“I have another gift, if you’ll accept it,” Eyvind said quickly, before Somerled could speak again and make matters worse. “I made this. Perhaps you might like it.” From his pocket he drew out the weaving tablet he had carved. Now that he looked at it, he could see that the little dogs were not as regular as they should be, some of their expressions more comic than noble. He hoped she would not be offended. “It’s not a bribe, or a payment,” he added hastily. “I know such knowledge can never be paid for. But you can have it, if you want.”

The cat woman sighed; an odd sort of sigh, as if she bore a burden too heavy for her. Then she took the small thing from his hands, touching the pattern with a finger, lightly.

“Send your friend outside,” she said.

Somerled glowered.

“Send him outside. Such tellings are private. You know that. You first, then the other.”

In an instant, Somerled was gone. There was nothing there but a sort of angry vibration where he had stood. The cat woman did not chant, or roll her eyes, or call on the spirits. She sat by the fire, and bade Eyvind sit by her.

“Give me your hand, Eyvind. You are grown as tall as your brothers: like a strong young tree. What is it you want to hear so badly? Let us light the candles, one on this side, one on the other. And throw a pinch of this on the fire—ah, that’s better. Now, let me see you in the light. A fine young man. There’s a great gift for kindness in you, I see it in your eyes. A rare gift. And yet, your path will take you far from such ways. What do you want to know, Eyvind?”

“Will I be a Wolfskin? Will I pass Thor’s test?” His words tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get out. “And when? How long must I wait?”

He thought she would not speak at all, so long she took to answer. She gazed at his palm, and into his eyes, and then at the candle flame, and the look on her face was almost pity. His heart shrank. She had seen that he would fail, and was not prepared to speak it.

“Tell me!” he blurted out finally. “Tell me, whatever it is!”

The cat woman sighed again, and blinked, as if returning from a far place. “Oh, yes, you’ll swing your axe in the very forefront of it, lad. A cleaver of skulls, a smiter of the strongest, fearless and proud. The best among them, you’ll be. And soon; more than one year, less than two, I think. Thor has his mark on you; he had from the first.”

Eyvind could feel the grin stretching across his face, and the proud beating of his heart. “Thank you! Oh, thank you.”

“That’s not all.”