The three friends succeeded in slipping back into the ville without anyone having noticed their absence. Ryan passed the news of the hidden stone to J.B., Jak and Doc. "Had to be blood. Had to be some kind of sacrifice. I figure it as another reason to shake dust off this place."
Doc was most concerned at hearing about the slab of hewn granite out on the hillside above the lake. "I agree we should make haste to depart from here, gentlemen. Primitive societies have all manner of unsuspected totems, and human sacrifice would not appear to be out of character here. We saw the symbolic burning of the three prisoners."
"Tad more'n symbolic, Doc," J.B. said. "Looked like a real fire to me."
Doc tsked-tsked as though J.B. were a precocious student at a Harvard seminar. "The deaths were real. But the use of the human-shaped wicker figures turned them into symbols. I have noticed with some alarm that Jak here appears to be some kind of totem person to the villagers — I think because of his very white hair and pale skin. Several of the thralls make a detour to avoid walking through his shadow." He paused and looked toward the doorway of their hut. "Of greater concern is that they clearly regard our new freezie companion, Mildred, as the dark side of the same coin. If anything goes wrong I could imagine they might seek a scapegoat. And it might be Mildred."
It was one of the longest speeches Ryan had ever heard the old man make, and it was totally free of his usual slight confusion.
"You say that they think Jak's a sort of god and Mildred is..."
"A black demon. Yes. I think we should make our move before something else goes awry and we, the outlanders, are conveniently around to be blamed."
During that morning, two young children died in Markland.
The screams began around noon, and came from one of the huts near the forest. Ryan and the others were sitting outside, enjoying the sunshine, when Erik Stonebiter walked by, his face drawn with tension.
"What's happening?" Jak called.
The Viking hesitated, but didn't look at the albino teenager. He talked past him toward the lake, his eyes flickering nervously. "It's the bloody flux again. The wisewoman said Odin and Freya would punish us for taking in the... your dark woman. Said ill would come from it."
"Who's ill?" J.B. asked. "Sounds like a woman screaming. Or a child."
"Two skraelings.Little ones. Sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, who was kin to the ale maker whose house this hut once was. The men often went off together with Ragnar's children. Harald would carry kegs of fresh spring water, and Ragnar would fish in the same river."
Ryan glanced at the Armorer. Two families rad-sick and this common link. If the friends had had more time and far more desire, it would have been interesting to go along the coast and visit this strange and dangerous place for themselves.
"What is wrong with them?" Doc asked.
"I said it was the flux. Their bowels run blood and they vomit up everything they're given to eat. Both children have lost teeth, and their skin is covered in a dreadful rash."
Ryan had seen enough examples of rad poisoning around flaring hot spots to recognize the unmistakable symptoms. "Can..."
His words were interrupted by a tremor in the ground. From far off came a deep rumbling sound, like a convoy of laden wags grinding below their feet. Dogs barked and the burning logs on the main village fire toppled noisily in a fountain of exploding sparks. Ryan looked beyond the beach and saw that the surface of the lake was covered in fine ripples, as though a bowl of soup had been shaken by a careless hand.
A black-backed gull that had been perching on top of the longhouse flew squawking into the air, circled the ville once then vanished toward the far west.
"What!" Jak exclaimed. "Fucking earthquake!"
"The hammer of Thor strikes at Earth Mother," Erik said. "It happens four or five times every year. A few months ago there was a bad trembling and some huts fell. This was small."
There was a brief aftershock, and then the earth was still again. The dogs stopped howling and Markland slipped quickly back to normal — except for the thin screams of the sick children.
Ryan recalled what he'd been about to say when the small quake had interrupted him. "Can we help the sick?" he asked.
"No. The wisewoman is with them and will do what can be done."
"Burn a few chicken feathers and rub some pig fat on them." Doc snorted contemptuously. "At least let Mildred see them. She's a qualified doctor, you know."
"Leave it, Doc," Ryan cautioned.
"But if we can do some good, Ryan, my dear fellow, then surely..."
"No. Mildred looks and then they die, like rad-sick kids most likely will. Who gets the blame, Doc?"
"Ah. Point taken."
"And she won't have much in the way of medicine," J.B. added.
Erik looked from face to face, carefully avoiding Jak's ruby eyes. "What is this Mildred? The black nonman?"
"You could call her that," Ryan said. "But it's best your wisewoman cares for the kids."
Something happened then to the volume and pitch of the screaming, but Ryan couldn't immediately identify what it was. Jak's hearing was sharp and he picked it up first. "One dead," he announced. "Other's sinking. Go soon."
Jorund Thoraldson came out of the hut where the sick children were being tended and looked quickly around his steading. He spotted Ryan and the others, and took a few steps in their direction. He hesitated, then continued on.
"The older boy has gone to the gods," he said, "and his brother treads fast upon his heels."
"I'm sorry," Ryan said.
"Will the young whitehead look at the living boy?" the karl asked. "He can touch him and bring his own blessing, as the chosen one. Will he help our sick skraelings?
"What's say?" Jak asked.
"He wants you to go and cure the sick and raise the dead," Doc replied angrily. "Just a normal morning for a god."
"Doc!" Ryan warned. "Keep that mouth under control or, better still, keep it shut."
Erik Stonebiter turned away, staring across the lake, the water now placid and mirror calm after the brief quake.
"Things go ill here, outlander," he said to Ryan. "I am not one who will lay blame at your door. But I tell you this..." he looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to overhear. "...I fear that there are others who will. Many who will."
Seconds later the screaming died away in a drawn-out bubbling moan.
A noon meal wasn't brought to Ryan and his companions. They kept to their hut, making sure their weapons were primed and ready. Through the open door they saw that the ville was almost deserted. There had been an outburst of keening from the women shortly after the death of the second child. Since then the steading had been quiet. Everyone seemed to have retreated to their own homes.
"I'll go scout some food," J.B. said. His chron showed one-thirty in the afternoon.
"Why not?" Ryan agreed. "But we'll all go. Mebbe get to Krysty and Mildred. I don't like being separated from them. There's a real bad gut feeling about all this."
"No," Jak said from the doorway. "Baron and Krysty and freezie coming."
Jorund had a couple of the elders of the ville with him. Krysty and Mildred walked at his heels, followed by half a dozen kitchen thralls, carrying bedding and cooking pots.
"Looks like they are about to be moved in with us," Doc observed. "I wonder whether that is a good omen or not."
Doc's supposition was correct, and his concern was also confirmed.
Jorund Thoraldson stood in their doorway, signaling everyone else to remain outside. His face was grim and he was perspiring heavily, though the afternoon was cool. "Your women must come to stay with you," he said. "It has been decided. The wisewoman has cast runes. The red thread and the rowan sprig tell a sad tale, outlanders."
"I was sorry to hear that two young children had died," Ryan said.
"It was a sorry day that ever you came to the steading of Markland," the baron replied.
"There was the sickness long before we came here," J.B. said, anger creeping into his usually calm voice.
Thoraldson shook his head. "I will not argue. It has been decided that you will remain here. None of you must leave this hut, but for the exercise of your bodily needs. Any attempt to depart from Markland will be looked upon as hard and treasonous."
"For how long?" Ryan asked.
"A day. Two, perhaps."
Ryan knew with total certainty that the tall Norseman was lying.
"Then what?" J.B. asked, taking off his glasses to polish them. He glanced at Ryan, showing his own disbelief.
"Then the wisewoman will cast the runes again. And it may be that the light will come again."
The baron turned away. Doc looked as if he were about to argue, but Ryan spotted him and quickly held a finger to his own lips. Doc shook his head in disgust.
Jorund Thoraldson paused, then turned back to them. "We give you back the black woman. It may be we shall have need of the white-haired boy. A small thing, only."
Then he was gone, calling out orders to the thralls, and gesturing Mildred and Krysty to join their friends.
Only when the six companions were left alone did they talk. And the talk was brief.
Ryan told the woman what the baron had said to them. "You know about that bloody altar up in the woods. We've all gotten the feeling that they regard Jak here as some kind of mysterious stranger-god, and that Mildred is evil on the hoof."
"Story of my life." She grinned.
Doc cleared his throat. "Are you suggesting, my dear Ryan, that these Viking throwbacks might somehow wish to sacrifice this lady to their pagan gods? And use young Jak here as their chosen instrument on earth? Is that it?"
"Yeah. In a cartridge case, that's it."
"So, we go?" J.B. asked.
"Yeah."
And that was the end of the discussion. The plan of escape took only a little longer.
The ville was ringed by sentries at night, guarding against another sneak attack from the muties. But the central area, near the beach, was left unguarded. The large fire was allowed to smolder during the hours of darkness. There was a quarter moon, mostly hidden behind banks of tattered cloud. Though none of the companions had much experience on water, they had all agreed that the ships offered their best chance. The plan was to push off and make their way eastward, keeping close to land to avoid becoming lost. They'd strike inland at the first hint of dawn and head for the high ridge to the south. With luck the friends would get over the top before any pursuit could get close.
Jak left the hut first, his white hair covered by a hacked piece of blanket. J.B. followed, ready to move in fast at any sign of trouble. Doc and Mildred were third and fourth, with Krysty at their heels. Ryan brought up the rear.
There was no point in their stealing one of the fifty-foot-long dragon-ships. It would have been utterly impossible for so few to handle one. But there were several smaller boats, narrow, with single oars, and lying low in the water.
The ville was asleep; not even a dog stirred. They reached the lower part of the beach safely, though Ryan winced at the noise their feet made on the shingle. They reached one of the small boats, its oars neatly stacked inside. Jak took up a position in the stern, alert for any threat, while the others climbed aboard. Ryan and J.B. were last and set their shoulders to the task of moving the craft off the grating pebbles.
Very slowly they began to float away from the Viking ville.