calamities of the season, including the lightning storm that killed two innocent youths.
Erling warriors were not, by collective disposition, inclined to nuanced debate when resolving matters of this sort. Sturla One-hand might have been more thoughtful than most, but he’d lost his hand (and achieved some wealth) raiding overseas. You didn’t ponder when attacking a village or sanctuary. You drank a lot beforehand, prayed to Ingavin and Thünir, and then fought and killed—and took home what you found in the fury and ruin you shaped.
An axe and sword were perfectly good responses to treachery, in his view. And they would serve the useful additional purpose of displaying Sturla’s resolution, early in what he hoped would be a prosperous tenure as governor of the isle.
Iord the seer and her five most senior companions were taken from the compound early the next morning, stripped naked (bony and slack-breasted, all of them, hags fit for no man), bound to hastily erected posts in the field near the cairn stone where the two youngsters had died.
When they came for her, the seer tried—babbling in terror—to say that she’d deceived young Thorkellson. That she’d only pretended to cast a spell for him, had sent him back into town to be found.
Sturla One-hand had not lived so many years by being a fool. He pointed out that the lad had not been found. So either the seer was lying, or the boy had seen through her deception. And though young Thorkellson had been known to be good with blade and hammer (Red Thorkell’s son would be, wouldn’t he?), he was barely grown. And where was he? And the horse? She had her magic, what answer would she give?
She never did answer.
The six women were stoned to death, the members of the two feuding families invited to throw—standing together—the first volleys of stone and rock, as the most immediately aggrieved. The wives and maidens joined the men, one of the times they were permitted to do that. It took some time to kill six women (stoning always did).
The ale was good that night and the next, and a second ship from Alrasan in the south—where they worshipped the stars—appeared in the harbour two days later, come to trade, a clear blessing of Ingavin.
The yellow-haired girl from the mainland had stood at the edges of the stoning ground; they’d made the younger ones from the compound come watch. She’d had a fearsome serpent coiled about her body, darting a venomous tongue. She was the only one not terrified of it. No one stood near her as they watched the old women die. The governor couldn’t remember (he’d drunk a good deal that day and night) just how he’d learned about her having been bitten back in the spring. Perhaps she had told him herself.
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