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.
The first time the god had come upon her, she had been a child. She was sitting in her mother’s lap when everything around her faded and other things had taken their place. She had seen a woman having a child. The vision only lasted a moment and had not manifested itself in any unusual way. When the vision ebbed, she was still sitting on her mother’s lap before the fire in the longhouse. Everyone was talking around her. Her father was laughing and drinking mead with his friends.
“Sela is going to have a baby,” she said.
“What’s this you say?”
“Sela is going to have a baby,” she said again. She liked babies. Everyone rejoiced when they came. “A baby will make Sela happy, won’t it?”
“You’ve had a dream, Liebchen,” she said sadly. “Sela would be very happy to have a baby, but she’s barren. She and Buri have been married five years.”
“I saw her have a baby.”
Her mother looked across at her father, and he lowered his drinking horn. “What’s Freyja saying to you?”
“She said Sela is going to have a baby,” her mother said, perplexed.
“A child with a dream,” he said, dismissing it.
No one thought much about the vision. Only Freyja knew the truth of it. She sought out Sela and told her what she had seen. The dream only seemed to increase the woman’s sorrow, and so she stopped talking about the baby, though continuing to spend time with the woman.
In the fall of the following year, Sela conceived, to the amazement of everyone in the tribe. She bore a son in early summer. Everyone treated Freyja differently after that. When she had visions, they listened and believed.
The early visions were good. Babies were born. Marriages took place. Battles were won. When she foresaw Hermun, only a few years older than she, would be chief one day, her mother and father had arranged her marriage with him. It was only later that the visions became dark and foreboding.
The last portent of good had come in the wake of disaster. Rome had destroyed the alliance between the tribes, crushing the rebellion. Hermun was dead; Atretes, the new chief of the Chatti. She had seen her son’s future. He would become known in Rome. He would fight as no other Chatti had fought, and he would triumph over every foe. A storm would come that would blow across the Empire and destroy it. It would come from the north and the east and the west, and Atretes would be part of it. And there would be a woman, a woman with dark hair and dark eyes, a woman of strange ways whom he would love.