As Sure as the Dawn (50 page)

“There is no power on earth that can overcome the love of God in Christ Jesus.”

Atretes exhaled a derisive laugh. “This from a man who once used the butt of his sword on the side of my head.” He sat down on a log and thrust his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I’m not perfect,” Theophilus said with a rueful smile. He hunkered down. Noticing a pinecone, he picked it up. A few pine nuts fell into his hand. “I will give you words Jesus said.” He cast the pinecone away and held the seeds in his palm.

“Behold, a sower went out to sow; and it came about that as he was sowing, some seed fell beside the road, and the birds came and ate it. And other seed fell on the rocky ground where it did not have much soil; and immediately it sprang up because it had no depth of soil. And after the sun had risen, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away. And other seed fell among the thorns, and the thorns came up and choked it, and it yielded no crop. And other seeds fell into the good soil and as they grew up and increased, they yielded a crop and produced thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold.”

He scattered the pine nuts. “You and I and Rizpah will sow the Word of God among your people.” Brushing off his hands, he stood. “Whether the seed takes root and grows or not isn’t up to us, Atretes. It’s up to the Lord.”

Freyja and Varus were standing in front of the longhouse when they returned. Freyja’s worried frown turned to relief when she saw them. She stretched out her hands to Atretes as he came near. “I awakened, and you were gone.”

He took her hands, bending down to kiss her on each cheek. “We pray each morning as the day begins.”

“So early?”

Atretes looked past her to Varus, grim and withdrawn. He released his mother’s hands and went to his brother. “You trusted me once, Varus. You followed me in battle. You fought beside me. No brother ever showed more courage than you.” He held out his hand. “I want no animosity between us.”

“Nor do I,” Varus said, taking the proffered hand, yearning for the old times when they had laughed and gotten drunk together. Eleven years had passed, and his brother had finally returned . . . bringing with him a dark, foreign wife and son, a Roman he called friend, and a new god. How could he think things would be the same?

“The cattle have to be pastured.” It occurred to Varus as he said it that the land he now held would revert to his brother as well. Resentment and jealousy filled him.

“Theophilus can help us.”

“Keep him away from me, or I swear by Tiwaz, I’ll kill him.”

As he turned away, Atretes started after him. Theophilus caught his arm. “Leave him be. It wasn’t many days ago when you felt the same way.”

Atretes jerked his arm away, but breathed out slowly, forcing his temper down. Theophilus was right. Patience . . . he had to have patience.

“It will take time for me to make a place among your people.”

“A place!” Freyja stared at Theophilus in horror. She swung to her son, appealing to him. “You cannot mean to let him stay here among us. Not after all that has happened at the hands of Rome.”

“Theophilus is here at my invitation, Mother,” Atretes said, tight-lipped as he saw she, too, was fighting him. “As a brother, not as a Roman.”

“I am thankful he saved your life, but last night should have made it clear this Roman has no place among us.”

“Would you fight me as well? He stays!”

“What’s happened to you? Romans killed your father! They killed Rolf and Dulga and half our tribe. There isn’t one person among us who hasn’t suffered tragedy at the hands of Rome! And you would dare to bring this man here to make a home among us?”

“I dare.”

She turned to Theophilus. “They will kill you.”

“They’ll try,” Theophilus conceded softly.

Surprised, she saw he had no fear of death. “Do you think this god of yours will protect you? Every man among the Chatti will plot to murder you.”

“If anyone touches him, they’ll contend with me!”

“You will contend with all if he remains! You will have to set yourself against your own people.” Neither man was swayed by her warning. Atretes’ jaw was set; the Roman looked at her with compassion. She knew her son’s stubbornness and so appealed to Theophilus for reason. “Atretes calls you friend. What will happen to him if you stay?”

“It would be worse for him if I left.”

Freyja was greatly disturbed by his words, for she sensed powerful forces moving. “What power do you have over my son?”

“None, my lady.”

Despite his reassurance, she was afraid. She felt a warning tingle and coldness as the spirit came upon her. Not now, she thought desperately, fighting it. Not now! Her vision narrowed and darkened, and images appeared, unclear and moving. “No,” she moaned, her soul struggling and weakening as the force took hold. She saw Rizpah sitting on the forest floor, weeping as she held a man in her arms. She saw blood.

“Mother,” Atretes said, chilled. He had seen her look like this before and knew what it meant. “What do you see?”

“Lady Freyja,” Rizpah said, alarmed and wanting to help her.

Atretes shoved her back. “Leave her alone!”

“She’s ill.”

“She’s having a vision. You must not touch her when she’s like this.”

Freyja was fighting and losing against whatever possessed her. Her eyelids fluttered, her eyes rolling back as she trembled violently.

“It’s never happened like this before,” Atretes said, afraid to touch her lest he bring worse upon her.

“Death.” Freyja clutched the pendant over her heart, terrified. “I see death!” She groaned. But whose? She couldn’t see the dying man clearly. The vision intensified with terrifying power. Someone—or some
thing—
else was in the forest with them, something dark and malevolent.

“We must help her,” Rizpah said, her spirit moved by the woman’s anguish.

Theophilus felt the presence of some dark force holding Freyja. Compelled, he stepped forward. “In the name of Jesus Christ, leave her!” he said in a quiet, firm voice.

The vision ended so abruptly, Freyja gasped. Disoriented, she sagged forward. It was the Roman who caught hold of her and gave her support. “Do not be afraid,” he said gently, and warmth flowed through her at his touch. The coldness within her fled.

Alarmed, she drew back from him, eyes wide. “Do not touch me. It is forbidden.”

Seeing her eyes were clear and focused again, Theophilus released her. She stepped back from him, eyes wide. He wanted to reassure her, but knew nothing he could say at this moment would allay her fears.

Time. Lord, I need time and your help if I’m to reach these people.

Still trembling, Freyja turned to her son and took his hand between hers. “Walk among your people, Atretes. You must find yourself again before it’s too late.” She let go of him and hurried away.

“My lady,” Rizpah said, snatching up Caleb and starting after her.

Atretes grasped her arm, keeping her at his side. “Let her go.”

“But she looked ill, Atretes. She shouldn’t be alone.”

“You can’t follow. She’s going to the sacred wood.”

Anomia was out gathering herbs when she saw Freyja walking hurriedly through the forest. Her eyes narrowed. “Mother Freyja!” she called in greeting, affronted when the older woman didn’t pause until she called again. It was clear Freyja didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone, not even another priestess. As Anomia came near, she noticed the pallor of the woman’s skin and the torpidness of her blue eyes. Jealousy gripped her as she read the signs that the spirit had come upon Freyja again.

Why do you deny me, Tiwaz?
Her soul cried out in anger as she greeted the elder priestess with a kiss. “You look distressed, Lady Freyja,” she said, pretending concern.
Why?

“I’ve had a vision,” Freyja said, wary of the younger woman. She had never fully trusted her. “I must be alone.”

“Tiwaz has revealed the future to you again?”

“Yes.”

“What did you see?”

“Rizpah in the forest, holding a dying man.”

“Atretes?” Anomia said in alarm.

“I don’t know,” Freyja said, shaken. “The man wasn’t clear, and there was someone or something else with them.”

“Perhaps Tiwaz will reveal more to you if you sacrifice.”

Freyja put a trembling hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure I want to know more,” she said, looking ill.

Anomia hid her contempt. As a child, she had been in awe of Freyja, for she was the chosen one of Tiwaz. Now, she saw her as weak and foolish. Freyja didn’t welcome the power that came upon her. She didn’t use the hold it gave her over the Chatti.

It had been four years since the spirit had last possessed Freyja and she had prophesied. She had said Marcobus, chief of the Hermunduri, would be murdered by a woman. His death would bring anarchy and bloodshed to the under-chiefs as each strove to lead. The Chatti had rejoiced at Freyja’s vision. Why shouldn’t they? The Hermunduri had once triumphed over them and stolen a river salt flat.

Freyja, however, had not rejoiced. She had gone into seclusion, distressed by the violence of what she had seen. Foolish, gentle Freyja. Anomia wondered why Tiwaz would use such a weak vessel when she herself was so much more worthy. She had sacrificed and prayed to Tiwaz that he would set Freyja aside in her favor. She had held the sacred horns and spoken the vows before the priest, Gundrid! She had given herself to Tiwaz. Since then, her powers had eclipsed those of the older woman, and even of Gundrid. He was afraid of her, and though Freyja wasn’t, her powers had seemed to decrease, for no further visions came.

After a year, Anomia had begun to think Tiwaz had finally discarded Freyja. After four years, she had been certain of it. Surely the dark lord had chosen her now, for her powers and beauty had increased greatly during the long silence. The Chatti men held her in awe, the women in fear.

But now . . . Tiwaz spoke again through Freyja!

Why?
She wanted to scream.
I’ve given my soul to you! Do you give her the vision to taunt me? Do you mock my devotion? Why do you come upon this poor, pathetic creature who has the effrontery to look ill after being blessed by your possession? Take me! I would be triumphant! I would exult in it! Only I am worthy among these pitiful people! Why won’t you take me?

And all the while her mind rebelled, she smiled and spoke softly. “Rest, Mother. I will see to the services this evening. You needn’t worry about anything.”

Her mind whirred. How had she displeased Tiwaz that he would betray her with Freyja? Didn’t she devote herself to sacrifice and service to him? Didn’t she perform the rites in the moonlight? Didn’t she use her magic to bring people into submission to him? Why did Tiwaz still speak through this pathetic weakling?

“I must go,” Freyja said. She wanted to escape Anomia, for she sensed the dark undercurrents swirling around her. “We’ll speak later.” Anomia’s brow arched slightly at being so summarily dismissed, but Freyja was too distraught to care. She left the young priestess standing among the trees, fingers white upon the handle of her basket.

Freyja knew Anomia coveted her long-held position among the Chatti. She often prayed that Tiwaz would give Anomia what she wanted. For herself, she had never wanted to have the spirit take hold of her and open her eyes to the things that were to come. It had never sat easy with her. Each time it happened, she felt more of herself draining away.