As Sure as the Dawn(142)
“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 something—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.