“You can’t even see me, Hilda.” I growled, moving to the cupboard, I took out two bowls and placed them roughly on the table. Years ago, my mother had insisted I use her proper name rather than calling her Mother, even when we were alone together. She said that it was important for the clan members to see her as the Oracle first and foremost, and that anything else she might be, including my mother, was secondary. I knew, however, she didn’t feel that way in her heart. She had foreseen early on that I would achieve remarkable things and I would have to grow up much faster than the other children. If the clan heard me call her by her name or by her title, they would be more likely to accept me—as a man, a warrior, and a leader.
“I see you more clearly than anyone, even yourself. You can’t come stomping up my walkway without giving yourself away—you never could. It’s in the way that you move, the way you carry yourself. The shuffle of your feet might as well be a war horn sounding your troubles, and I know what troubles you; you think our warriors aren’t ready.”
“I know they’re not,” I responded, pouring us each a cup of water from a pitcher on the table. “I see there are two cups on this table. You were expecting me.”
“Of course I expected you. Shouldn’t an old woman expect her son for dinner? What’s wrong with that?” The corners of her mouth quirked upward as she continued stirring.
“Don’t give me that old woman crap, Hilda.” I barked. “I know you’ve had a vision. That’s how you knew we’re about to go on another invasion.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out, ignoring my sore attitude.
“We leave in a week.” I finally sighed as I pulled out the chair that seemed much too small to sustain my weight and sat down ungracefully. “Will you be going?” I asked as I leaned my forearm against the table and pressed my forehead to it. My mother was the only person I would allow to see the taxation the jarl’s obsessions were taking on me.
She grinned at me. “Of course I will be going. When has he ever left me behind?”
“What are you so happy about?” I asked, staring at her with a puzzled look on my face.
“That is not enough time for your troops,” she responded, ignoring my question, “but that is not for me to say; I’m no battle priestess. It is, however, the appointed time that I foresaw. It is the time frame you must adhere to. You mustn’t be late, or early, for that matter. Rather, you must arrive precisely at the appointed time, or you will lose her. The arrow that does not fly true, the scorned seeking revenge, and the greedy who is never satisfied. You must not be late.”
It was clear that I was in the presence of Hilda, the Oracle rather than Hilda, my mother. Many of our conversations evolved in such a manner—she would slip into seer mode and start spouting prophecies, telling me that our clan must do this or that. Sometimes she made sense, most of the time, however, I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Meet who, Hilda?” I asked, not sure if I wanted the answer. I felt a heavy, foreboding presence fall over me, like a tunic that was much too tight. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
As I waited for her reply, she shuffled over to me and, to my surprise, smacked the back of my head. I ducked and frowned. “What was that for?”
“Do you ever listen when I speak, boy?” she huffed. “I have already told you about the prophecy many times. You are the one who chooses not to listen. In order to protect our clan, you must take a foreign bride. Up until now, I wasn’t sure, but with the upcoming raid it has been made clear to me your bride just so happens to be from England.”
I wanted to groan, but I didn’t want to be smacked in the head again, so I held it in. Apparently, she was speaking as both seer and mother this time.
“That is one prophecy that cannot come to pass, Oracle. Our clan would never accept an outsider, neigh, an English princess at that, to become our queen. They would not respect her—they would consider her weak and simple-minded—it cannot be.”
As she filled our bowls with the stew she’d prepared, I watched her lips pinch in frustration. Her eyes, always cloudy, were shadowed, and she appeared weighed down by some unseen force. “It is not up to you, Torben, my son. No matter what you think, it is what needs to—no—what must happen. If we do not change, if this clan doesn’t turn away from the old ways, we will destroy ourselves. The world is changing, becoming smaller. We must be ready; we must adapt.”
“Tell me the prophecy again.” I held up my hand to stop her. “I know you’ve told me before, but I want you to tell me again.”
I watched as my mother’s eyes became unfocused and she seemed to slip into a trance just before she spoke. A young warrior, who is just, fair, and wise beyond his years, will take his rightful place as leader of his people. As he makes his ascension, he will not be alone. The warrior-turned-king will take a bride, not of his people, but from across the sea with a new vision for the Hakon Clan. She is a warrior in her own right and a healer—a rare kind for her race—but she keeps the skill hidden from her people. They fear it instead of embracing the gift that it is. Together, they are a catalyst for the change that will save Clan Hakon. Without their union, the Clan will be snuffed out, ground into nothing. We will be forgotten, a people lost to history.”
“I suppose you believe I’m this young ruler?” I asked. Once she’d returned to herself, she wordlessly took the seat next to mine, said a quick prayer to the gods, and began to eat. I did not repeat the question; there was no point. She would answer when she was ready.
Several bites later, she decided to speak. “It does not take a vision to see that you will be the next king of this clan. But, then again, you somehow manage to bury your head in the ground when something is staring you in the face.”
Whatever else she might be, my mother was honest. “Am I to marry this foreign bride—to bear offspring with her?”
“What?” Her piercing gaze met mine and mischief danced in her eyes. “Do you think her body will somehow be inferior to those of the women in our clan? Do you think she will repulse you? Perhaps she’s deformed in some way because she is not a Norsewoman, with three eyes, six breasts, and a forked tongue. Is that what you fear?”
“Damn, woman, you have a sharp tongue.” I choked as I tried to swallow the bite I’d taken before she’d begun gushing her nonsense. I took a quick sip of mead to clear my throat, and then, because I am my mother’s son, retorted, “You know I do not think such things as well as you know any warm-blooded male would be thrilled to find out his wife has six breasts. He wouldn’t even notice the forked tongue or the third eye.”
Cackles of laughter rolled out of my mother as she covered her mouth with her apron. She shook her head at me, and then she patted my hand. “I am hoping she can match your wit and stand up to your pigheadedness. Having a sharp tongue would probably serve her well also.”
“You are cruel, Mother. If a sharp tongue and stubbornness is what you desire in a daughter-in-law, I might as well marry one of our own clanswomen. I don’t have to look far to find those things.”
She stood and took our bowls to the wash bin and began cleaning them. Her back was to me, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. “A Norsewoman is not what you need—not what we need. We need a healer, not a conqueror.”
“I will not wed a woman I do not love,” I told her as I stood and walked over to her, setting my cup on the counter next to the wash bin.