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“You know who it is, Sif. The only other person you have seen today. The one who immediately
understood the problems caused by Bera taking both men. It’s part of why you came to me.”
Sif breathed out. “Gerhard.”
“Of course, Gerhard. He is worthy of the goddess.”
“And if I raise Gerhard up, equal to Ragnor, will he challenge Ragnor for leadership again? How can I
do that, when Ragnor fought so hard for control?”
“You and Ragnor offer, chief to tribe member. Gerhard will not be equal.”
“So you say. But you can’t know.”
“Does Gerhard repulse you?”
“No. But, as you said, he and I would kill each other in a week, had we married.”
“Doing this will make Gerhard beholden to Ragnor. He would never betray him, after. I know
Gerhard. He would take this seriously, for what it is, as ordered by the goddess, not as a means to gain
power.” The old woman closed her eyes, suddenly deflated. “I also think that this might help him. He
barely eats and he barely exists. I think the goddess might touch him, might make him want to live, if he is
part of the ritual.”
“If he is so trapped in his grief, will he agree to do it?”
“I think Gerhard needs his own words thrown back at him.” Gunnhilda knelt down, cupping some
water from the ground, and drank. She stood and stared over the river, much like Sif was doing. “I think it’s
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Freya’s Gift
clear from how Gerhard saw that Bera’s actions might affect the tribe that he worries about this. He cares.
I’ll speak to him. It is my right, as his grandmother. I will talk to him.”
“Ragnor still might not agree,” Sif said.
“Freya saved his life. He will have to see reason.”
“Hah!”
“There should be a ceremony,” Gunnhilda said, her voice gaining strength. “Something before all the
tribe, something on Freya’s day. And under the next full moon, to honor her.”
“And must we do it in front of all too?” Sif realized that her voice held panic.
“No, no, I shouldn’t think the sharing should be public,” Gunnhilda said. “The ceremony will ask for
the blessing of the gods, an omen, maybe, and then the three of you will go to the spring.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is simpler than burying daughters,” Gunnhilda said.
Sif drew in her breath. “So it is.”
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Chapter Eight
Would the time to the full moon be enough to prepare herself, never mind Ragnor? As she walked
back to the longhouses, Sif had no answer to that.
She would not trade Ragnor for a child. Or for the favor of all the gods, even. But she might for the
safety and happiness of the tribe. Ragnor would give his life for that. So would she. This was not so
different.
Sif spent the rest of the day letting the problem roll around her mind while she helped prepare for the
feast. They had not much to go with the bear meat as their dried vegetables were almost entirely gone. But
they did still have a few skins of mead left over from last fall. They’d been saving it for a special occasion.
Sif laid claim to the bearskin on Ragnor’s behalf, and no one objected. While the others prepared it,
she took the claws and sat in a corner of her longhouse with string, a knife and the bear claws. Ragnor came
in as she bored holes in the claws, careful not to crack them.
“Can the necklace be done by tonight?” Ragnor knelt down next to her.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Why the rush?”
“I thought to keep it for myself but now I would like to give it to Mykle. It seems fitting to give him a
token to show there are no hard feelings between us. It will show we are still family.”
“I like that.” Sif curled her hand around Ragnor’s cheek. “I think he’ll be pleased.”
Ragnor looked into the fire. “Leif or Mykle?”
“Both. If Leif had been in his right mind, he never would have done what he did. Maybe he’s at peace
now. And he would like you taking care of his son.”
Ragnor nodded. “Have you given more thought about what Freya wants?”
“A great deal. You are involved, of course, else the cat would not have saved you.”
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