On the Cold Coasts

of a whip.
    “I confess, I confess that I forced her will and hurt her,” blubbered the man on the floor. “God in heaven knows that I regret it. Just tell me, Father, what I must do to repent.”
    “It is not for me to order your punishment. You must make your confession to the bishop and perform the penance that he gives you.”
    Thorlakur stopped sniffling and looked up, alarmed. “Never. That foreign monk might just as well have me whipped at the church doors like a common criminal!”
    Thorkell shrugged. “Perhaps. But you don’t have many options.”
    Silence, save for the soft wailing from beneath the floor.
    “Release me from this torment, and I will do whatever you order me to do,” said the butler miserably and looked down again at the boots of the priest. Ragna said nothing, simply observed the expressions of the two men and sensed something unsaid, something that they both knew.
    “Go to Grenjadarstadur and tell your brother Jon the truth. He can impose the appropriate penance. Let me have it in writing that you have left this post of your own free will, and I shall speak to Mr. Craxton on your behalf.”
    Thorlakur clambered to his feet. “And what about Brynhildur?”
    “I will conjure her into the grave when you are gone from this place.”
    The butler glanced at Ragna. “What about her?”
    “She is a witness to our agreement,” Thorkell replied. “She will keep quiet if you keep your end of the bargain.”
    “But I—” Ragna began, stopping short when Thorkell looked at her sharply. He produced a scrap of vellum and handed it to the butler. A strange circular symbol was drawn on it, with hooks extending outward in all directions.
    “Place this symbol on the headboard where you sleep,” he said. “That will strengthen the force of the exorcism and help keep the spirit away from you.”
    “Yes, sir.”

    Butler Thorlakur Palsson left Holar without bidding farewell to a single person. He did, however, leave behind a letter for the bishop in which he explained his departure, saying that he was needed by his brother’s side at Grenjadarstadur and was thus forced to give up his post at Holar without the proper termination notice. That same night, ignes fatui and flashes of lightning were seen above Brynhildur’s grave to the north of the churchyard, and clumps of earth were said to have been hurled into the air, the apparition like a lightning ball that hurtled across the earth and brought ill tidings.
    Someone could be seen out there, wearing a cloak, and the apparition vanished.
    Ragna remained silent about all she had heard and seen. She almost told His Grace the bishop the whole story, but decided against it in the end. What business was it of hers if he decried Thorlakur for his desertion and the bad blood intensified between Grenjadarstadur and Holar? Why should she help defend such a violator? Perhaps she also felt somewhat privileged to have the confidence of Thorkell Gudbjartsson, a man who held such sway over people’s souls, both here on earth and on the other side.

MY FLESH LONGS FOR YOU
    Never before had so many guests been invited to the Yule celebrations at Holar. Nearly three hundred people came to spend the holidays with the bishop and the chapter. Yet that was not the only thing that was memorable about the event. There was also a general feeling of joy, of people allowing themselves to hope that the coming year would bring good fortune. The winter had been surprisingly mild, just like the last one. Many had prospered from the Great Plague—one man’s misery is another man’s fortune—and in many a weary heart stirred the hope that toil and hardship were behind them for the time being, that surely the Almighty could see that this tiny nation in the northern seas had atoned enough.
    The violent acts of English ship crews during the recent fishing season could hardly be taken into account, and anyway, those were the deeds of men, and had nothing to do with divine powers. Tales of stolen fish and the kidnapping of children were exchanged at the Yule feast, and there was as much discontent over these tidings as ever. Some, including Thorsteinn from Akrar, maintained that the children had not been taken by force, but rather that the poor had simply handed them over in return for flour and other commodities. They had done this to save the rest of their brood from starvation. Some had even willingly joined the English. Be that as it may, most agreed that Bishop