As Sure as the Dawn(179)

Freyja was astounded that Rizpah would speak so boldly, and to Anomia of all people.

Rizpah let out a sigh and watched the garment burn. The stench of burning linen filled the air. She looked at Anomia again and shook her head. How many hours had Helda put into making that beautiful garment?

“Now tell me who gave that tunic to you!” Anomia said in a low, searing voice.

Rizpah remembered how furtively Helda had come to her, proffering the gift in secret. She saw now in the young priestess’ face that Helda had risked a great deal in giving her such a gift. “A friend gave it to me,” she said, wishing she understood the full significance. She began stirring the stew again, not wanting it destroyed as well through her own lack of attention.

“A friend?” Anomia said with venomous sarcasm. “You have no friends among loyal Chatti,” she said, unwittingly setting herself against Freyja who knew her daughter Marta held Rizpah in highest esteem, and with good reason. “Give me the name of the blasphemer!”

An inexplicable calmness filled Rizpah as she looked into Anomia’s virulent blue eyes. “No.”

Freyja and Varus were no less astonished than Anomia.

“No?” Anomia said, her voice trembling.

“Divine the information yourself if you think you have so much power.”

Enraged, Anomia took a step toward her, hand raised. Freyja caught her wrist before she could strike. “I’ll handle this,” she said firmly.

Anomia jerked free, shaking with rage at being defied by a foreigner and then thwarted by a kinswoman. “A curse on you, and your god be cursed!” she snarled at Rizpah, angered all the more because she looked back at her placidly. Casting a rancorous look at Freyja, she left the longhouse.

Freyja clutched the amber amulet between her breasts, her stomach tightening in fear. Varus was no less affected. The power of Tiwaz had radiated from Anomia. It was as though the young priestess was the embodiment of the god.

Rizpah let out her breath softly. “I’m sorry, Mother Freyja. How did I give offense this time?”

Mouth dry, Freyja looked at her, amazed that she was so composed. Didn’t she know what she had just faced? “Whoever gave you that garment wove the emblems of our sacred tree into it,” she said. “Oak leaves and acorns are sanctified symbols of long life and fertility.”

Varus gave a dismal laugh. “It would seem at least one of our tribe wishes you well.”

“Varus, please,” Freyja said, giving him a quelling look.

Rizpah understood all too clearly how her wearing the garment would bring offense. “I’m sorry,” she said, concerned more about the consequences to Helda than to herself. What would happen to her if Anomia found out? “I’m sure the woman meant no offense to you or Anomia, Mother Freyja. As Varus said, she was only wishing me well.”

“No,” Freyja said, disturbed. “She was doing more than that.” She was sure it was the subtle implications of the gift that had caused Anomia to lose control so completely. “Gundrid wears the symbols, as do Anomia and I.”

Rizpah was distressed. “But everyone knows what I believe, don’t they?” she said in dismay. “Jesus is my Savior and Master, Mother Freyja, not Tiwaz. Why would anyone give me a garment meant for a priestess?”

“To cause trouble,” Varus suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Freyja said and knew Anomia shared the same perceptions. “The woman who gave you the gift honors you as a spiritual leader.”





47


“The disease of deception is spreading among our people,” Anomia said, looking around at the circle of men sitting in the lamplight of her house before her altar. “Tiwaz has spoken. The hour has come to act.”

She had chosen each man carefully, nurturing their animosity and disappointments, stirring their passions until they were enslaved. Some, she knew, came only because of loyalty and not conviction. “You have burned the incense and presented your offerings. You have drunk the blood and eaten the flesh of the sacrifice. Tiwaz has revealed to us what we must do. Now we will learn who among us will have the honor of carrying out his will.”

Taking the white linen cloth from one side of the carved altar, she loosened the folds with solemnity. Uttering an unholy incantation, she laid it upon the ground in the middle of the circle. With great ceremony, she made sure all the wrinkles were removed and it was stretched out flat and smooth upon her earthen floor.

Turning again, Anomia took a silver bowl from the left side of the altar. Each man had placed within it a piece of wood inscribed with a rune he held personally sacred. She shook the bowl gently, murmuring another incantation as she did so. Once, twice, thrice, and again. Seven times she shook the bowl. Then she cast the wooden chips upon the white cloth.