Swanhild opened her lips to shriek, but no sound came.
“Troll!” she finally hissed. “Foul thing from the fiery pit! Mock me not with your lies, but hearken to my bidding! Where sails Eric now?!”
Her mother’s dead face split into a hideous smile. “Look out into the night, lady, and thou shall see thy love.”
Swanhild looked, and the ways of the darkness opened before her witch-sight. There at the mouth of Pentland Firth the longship ‘Gudruda’ labored heavily in the great seas, and by the tiller stood Eric, and with him his sword-brother Skallagrim Grimson.
“Seest thou thy black heart’s desire?” asked Toad the Familiar.
“That I do,” she answered. “Full clearly. He is worn with wind and sea, but more glorious than aforetime! And his hair is wondrously long! Sayest true, Toad, I charge thee! What shall befall Eric if thou aidest him not?”
The death-mask’s smile widened. “This, Cold Heart — that Eric Brighteyes shall pass without further harm up Pentland Firth, for the gale lessens and the seas grow quiet. He will winter well in the Farey Isles, and, with the coming of spring, he will quit those rocky shores and sail home to Gudruda’s loving arms.”
“And what canst thou do, foul Goblin, to prevent that coming to pass?”
“This, black-hearted lady; I can lure Eric’s ship to wreck, and give his comrades, all save Skallagrim, to Ran’s cold net. And, for a price, I can also bring the hero Brighteyes to thy own grasping arms, Swanhild, witch-mother’s witch-child!”
She hearkened well and her breast heaved and her eyes flashed. “And what is thy price for all this, Toad?”
“Thou art the price, lady!” croaked the Familiar. “I shall give to thee thy dark heart’s desire — the love, body and soul of Eric Brighteyes — but when thy days are done and your sands have all run out, then thou shalt give thyself to me!”
The toad seemed to chuckle — a sound that pierced Swanhild’s cold heart.
“And merrily indeed will we Blood-sisters dwell in cold Hela’s halls! And fare about the earth on moonless nights, doing such dark tasks as this one of thine thou commandest me! Together we shall work wicked woe on others — till, in the end, in the fullness of Time, the last woe is worked on us! Art thou content with this offer, Swanhild, bastard daughter of Groa The Witch?”
Swanhild thought long — sure yet unsure of her answer. Twice her breath went from her lips in great sighs, but still she stood silent.
Finally the Familiar spoke again, its tone now mocking. “Come, come, great sorceress. I have other dark deeds to do this night, and the cock crows early in these northern lands! Think on this and decide! If you will not pay my price, then safely shall Eric reach the shore. Safely shall he winter in the Farey Isles — and safely in the Spring shall he come to lie in white Gudruda’s loving arms. Think of it, lady! His body, his touch, his passion. Picture it all in thy mind’s eye and tell me true — art thou now content with my offer?”
