Читать книгу Kama - Terese Brasen - Страница 11

3

The next day, Katerine watched a crow as it landed in the shutter. She saw its beady eyes. It had come to warn her. God had seen too much sin. Naked men and women lusting after each other. The snow had come early. It would continue to fall. She imagined Kama in the forest. There are eyes like bright flames between the trees. The stares flare up and consume the woods. Kama cannot run fast enough. The passage to Hedeby was fraught with such danger. Katerine could see what others couldn’t. Her knife sliced through the onion. Cut marks marred the wooden board. Her mind would not be still. In her thoughts, she saw Sigtrygg and heard his words: Nothing has changed.

In the spring, the melting snow would flood all of Kiev. She understood the crow’s glance. She saw the waters rising. It washes through the streets. It pours in through shutters. It drowns the citizens of Kiev and silences their cries.

Katerine remembered the words again. Nothing has changed. His words yanked at her. Every thought ran back to him and his insistence. If nothing changed, she was doomed. She would go hungry again. Sleep under benches. Dress in rags. Beg for scraps. The black bird peered inside. Its feathers were very blue in the light. Why could nothing change? Katerine hacked the onion into tiny pieces. She kept seeing his face. She watched his mouth open and close. The words fell out. Nothing has changed. What did he mean? So much had changed. But not for the better. He had switched from bold Sigtrygg to cowardly Sigtrygg—Sigtrygg son of Astrid the Dane. He had changed and now he couldn’t change back, he said.

The crow’s eyes met her own. Whose spirit had taken the shape of a bird and was now inspecting her situation? What was it saying? She didn’t need to ask. I will do as you say, she told the bird. She would stop the evil that blustered into Kiev and brought with it lust and danger. She threw the onions in the bubbling cauldron. Next she would chop the herbs. First she shook each dried bunch over the pot, letting loose leaves fall into the broth. Then she worked fast, moving the sharp metal over stems until they became powdery pieces. She scooped the herbs up with the side of the blade and tossed them into the stew.

She needed to sit for a while. Sigtrygg found the flavors of Constantinople irresistible. Only she could recreate them. She closed her eyes. Now was the time. The crow cawed. She couldn’t wait for summer and Astrid. The real danger was now.