That brought the rest of the grown folk in for the evening meal-which for a Yule feast started in midafternoon. ?We drink sumbel this evening,? Bjarni said to Rudi when it was well under way and his wife was away putting their daughter to bed. ?You know that custom??

Rudi nodded.?My half sisters? mother, Signe, is a follower of your Gods and so are many of her folk,? he said.?I?ve been at sumbel in Larsdalen, and the other Bearkiller holds. Perhaps you do it a bit differently, though.? He grinned.?For a start, they like to drink it with wine; they?ve many fine vineyards there. The western side of the Willamette is better for the grape.?

Bjarni sighed.?I?ve never drunk wine, except a few bottles found by Vikings… salvagers. They sound like an interesting lot, these Bearkillers of yours. With a fine fair land.?

Then Bjarni?s smile grew crooked:?Perhaps they?re more interesting in a tale of far away than as neighbors!? ?They?re not my Bearkillers, as Lady Signe would be the first to tell you! Though I?ve many friends among them, my uncle Eric for one, and my blood father?s young namesake by Signe is a very likely lad. And they are a warlike lot,? Rudi admitted.?But only in a cause they think righteous.?

Bjarni snorted.?I?ve seen a fair number of fights, Rudi Mikesson, over matters great and small. But never one yet where both sides didn?t think they?d rightful cause to bash the other.? ?A point, a very palpable point,? Rudi agreed.?But I?m certain and sure they were always wrong if they fought against you, my friend!?

Bjarni bellowed laughter.?True!?

Harberga returned.?Swanhild?s sleeping hard,? she said.?They do, at that age,? she added to Rudi. ?That they do!? ?You don?t have children yet, surely?? she asked, her eyes flicking to Mathilda. ?No, but the little lass reminds me of my youngest sister at that age. Fiorbhinn will be turning ten now; it?s a grief to me to miss so much of her life in the swift-changing years. Her hair and eyes are just that shade, and she was always active as a squirrel, until she drops in her tracks.? ? Fiorbhinn,? Harberga said, as if tasting it.?A pretty name. What does it mean?? ? True-Sweet, in the old tongue,? Rudi replied.?After a famous harp, you see. And well named, for she could sing true almost as soon as she could talk at all. And Swanhild?? ?Swan-battle. Also well named, especially since she learned the word no!?

The last remains of pies and pastries were cleared away, the last children not quite old enough for the ceremony shepherded off to their beds, and horns and horn rests were set out-like Bearkillers, the Bjornings considered that the proper vessel for solemn toasts, oaths and boasts. Four youths and four maidens brought in a litter; on it was a gold-sheathed wooden image of a boar done life-size, with the tusks of a real one and a wrought golden ring in its mouth. They carried it around the inside of the long rectangle of the tables, and folk did it reverence.

When the golden boar was set before the chieftain?s seat, Rudi noticed that it stood in a wooden tray of dirt. ?That?s earth from the first hof?-which meant temple, more or less-?of the Bjorning kindred, that my father brought north and mixed with the soil here at the land-taking,? Bjarni said.?We swear all the greater oaths on this boar, the Oath-Swine of the Bjornings.? ?That?s a strong rite,? Rudi agreed. ?Yes, it?s the holiest we have; and this the season for the most powerful oaths.?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Father Ignatius politely taking his leave, and frowning a little when Mathilda and Odard shook their heads and stayed. Rudi wasn?t too concerned; he?d gathered that there were still some Christians around here, and that they came to this type of ceremony, if not the blot -sacrifices. It would be difficult to be a member of the community if you didn?t.

Bjarni rose and spoke: ?Bjornings and guests! Now we drink sumbel; to the Gods, in memory of the ancestors, and to make boast and oath. Take care when you do, for to make oath before all is to lay your words in the well of Wyrd, binding the fate of all. My uncle Ranulf Waltersson shall be thul of this sumbel? An older warrior in his forties nodded, with his arms crossed across his tunic; he was darker and leaner than his nephew, but had a family look of him.

– ?and none shall dispute his judgments. Let the Valkyries fill the horns!?

Harberga and Gudrun led a group of women-kin of the chief, for this was a duty of honor and high regard-to pour mead from the pitchers they carried. Most of the drinking so far had been ale, and usually not very strong ale at that; this mead was heady, smelling of flowering meadows gone, and itself a boast of sorts-being made from honey it was expensive in this land where life lay sparely, and only a great chief could bestow it so lavishly.

Bjarni?s horn was bound and tipped with rune-graven gold, and bore a carving of a woman carrying a horn to a man who rode a chariot pulled by goats. He held it high: ?I drink to Odin, to Freyr and Freyja, to Njord, to almighty Thor, and to all the Gods and Goddesses. Hail, Aesir, hail Asynjur!? ?Wassail!?

Rudi raised his horn and drank; the mead was dry and strong, and left a slight catch at the back of his throat. There was nothing in his faith that forbade it. Some of the dwellers signed the Hammer over their horns before they lifted them; a few used the Cross. Some touched the mead with a finger and then their foreheads rather than drinking; Harberga did, he noticed, probably for the unborn babe?s sake.

Bjarni lifed his horn again:?I drink to our ancestors, who made Norrheim with their might, their main, their craft and luck. Most of all, I drink to my father, Erik Waltersson, Erik the Strong. Drink hail!? ?Wassail!?

The Bjorning chieftain paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was matter-of-fact. ?Most of you were here when the seidhkona took the high seat last night. Through her the Allfather spoke, and laid a duty on all those who would stand with the Gods to aid our guest, Rudi Mikesson of the Mackenzies, called Artos, Son of Bear and Raven.?

He stepped down from the dais and laid his free hand on the golden ring clenched in the jaws of the gilt boar; there was a tense hush, for that was the oath-ring of their folk. Swearing on it bound doubly. ?As first bragarfull, I swear to make Rudi Mackenzie my blood brother; to have the same friends and the same enemies, to give each other sanctuary without stint, to share our goods, to foster each other?s children at need, and each to avenge the other?s death on any foe and give him his rites if he falls on foreign soil. This I swear by almighty Thor.?

His uncle Ranulf stood; the thul could object to an oath.?You swear more than you can perform, Bjarni Eriksson, for blood brotherhood needs the will of two. Will our guest support your oath??

Rudi nodded.?I will,? he said, calmly but forcefully.

He rose as well, and they stood facing one another across the golden boar. He drew the sgian dubh from his sock-hose and nicked the flesh at the base of his right thumb. Bjarni did the same with his seax. They clasped hands, letting the blood mingle, then raised them to allow a drop to fall on the holy earth; then each ran a drop into his mead horn and offered it to the other to drink through linked arms. ?Drink hail!? ?Wassail!?

A murmur ran through the hall as the two resumed their seats; the oath bound the Bjornings as a whole, through their chief. Rudi thought most of them were satisfied; he was himself. Bjarni was a man you could trust to have your back; their acquaintance had been brief, but intense.

A young woman stood and raised her horn. The looks and exclamations and a few gasps told him that this was not expected. ?I drink to Odin, Lord of Ravens,? she said.?And I ask him to witness the oath I shall make.?

It was as if the room held its breath. Rudi recognized the girl who?d asked after her man Sigurd at the divination, though she looked to have aged a decade in a day.