer moving silently down in the woods, and an eagle overhead, but there was no hunting; this expedition sought only knowledge. From the narrowed intensity of Somerled’s eyes, Eyvind thought he knew what it was his friend wanted to hear. But he held his tongue. One did not question Somerled at such times, unless one wanted a response that stung like a whip.

The cat woman’s hut was turf-covered, set low, almost as if the earth had chosen to grow up around it. A small goat grazed on the roof; from the wood pile, a monstrous, thick-necked cat watched them through slanting yellow eyes. Black chickens scattered, squawking. She wouldn’t be needing the eggs, then. From a hole in the turf a thin plume of smoke arose. Eyvind called out politely, then stooped to go in; the doorway was hung with a strip of coarse cloth, no more.