devious afoot?
Lut stared at the book in a kind of delicious agony. If he opened it, his questions would be answered. As a master seer, he reasoned, he above all was equipped to deal with such knowledge. The whispers of the gods had passed through him countless times; the book before him was just a more detailed version of those godly pronouncements. So what was the harm in taking a peek? He knew full well what the harm would be. And yet . . .
With a trembling hand he reached for the bookâand all at once its cover flew open and a sudden wind blew up, howling and whipping at the pages, turning them from front to back. Staring agape, Lut was further amazed to see that the wind seemed to be blowing only over the book and nowhere else in the room. His own robe, so close to the funnel of wind, was completely unruffled. Then the pages abruptly stopped turning and the book lay open before him, beckoning, a shaft of golden light shining on a certain spot in the center of the right-side page. Drawing a breath, Lut moved nearer and peered down at the book . . . and what he saw so astonished him, he nearly fell over dead.
His mother had gone on a visit to a neighboring village, so Dane found his own house empty and quiet, and after stoking the hearth fire, he fell deeply asleep, the perilous events of the past few days having physically and mentally drained him.
When next he awoke, the room was bathed in light. He turned over and was thrilled to see Astrid floating there above the floor, her body luminescent, her hair and feathered cloak rippling in a breeze that Dane could not feel. âIt was you who took the book, wasnât it, Dane?â Her voice was eerily flat, emotionless, and for a moment Dane thought he was dreaming. âWhere is the book, Dane? You must give it to me.â
âFirst you must be freed from your oath. Thatâs why I took itâso the Norns would change your fate.â
He saw her face flash in anger, but just as quickly she softened. âIf you give me the book, I will return it. This will so please the Norns, Iâm sure they will free me from my oath.â
âDo you still love me?â
âDane, there will be time later for all that,â she said with impatience. âIf you love me , you will do as I ask.â
âAstrid, why arenât you wearing the locket?â
Her hand shot to her neck, feeling it missing. âI . . . am not permitted to wear such ornamentsââ
âYou were wearing it in Asgard.â
Her eyes narrowed into slits. âDo you know how I will suffer if the book is not returned?â A thick black worm, squirming and glistening with slime, coiled around her ghostly-white neck. âNiflheim is the lair of all that is corrupt and foul. And you will dwell there with me!â A writhing mass of the beslimed worms coiled around her arms and legs, her face erupting in boils, bursting with pus.
Dane bolted for the door, but the floor gave way and suddenly he was sunk knee-deep in sandâand it was moving, for a hole had opened beneath Astrid and the sand was being sucked down into it as if his house was the top half of an hourglass. âOur time is running out, Dane!â the figure screeched, her mouth a gaping hole of black, rotten stumps. âGive me the book!â
Dane desperately clawed against the moving tide of sand, fighting to keep from getting pulled under. âNever! You are not Astrid!â
There was a splintering crash. He looked up to see Jarl and Lut standing in the open doorway. Jarl held the book and Lut held a lighted oil lamp. âEnough trickery, Skuld!â Lut thundered. âDane will not submit!â Jarl dropped the book and Lut stood over it, ready to pour oil from the lamp onto it. âStop or the book burns.â
âYou wouldnât dare!â she screeched.
Lut let drop a trickle of oil onto the cover, lowering the flame to it. âReveal yourself now!â In an