Empty Altars (9 page)

Diana watched him and Jorunda until they disappeared into the trees, then she did her best to push Tyr from her mind. How long had he been alone? What woman, in her right mind, would grow tired of him? She shook her head. What did it matter? She was here to do a job, and then she'd return home, to her own world, and the sky god would stay here in this primitive meadow.

"We have work to do!" she snapped, ready for action. Diana covered the ceramic jar of wine and emptied her goblet. "Let’s get started. Find parchment to write on."

Inga leapt to her feet and hurried into the house. Noir started after her. "Aren't you coming with us?" Diana called to him.

The cat didn't even turn his head. He disappeared inside the doorway, swishing his tail, clearly peeved with her.

"I could summon my pets for you," Freya offered.

"Thanks, but I was hoping for my familiar." Diana glared in Noir's direction. "Filthy beast. Who needs him? He can stay here and lick himself."

Freya snickered, then let the subject drop.

Inga returned, parchment in hand. “I’ve seen a grove far away from the village. It’s more private there.”

The three women set off through the spruce trees in the opposite direction of Griswold’s lands. Diana had one week before Tyr and Jorunda returned again, one week to train Inga in the basics of magic—seven days out of less than a month before they claimed victory or suffered defeat—and she was feeling pressured.

Her mood improved once they were in the wood. She couldn’t wait until she was surrounded by rowan trees, inhaling the essence of a sacred grove. She hummed to herself as they made their way along the path. Then she caught sight of a plant with delicate, blue flowers and halted abruptly. She pointed. "Wolfbane!" How could they be so lucky?

"You want to stop to pick flowers?" Freya asked, her tone full of doubt.

"Hounds won't pass it."

Inga grabbed a leaf from the plant and tucked it in her bodice.

"Have you seen a hound?" Diana asked.

"Only from a distance when you made Heid retreat."

"She’ll send them to attack the village again. Pick as much wolfbane as you see. More will grow. We'll hang the dried plants on the village fence."

Hope bubbled in Diana’s heart. With the right chants, she could protect the village from black magic, but even mortals could protect themselves from hellhounds with wolfbane. They went deeper into the woods, searching for the rowan Inga had seen, when they stumbled into a circle of pulverized trees. Not a trunk or a branch remained. Leaves, bark, and pulp were mashed into mush.

"What happened?" Inga frowned at the ground—a soggy layer of green-stained sawdust. "A whirlwind?"

"Not likely." Diana knelt to inhale the scent. One sniff, and she could feel the color drain from her face. Hot acid filled her stomach. Heat burned in her veins. "By all the gods…."

"Diana?" Inga took a step back from her.

The curse died on her lips. Dark energy swirled inside her, tinted with angry reds. It gathered around her, she knew, reflecting her mood.

"What is it?" Freya scooped up some of the debris. The Norse goddess' hands balled into fists. "Rowans," she whispered.

Diana scarcely heard her. “Sacred to Greeks. Untouchable. When Hebe, the goddess of youth, offers ambrosia to the gods from her magic chalice, the cup’s made from the wood of the rowan.” The trees' white blossoms stood for purity. The red berries that clung to them in the fall were marked, opposite their stems, with tiny five- pointed stars or pentagrams—protection against evil, against dark witchcraft.

The soles of Diana's feet burned. Energy flowed from the earth into her body. Winds circled her like a tornado.

"Diana! Stop it!" Freya's voice shook, brittle with rage. It yanked Diana back to her companions, but Freya's fury wasn't directed at her. "Woden and his brothers created the first Norse man from a rowan, the woman from an elm."

Even Inga looked upset. "In the Underworld, it was a rowan that bent to save Donar from being washed away by the stream's swift current."

"It's the wood we carve to make our runes." Freya's golden beauty chilled to a wintry pale. Unusual for a goddess of fertility, Diana decided. It made her think of Ceres, the Greek goddess of the corn harvest, who withdrew in the wintry months to mourn for her lost daughter. And Freya's coldness made sense to Diana. Freya was goddess of love and beauty, but she was also goddess of slain warriors.

They all stared at the ruined grove, each of them offended. It had been trampled. Black magic couldn't harm it. Goddess trees did not fall to spells or chants. A path of snapped-off trees led from the grove to the cliffs that surrounded the hillsides.

"Giants," Freya seethed.

"Heathen!" Diana hissed. She walked from one pile of rubble to the next, digging for flattened clumps of leaves beneath the sawdust. There weren't many that survived, but there were a few. "See these? Gather as many as you can." She looked skyward and mumbled words. A flock of ravens flew to her. "My brother's birds," she told Freya. "Look for a flying rowan," she commanded them. "If you find one, bring me twigs."

"Trees can fly?" Inga gulped.

Diana shook her head. "They grow on the side of a rocky cliff or in the cleft of another tree, something that seems visually impossible."

The birds took to the air and didn't return until a pile of leaves filled Diana's basket. Each bird held a living twig in its beak. Freya opened her arms to receive them. "I thank you," Diana told them. "Wish my brother well." And they departed.

Freya frowned. "What good will these do?"

"Watch and learn, but we need to plant them before they wither. Which way to the village?"

The women set off at a fast pace. Inga wore a worried expression, Freya a cold, aloof determination. Diana burned with indignation. "It's sacrilege for a giant to even touch a rowan."

"Heid sent them. She was afraid you'd use the trees to make a potion." A twig touched Freya's bosom, and the leaves began to wither.

"Be careful. You're freezing it." Freya's skin must be as chilly as her expression.

Freya gently moved the twig away. As they neared the second grove of rowans, the one they passed on their way to the village, Freya gasped in dismay. Tears fell and turned to ice crystals on her cold cheeks, sparkling against her skin. Her mouth turned down in a grim line. She looked like an ice queen, regal and dangerous.

Diana gripped her basket. The beautiful trees were smashed to rubble. Her energy built again, and she fought to control it.

Inga touched her arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but if Heid's afraid of a few rowans, she's in for a big surprise. She doesn't know what trouble is!" Diana glared at the snapped-off spruce branches that led toward the cliffs. Blast it! She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Heid and her oafs should have stayed in Giantland, where they belong."

Inga's eyes went wide. "What are you going to do?"

"Protect the village."

When the women reached the log fence that circled the longhouses, the gate opened and Tyr and Jorunda, with Gudrun on his arm, stepped out to join them. Freya, her voice brittle as ice, explained what they'd found.

Tyr shook his head, too stunned to speak.

Gudrun looked at Diana's basket, and the old seer grinned. "Clever witch. You're using Heid's arrogance against her."

"Your dark witch made a big mistake." Diana set the basket on the ground. "Each person take a twig or a clump of leaves. Plant them. When we're done, we'll join hands and make magic of our own. We'll need twelve of you for that. I'll make thirteen."

"A coven?" Tyr asked.

"If you trust me."

"With our lives." He gave her a long look.

The familiar heat crept into her cheeks. She needed to busy herself. "Space them around the wall," she said. "And if there are any seeds left from last year, sprinkle them."

The sun beat down on them. Sweat trickled between Diana’s breasts and down her spine. Her fingernails were filthy. The dirt here was hard and packed. Gravel and stones littered it. Her knees were bloodied from kneeling over the tiny shoots and carefully placing them. By the time they finished, she could barely straighten to her full height.

Seedlings surrounded the entire fence. Diana motioned the others to her. They didn’t look any better than she did. Only Gudrun had remained in the shade of the log fence to watch. Diana counted—Freya, Inga, Tyr, Jorunda, and Gudrun. Where could she find seven more? The gates opened and a muscular, stunted man stepped toward them, along with a tall, plain woman, a teenaged boy, and four children of various ages. The man bowed slightly. "Gudrun's told us of you. We welcome you, goddess. I'm Olaf and this is my wife and our children, except for him." He gestured toward the teenaged boy. "Brandr's my apprentice."

When Diana returned his bow, the dwarf staggered in surprise. She said, "I thank you, blacksmith, for your support and hard work."

"Will this magic save our village?"

"Not on its own, but it will help. All you have to do is believe in me." She cast a circle and they joined hands. Breezes sprang up and clouds whipped overhead. The earth tremored beneath their feet, ready to respond to anything she asked of it. Magic buzzed in the air. Diana planted her feet and let the energy flow to her. As her chant began, the clouds darkened.

Inga gripped Diana's hand so tightly, it was painful. Diana raised her voice and droplets fell from the sky—blood red. Diana focused on them, willing life into each one. The drops formed into berries before they hit the dirt—small, red berries with pentagrams on their ends. Rowans. Not strong enough to become trees, but useful just the same. When they splatted, new shoots sprang up. Then the droplets stopped, and rain fell, warm and steady. The ravens' twigs and the leaf clusters they'd planted pushed toward the sky—strong and tall. The big trees rimmed the wooden fence. No black magic could pass them. The smaller sprouts stretched and thrived, but instead of shooting skyward, they grew sideways, forming a thick, heavy hedge. As Diana's words died, the rain grew gentle, then ceased. The winds blew themselves out. Inga's grip lessened, and finally, the rain stopped. Everything felt fresh and pure.

Gudrun cackled with joy. "Bravo, goddess!"

Diana blinked, bringing herself back to the present, her energy depleted. She reached out a hand to steady herself and Tyr rested it on his left arm. "Be kind to yourself, woman. You've given us much."

He was always grateful. Diana had never seen that in a god. She considered herself lucky when mere mortals noticed her blessings.

Inga's fingers shook as she gently brushed the leaves of the hedge that circled the fields. "This is too wonderful to imagine."

The village's gate opened and Griswold strode toward them, a young warrior at his side. He looked at the tall rowan trees near the fence and the hedge in front of his crops. "I heard the rumors. Giants destroyed the groves in the forest. They can destroy these too. What other magic do you have, witch?"

Tyr's body grew rigid, his expression dark. "Know your place, chieftain! She's a goddess, not a witch to do your bidding. Show respect, or I'll teach you some."

"We thank you, Roman." The chieftain refused to call her goddess. His thanks were forced, at best. She'd heard her share of empty prayers and flattery. Griswold's was no different. "I'm only thinking about the people in my care," he stated. "I'm concerned about their safety."

Gudrun laughed. "Our chieftain is always conscious of his duty."

Griswold snarled, but didn't dare insult the seer. Instead, he forced a smile. "We have strong magic to protect our village now. We have nothing to defeat giants or hellhounds. I fear we won't be able to defend ourselves against them."

Freya held up a wolfbane plant. "Your guards can hang these from your fence. Hellhounds won't pass them."

"Is this true?" The chieftain turned to Gudrun for an answer.

The old seer nodded.

"And for giants?"

"You have me." Tyr glowered. "Donar will come, too, when I call."

Griswold made little effort to hide his discontent. He wanted miracles, she could tell, but he knew better than to push too hard. "Your presence is more than we could hope for. I thank you, my lord."

Tyr's lips pressed into a thin line. With a growl, he turned to Diana. "You've done more than we expected…again. Thank you."

"
No one
destroys a rowan tree in Greece." Diana curled her fingers into balls. She dug her nails into her palms.

Tyr watched her clench and unclench her fists. An odd expression settled on his face, and he smiled.

She narrowed her eyes. He looked like a man about to get in trouble.

"You're still upset. Your eyes are blazing, your cheeks are pink." He winked. "You look especially lovely."

"What?" She felt heat surge to her face. How could he? Everyone was listening! Was he trying to embarrass her?

Tyr grinned. "Thank the gods the runes sent you!"

She raised a brow, angrier than before, when Gudrun chimed in. "I'm glad I lived to see you. You're more than I hoped for."