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afternoon.
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"Why not?" Ryan agreed. "But we'll all go. Mebbe get to Krysty and Mildred. I
don't like being separated from them. There's a real bad gut feeling about all
this."
"No," Jak said from the doorway. "Baron and Krysty and freezie coming."
Jorund had a couple of the elders of the ville with him. Krysty and Mildred
walked at his heels, followed by half a dozen kitchen thralls, carrying
bedding and cooking pots.
"Looks like they are about to be moved in with us," Doc observed. "I wonder
whether that is a good omen or not."
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Doc's supposition was correct, and his concern was also confirmed.
Jorund Thoraldson stood in their doorway, signaling everyone else to remain
outside. His face was grim and he was perspiring heavily, though the afternoon
was cool. "Your women must come to stay with you," he said. "It has been
decided. The wisewoman has cast runes. The red thread and the rowan sprig tell
a sad tale, outlanders."
"I was sorry to hear that two young children had died," Ryan said.
"It was a sorry day that ever you came to the steading of Markland," the baron
replied.
"There was the sickness long before we came here," J.B. said, anger creeping
into his usually calm voice.
Thoraldson shook his head. "I will not argue. It has been decided that you
will remain here. None of you must leave this hut, but for the exercise of
your bodily needs. Any attempt to depart from Markland will be looked upon as
hard and treasonous."
"For how long?" Ryan asked.
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"A day. Two, perhaps."
Ryan knew with total certainty that the tall Norseman was lying.
"Then what?" J.B. asked, taking off his glasses to polish them. He glanced at
Ryan, showing his own disbelief.
"Then the wisewoman will cast the runes again. And it may be that the light
will come again."
The baron turned away. Doc looked as if he were about to argue, but Ryan
spotted him and quickly held a finger to his own lips. Doc shook his head in
disgust.
Jorund Thoraldson paused, then turned back to them. "We give you back the
black woman. It may be we shall have need of the white-haired boy. A small
thing, only."
Then he was gone, calling out orders to the thralls, and gesturing Mildred and
Krysty to join their friends.
Only when the six companions were left alone did they talk. And the talk was
brief.
Ryan told the woman what the baron had said to them. "You know about that
bloody altar up in the woods. We've all gotten the feeling that they regard
Jak here as some kind of mysterious stranger-god, and that Mildred is evil on
the hoof."
"Story of my life." She grinned.
Doc cleared his throat. "Are you suggesting, my dear Ryan, that these Viking
throwbacks might somehow wish to sacrifice this lady to their pagan gods? And
use young Jak here as their chosen instrument on earth? Is that it?"
"Yeah. In a cartridge case, that's it."
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"So, we go?" J.B. asked.
"Yeah."
And that was the end of the discussion. The plan of escape took only a little
longer.
THE VILLE WAS RINGED by sentries at night, guarding against another sneak
attack from the muties. But the central area, near the beach, was left
unguarded.
The large fire was allowed to smolder during the hours of darkness. There was
a quarter moon, mostly hidden behind banks of tattered cloud. Though none of
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the companions had much experience on water, they had all agreed that the
ships offered their best chance. The plan was to push off and make their way
eastward, keeping close to land to avoid becoming lost. They'd strike inland
at the first hint of dawn and head for the high ridge to the south. With luck
the friends would get over the top before any pursuit could get close.
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