(A short story of love, magic and revenge)
Far over the seas in Orkney, Swanhild, old Atli the Earl’s wife, stood naked in a chalked circle on the stone floor of her chamber. A sliver of pale moonlight lit her face, her shoulder and her upturned breasts, — yet the feeble light could not dispel all the darkness — nor did she want it to — for dark deeds are best done in an absence of light!
Standing naked on the cold stone she looked with wide eyes towards the sea. It was midnight. No one stirred in Atli’s hall — but still Swanhild looked out towards the wave-tossed waters.
Slowly she turned and spoke into the darkness, for there was no light in the bower save the sliver of moon and the light of her great eyes.
“Art thou there?” she said. “I have summoned thee thrice in the words thou knowest. Say, Toad, art thou there?”
“Ay, Swanhild the Fatherless! Swanhild, Groa’s daughter! Witch-mother’s witch-child! I am here. What is thy will with me?” said a high, thin voice out of the darkest corner of the room.
Swanhild shuddered a little and her eyes grew bright like a cat’s.
“This first,” she said: “that thou show thyself. Hideous as thou art, I had rather see thee, than speak seeing thee not.”
“Mock not my form, lady,” answered the thin voice, “for I appear as thou dost fashion me in thy mind.
To the good I am as fair as a sunny day, but to the evil, I appear as foul as their own heart. ‘Toad’ thou didst call me — so a ‘toad’ I will be!”
Swanhild looked, and behold! A ring of darker darkness swirled and flashed in front of her, and in it crouched a truly hideous thing to see! Its eyes bulged like glittering lumps of coal, and its skin was a wet, dirty yellow. It frowned and leaned forward. Swanhild shrank from it.
“Grey Wolf thou didst call me once, Swanhild, when thou wouldst have thrust Gudruda down Goldfoss Falls, and as a grey wolf I came, and gave thee counsel that thou tookest but ill. Rat didst thou also call me once, when thou wouldst save Brighteyes from the spearmen of Ospa, and as a rat I came and helped thee walk the seas. Toad thou callest me now, and as a toad I creep about thy feet. Ask of me what thy will, Swanhild — and I will name my price. But be swift about it, for there are other witchy maids and toothless old hags whose bidding I must do ere the blinding light of dawn.”
“Thou art indeed hideous to look on!” said Swanhild, placing her hand before her eyes.
“Say not so, dark maid; say not so! Look closely at this face of mine. Knowest thou it not? The great toad’s face slowly took on that of an old woman. “It is thy mother’s. Dead Groa lent it me. I took it from where she lies in her grave. As for my toad’s mottled skin, I drew that from thy spotted heart.
But Swanhild, if thou would be as wise as thou art wicked, harken now to my reed. In a not-too-distant time, more hideous than I am now shalt thou soon be — as once, long ago, I was more fair than thou art now.”
