Varus frowned. Troubled, he looked between them before he turned away and limped down the corridor, banging stalls open as he went.
Freyja’s hands trembled as she ground herbs. Fear shivered in her, and she didn’t know the cause for it. She poured honeyed mead into a cup. Marta liked the taste. Adding the ground herbs to it, she stirred, beseeching her god to make the brew work. She reached into a basket and took four cloves of garlic to turn back the evil forces of black magic.
Turning, she saw her son looking at her solemnly. He took Rizpah’s arm and pulled her in front of him. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he drew her against him. The gesture was deliberate. He was putting his wife before her and all the rest. “If you need us,” he said, a muscle jerking in his cheek, “you know where to find us.”
Disturbed, Freyja left them without a word. Crossing the street, she entered her daughter’s home.
“Lady Freyja’s here,” Usipi said, and Anomia rose from beside Marta’s bed.
“I will go to the sacred grove and pray for her,” the young priestess said solemnly, her quiet statement suggesting Tiwaz was visiting this illness upon Marta. She took Marta’s hand and patted it. “Your mother will try to make you more comfortable.”
Marta looked into Anomia’s pale blue eyes and saw no hope. “I don’t want to die.”
Anomia smiled. “Who said you were going to die?” You will just suffer. Oh, you will suffer until I’m satisfied you’ve suffered enough.
“You’re not going to die,” Freyja said, determined to instill hope in her daughter. She came closer, so close Anomia had to release Marta’s hand and move back from her. Freyja sat down beside her daughter.
“It hurts, Mama,” Marta said, gripping her stomach. “It hurts so much. It’s as though something is chewing at me.”
“Drink this.”
“I can’t.”
She saw how Marta’s eyes were still fixed upon Anomia. “Drink it,” she said, helping her rise enough that she could. “All of it.” She shifted her body so her daughter could not see the young priestess standing nearby. “That’s it, Liebchen,” she said soothingly, brushing her daughter’s thick blonde braid back over her shoulder. “The brew will purge you.”
“A purge will only make her hurt more,” Anomia said tonelessly, moving back, gloating inside.
Freyja glanced back at Anomia in the shadows. “Before you leave, tell Derek to find and pick a bunch of squill.” The plant with narrow leaves and bell-shaped blue flowers would ward off evil spells.
“As you say, my lady,” Anomia said, her opaque eyes once again on Marta. She was secretly amused. “If you think it can help, I will go myself.” She turned away.
Marta shuddered violently.
“Bring pans and cloths,” Freyja told Usipi. “Quickly.”
Usipi did as he was told and then stood by to help. The purging was swift and fierce, leaving his wife drained and weakened. The cramps and spasms continued long after everything had been eliminated from her body.
“It’s not helping, Mother,” he groaned, feeling his wife’s every pain as though it were his own.
“Ohhh, Mama . . .”
Trembling, Freyja washed Marta like a baby. Sweat poured from Marta’s slender body. Surely the impurities were being expelled with it. But the pain, the pain was so intense. “I’m going to brew something to ease your discomfort and help you rest,” she said, kissing Marta’s brow. She turned to Usipi, his face white and strained. “Try to help her stay calm. And you, as well.”
As Freyja left, he lay down beside his wife, drawing her close as she began to shake with chills.
Over the next two days, Freyja brewed teas of cowslip and chamomile to ease her daughter’s pain, and chickweed, heliotrope, and devil’s bit to treat internal inflammation. Red poppy and wild thyme brought drugged sleep, but still the fever raged. Even teas of sweet coltsfoot, feverfew, and meadowsweet did nothing to cool it.
Marta’s skin was hot and dry as the dying leaves of fall that were even now dropping to the ground. Winter and death approached.
Derek climbed high in an ancient oak and cut fresh mistletoe for his father. Usipi hung the sprigs through the longhouse in an attempt to ward off witchcraft. Freyja searched frantically through the woods until she found squill. She hung the the bell- shaped red flowers over Marta’s bed to protect her from evil spells. Usipi hung so much garlic, the air reeked of it.
Nothing helped.
“You spoke with the Ionian,” Freyja heard Anomia tell Marta quietly one evening. “I warned you Tiwaz would not be pleased, didn’t I?”