Read Online Seer of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Juliet Marillier
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fallen foul of wind and waves. It was a different belief from our own, but one that should nonetheless be respected.
Muirrin walked between the dead with a bowl of water and sprinkled droplets, and Brenna carried aromatic crushed leaves to strew. Johnny spoke about the bravery that took men far from their home shores in search of new opportunities, and how risks were part of being a man, and part of living a life well and fully.
When he was done, I moved between the dead, kneeling by each in turn to lay my hand on his brow, and although all I said was the name, in my spirit I called upon my own gods, the old, good gods, to ferry the departed gently on their last and most mysterious voyage.
“Thorolf Magnusson, and Ranulf his brother.” Three paces. “Svein Njalsson.” And the next. “Mord Asgrimsson.” Dead; dead and cold. I wondered if he had a wife somewhere, keeping the hearth fire alight for his return. “Starkad Thorkelsson.” So young; he had hardly begun to be a man. “Sam Gundarsson.” I walked on to the gray-bearded man. “And this elder, whose name we do not know.” A few steps more. “And this young man, who died before his time.” Who died with blistered hands. “We honor them. The blessing of the gods be on them, and on every man, woman and child who perished when Freyja foundered here. For those who lie here now, and for those at rest in the deep, we speak the same prayer. May their spirits fly with the winds; may their souls be cradled in the waves; may their lives be celebrated in fine tales around the fire. May their love of family and land, of hearthstone and chieftain, of clan and kin, stay strong in their children and their children’s children.”
Knut’s face looked hard as stone. By his side, Svala stood dry-eyed, staring straight ahead. Kalev translated for them in a murmur.
I had spoken to Knut about the next part, but it was still hard to get the words out, with the two of them right there in the circle. I cleared my throat.
“I say a special prayer for the little ones who perished. In particular, for Svein Knutsson, child of our new friends here.” Tears had begun to flow down Knut’s face, a stream over granite. Svala’s expression showed not a flicker of change, though she must have heard me speak her son’s name. “He was taken early by the gods, and is now at peace with his forebears in the place beyond death. Pray for him, and for all those lost here.”
After a few moments I stepped back outside the shape of stones, and so did Muirrin and Brenna. The men who had been digging earlier took up their spades to lay the last blanket of earth over these sleepers. An eerie silence hung in the air, broken only by the whimpering of a child whose mother hushed it against her shoulder.
“Now, Sibeal?” Johnny asked quietly.
I nodded. The spades rose and fell; the earth pattered softly down, a dark rain on the shrouds of the dead. Fitful torchlight played on the circle of somber, watching faces.
It happened in a flash. One moment I was standing there, the next I was sprawled facedown on the ground, knocked off balance as Svala hurled herself forward. As I struggled to sit up she seized my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. A scream burst from her, high, ululating. Then Knut was dragging her off me, pulling her away, while Johnny and Cathal came to help me up.
“Are you hurt, Sibeal?”
“I’m . . . I’m fine. She took me by surprise. We must continue with the ritual, Johnny.” I looked past him. There were Muirrin and Clodagh, looking somewhat paler than usual. And there was Knut, holding Svala by both arms, speaking to her in a low voice. Her chest heaved, but she was silent now. She did not meet his stern gaze; her beautiful eyes were turned on the ground.
“She was overcome by grief, I suppose,” Johnny said in an undertone. “And better to release that grief than keep it locked inside. But that’s no excuse for an act of violence.”
It was
Muirrin walked between the dead with a bowl of water and sprinkled droplets, and Brenna carried aromatic crushed leaves to strew. Johnny spoke about the bravery that took men far from their home shores in search of new opportunities, and how risks were part of being a man, and part of living a life well and fully.
When he was done, I moved between the dead, kneeling by each in turn to lay my hand on his brow, and although all I said was the name, in my spirit I called upon my own gods, the old, good gods, to ferry the departed gently on their last and most mysterious voyage.
“Thorolf Magnusson, and Ranulf his brother.” Three paces. “Svein Njalsson.” And the next. “Mord Asgrimsson.” Dead; dead and cold. I wondered if he had a wife somewhere, keeping the hearth fire alight for his return. “Starkad Thorkelsson.” So young; he had hardly begun to be a man. “Sam Gundarsson.” I walked on to the gray-bearded man. “And this elder, whose name we do not know.” A few steps more. “And this young man, who died before his time.” Who died with blistered hands. “We honor them. The blessing of the gods be on them, and on every man, woman and child who perished when Freyja foundered here. For those who lie here now, and for those at rest in the deep, we speak the same prayer. May their spirits fly with the winds; may their souls be cradled in the waves; may their lives be celebrated in fine tales around the fire. May their love of family and land, of hearthstone and chieftain, of clan and kin, stay strong in their children and their children’s children.”
Knut’s face looked hard as stone. By his side, Svala stood dry-eyed, staring straight ahead. Kalev translated for them in a murmur.
I had spoken to Knut about the next part, but it was still hard to get the words out, with the two of them right there in the circle. I cleared my throat.
“I say a special prayer for the little ones who perished. In particular, for Svein Knutsson, child of our new friends here.” Tears had begun to flow down Knut’s face, a stream over granite. Svala’s expression showed not a flicker of change, though she must have heard me speak her son’s name. “He was taken early by the gods, and is now at peace with his forebears in the place beyond death. Pray for him, and for all those lost here.”
After a few moments I stepped back outside the shape of stones, and so did Muirrin and Brenna. The men who had been digging earlier took up their spades to lay the last blanket of earth over these sleepers. An eerie silence hung in the air, broken only by the whimpering of a child whose mother hushed it against her shoulder.
“Now, Sibeal?” Johnny asked quietly.
I nodded. The spades rose and fell; the earth pattered softly down, a dark rain on the shrouds of the dead. Fitful torchlight played on the circle of somber, watching faces.
It happened in a flash. One moment I was standing there, the next I was sprawled facedown on the ground, knocked off balance as Svala hurled herself forward. As I struggled to sit up she seized my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. A scream burst from her, high, ululating. Then Knut was dragging her off me, pulling her away, while Johnny and Cathal came to help me up.
“Are you hurt, Sibeal?”
“I’m . . . I’m fine. She took me by surprise. We must continue with the ritual, Johnny.” I looked past him. There were Muirrin and Clodagh, looking somewhat paler than usual. And there was Knut, holding Svala by both arms, speaking to her in a low voice. Her chest heaved, but she was silent now. She did not meet his stern gaze; her beautiful eyes were turned on the ground.
“She was overcome by grief, I suppose,” Johnny said in an undertone. “And better to release that grief than keep it locked inside. But that’s no excuse for an act of violence.”
It was
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