Page 14 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)
Revelations and Runes
áki choked on his mouthful of porridge, but managed to recover with a gulp of ale. He wiped his blond beard with the back of his hand and spluttered, “Loki’s balls! No wonder you’re such a bloody beast in battle. You’re one of the úlfhéenar !”
Njord grinned at the Viking he’d grown up with in the village of Bj?rgvin in Norway. The warrior he’d trained with from the age of seven winters, when he’d been sent to foster with the fisherman Kálf. áki was the closest friend Njord had ever had.
“I met them last night in la Forêt du Loup —the Wolf Forest—southeast of the castle,” he said to áki between a bite of porridge and a gulp of ale. “You know the stonecutter with the maimed foot? The one they call Bodo le Bo?teux ? He’s one of them, too. And he knew my father. Brokk Sigurdsson. Leader of the úlfhéenar for King Harald in Norway.” Njord downed the rest of his ale, anxious to train this morning with úlf. Although áki had always been a worthy opponent, úlf—as leader of the úlfhéenar —would be the greatest challenger Njord had ever faced. As a man in the castle courtyard—with shield, axe, and sword. And as a wolf, tonight in la Forêt du Loup , when Njord trained again with the warrior wolves of the úlfhéenar.
“Bodo and Njáll—the tall warrior with long black hair and beard—were with my father Brokk when he died in battle. They promised him they would keep his Dwarven sword hidden from the Dokkálfar who are desperate to find it. Bodo and Njáll are going to take me to reclaim my father’s blade—so that I can fulfill a prophecy. We’ll set sail as soon as Lord Thorfinn returns.” Njord finished his dagmál morning meal of porridge, barley bread, wild strawberries, and skyr.
“I’ll come with you. We leave in two weeks?” áki popped a crust of bread in his mouth and drained his goblet.
“ Nei, I need you to stay here with Jarl Rikard and Lord Thorfinn—once he has returned. You’re my second in command. I need you in charge of our Danish army—to defend the castle and étretat, in case the Count of Soissons decides to attack again while we’re at sea.” Njord rose from the table and strapped on his sword. He knew that áki would be angry with what he was about to say, for the two of them had always trained together, but Njord needed to spar with the alpha wolf of his new pack. “I’m off to train with úlf,” he announced, avoiding áki’s stunned expression. “As one of the úlfhéenar, I need to train with them every day from now on. You can spar with Bjarke, Varg, or Jarl Rikard’s best knight, Halvar. Mayhap even Sk?rde the Scourge, the former Dragon of Denmark.” Njord adjusted his scabbard and armor, flashing a half-hearted smile at his speechless friend. “I’ll see you tonight, já ? In the castle Great Hall, for náttmál .” He clasped áki on the shoulder and headed out the door. Guilt washed over him at the thought of abandoning his closest friend. But he would soon have to fight the Dokkálfar . And úlf, as leader of the úlfhéenar , was the essential trainer for that.
As he crossed the castle courtyard toward the training area, Njord noticed úlf and Njáll sparring with swords, Hrólf Redbeard battling Flóki with bearded axes, and Bodo dueling with a warrior he did not recognize—clad in distinctive armor that he had seen in the Far East on his travels to Constantinople. He must have been one of the thousand warriors who came with our fleet from Denmark. I’ll ask Bodo about him at training tonight in la Forêt du Loup.
úlf excused himself from training with Njáll, who strode across the field to spar with Bjarke. The tall blond leader of the úlfhéenar, came to greet Njord with a predatory, wolfish grin. “ Come, son of Brokk. Let’s see if you’ve inherited your father’s strength and speed. He was the fiercest warrior I’ve ever known.”
úlf lunged suddenly, and Njord blocked the massive blow with his bossed shield, countering with a swift strike of the blunted sword used in practice sessions. úlf’s weapon clashed violently against Njord’s, who parried and swirled into a downward slice. The blond brute deftly evaded or blocked every single thrust, his reflexes even better than Njord’s. Each blow that slammed against his shield reverberated into Njord’s bones.
After an hour of grueling combat, úlf grinned, stepped back, and sheathed his sword. “You are as fine a warrior as your father. I’ll be honored to fight in battle at your side.”
“As will I.” Njord shook úlf’s hand and sheathed his own sword with a proud, hearty grin. He gestured to the unfamiliar warrior across the grassy field. “Who is Bodo sparring with? I don’t recognize him. Do you?”
“ Já , that’s óttarr Skov. He was a Varangian warrior for the Byzantine empire. A mercenary who came from the Far East to Denmark. He sailed here with us on one of the drakkar ships sent by King Harald. He seems to have formed a bond with Bodo. This is the third or fourth time I’ve seen them sparring together. Skov will be a welcome ally in battle. The Varangians have a reputation for ferocity, brutality, and precision.” úlf smirked and slapped Njord on the shoulder. “ Like us .” With a feral grin, he headed off toward the bathhouse with several other warriors who had completed the morning drills and would soon return to work, repairing fortifications on the damaged castle wall.
As Njord crossed the training field to hail Jarl Rikard—who had just finished combat drills with Varg—he was both relieved and saddened to see áki sparring with Halvar, leader of the Duke’s army from Fécamp.
They are well matched. áki is an unparalleled Viking warrior and my second in command. Halvar is the highest-ranking and finest of Jarl Rikard’s Norman knights. A worthy sparring partner to ease the sting of my betrayal.
Another staggering wave of guilt washed over him as áki glared at Njord from the field, daggers in his hurt, angry eyes. Regret and remorse stabbed like a knife as áki blocked Havar’s blow and spun away, dismissing Njord to concentrate on the skilled opponent who would henceforth be his new training partner.
Sighing in grim acceptance, Njord continued across the field toward Jarl Rikard. He wanted to ask the Duke about Lugh, the Ljósálfar Light Elf who had crafted the sword Galadir . The Elven blade stolen by the Count of Soissons that Elfi was determined to reclaim for her brother’s honorable burial in the sacred grove.
“Good morning, Jarl Rikard. Might I have a word?” Njord shook the duke’s powerful grip and nodded respectfully to Varg, who waved goodbye as he headed toward the bathhouse.
“Of course. Is there a problem among the men?” Jarl Rikard scowled, prepared to handle a dispute and mete out justice. Despite being close to fifty winters in age, with silver streaks in his blond hair and beard, Richard the Fearless still had the strength and vigor of a formidable Viking leader and commanding Duke of Normandy.
“ Nei, not at all, my lord. I wanted to ask you about the Ljósálfar, Lugh. The one who crafted Dag’s sword Galadir . He also forged your own Light Elven blade, didn’t he?” Njord eyed the gleaming sword sheathed in the embellished scabbard at the duke’s armored waist.
“Indeed he did.” Richard the Fearless withdrew his blade and handed it to Njord. A glittering gem in the sword hilt sparkled with stellar brilliance in the late summer sun. “ Aragil. It means Noble Star in the ancient language of the Ljósálfar. That brilliant gem is a gildir starstone, like the one in Dag’s sword Galadir. Imbued with Light Elven magic to defend the alabaster coast of Normandy—the realm which Lugh protects from harm.” Jarl Rikard’s weathered face crinkled into a noble grin.
Power thrummed in his calloused hands as Njord held the Light Elven sword. “It is truly magnificent.” He reverently returned the enchanted blade and broached his intended subject. “The volva úvhild foresaw that Lugh would craft Light Elven weapons for Elfi. Do you know how I might reach him?”
“He often comes to our sacred grove to protect the sacred forest and honor our fallen. When I defended my dukedom against the invading Franks—and forced King Lothaire of West Francia to proclaim me the Duke of Normandy—Lugh found me in the sacred grove near my fortress in Fécamp. He gave me Aragil to commemorate my victory and valor. That is also where I found him when I commissioned Lugh to forge Galadir for Elfi’s brother—as a reward to Dag for saving my life in that bloody battle against the Franks.” He sheathed Aragil in the leather scabbard studded with gems. “You’ll find Lugh in the sacred grove near Dag’s burial mound. Elfi’s brother was a valorous Viking who died defending the Pays de Caux . Lugh honors those who protect the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”
“ Takk, Jarl Rikard. I hope to find him there soon. Fardu vel . See you tonight in the Great Hall.” Njord bowed respectfully before Richard and headed toward the castle to meet Elfi. He hoped that the ride into town to visit úlvhild would reveal Elfi’s future. And the role she would play on the sea voyage to ísland when Njord reclaimed his father’s Dwarven sword.
When he entered the castle, his breath hitched at the sight of her.
His bewitching, beguiling betrothed. His fated mate. His siren with the sea goddess eyes.
She was wearing the necklace he’d given her as a bridal gift. The three tiers of blue and green gems highlighted the ocean colors of her eyes and the dark blue of her long linen dress. The trollkors amulet dangled below the necklace, over the bodice of her gathered gown, the lapis lazuli gems sparkling in the sunlight which streamed through the narrow windows. Elfi’s light brown hair cascaded like a waterfall to the curve of her rounded hips, sending a surge of desire through him like a wave crashing against the white chalk cliffs. She was with Sif, arranging an enormous vase of wildflowers while she waited for him. The sweet, floral fragrance blended with the salty breeze floating into the castle over the Narrow Sea. At the sound of his booted footsteps, she spun toward him.
Her radiant, dazzling smile robbed him of breath and coherent thought.
“The horses are saddled. Are you ready to go?” She rushed up to him, filled with anticipation. A delicious thrill shivered up his spine at the excitement in her eager expression.
“You look beautiful. I love the necklace on you. It enhances your sea goddess eyes.” He pulled her to his chest, wrapped his arms behind her waist, and bent down to brush her soft lips with his own. “I’m also glad you’re wearing the trollkors. úlvhild will be pleased as well.”
Elfi said goodbye to Sif. “I’ll be back soon—to put on my armor and fetch my sword.” She grinned up at Njord. “We’re training in the sacred grove this afternoon.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and smiled conspiratorially at her thrall. “Please be sure my amma takes her daily nap.” Elfi winked at Sif, linked her arm through Njord’s, and led him out the castle door.
Two stable hands brought the awaiting horses to them, and Njord boosted Elfi into the saddle before climbing onto his own. With a gentle nudge of his knees, he urged his mount forward, and Elfi’s Friesian trotted along at his side.
When they reached the volva’s distinctive hut, Njord dismounted and helped Elfi down from her saddle. He tethered the two horses to graze in the grassy area behind the small wooden cottage with the thatched roof. When he joined Elfi at the entrance to the hut, úlvhild’s startling blue face and striking black hair greeted them at the carved oaken door.
“ Vel kommin . I am glad to see that you are wearing the trollkors, Lady Elfi. Please, come in .” The volva led them into her dimly lit, eerie abode where the pungent scent of herbs and the sweet smell of smoke mingled with the acrid aroma of a bitter brew simmering in a cauldron over the hearth. Atop a pile of furs on the bed in the back of the room, the black cat Kól watched them enter, his golden eyes glowing in the firelight.
“Have you come to seek another seier vision?” úlvhild seated Elfi and Njord at the table as she settled into an ornately carved chair across from them. She scrutinized Elfi with a trance-like gaze. “I sense a latent power in you. Like the unknown depths of the sea.” Her mystical eyes, as golden as her cat’s, focused on the three tiers of blue and green gemstones draped across Elfi’s slender throat. “And protective spells of enchantment in that stunning necklace as well.”
To dispel the nervousness which made Elfi’s legs tremble against his under the table, Njord squeezed her hand reassuringly as he spoke to úlvhild. “I did seek the stonecutter Bodo as you instructed. He informed me that I must reclaim my father’s Dwarven sword to fulfill a prophecy. And that Elfi must accompany us on the sea voyage, for she plays an essential role in my quest. We’ve come here today, hoping that you might foresee how she will aid me. And what the prophecy entails.”
The volva pushed back the cloak adorned with glittering gems, charms, and feathers which draped her shoulders. She removed a blue linen cloth wrapped around her waist and spread it upon the table before Elfi. úlvhild stroked a leather pouch belted at her waist, caressing the smooth black lambskin with long, slender fingers. “The three Norns—Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—determine our fate,” she murmured, fixing Elfi with a perceptive, penetrating stare as she retrieved her iron staff leaning against the wall near the hearth. “Through galdr magic of divination, I shall call upon them to reveal your destiny as I cast these Nordic runes. The sacred number nine. Three runes, for each of the three Norns.”
While Elfi regarded Njord with eyes widened in wonder, úlvhild began a melodic vardlokkur chant, rhythmically thumping her staff on the rush-strewn earthen floor of the hut like a drum. Inside its silver filigree casing, the moonstone at the tip of her wand glowed with otherworldly light.
The volva tossed a handful of seeds into the blazing fire, the crackle emitting a thick, sweet, spicy smoke, which she deeply inhaled before returning to the table. Her voice ethereal and haunting, úlvhild summoned the protective spirits and deities of divination with her evocative song. Eyes closed, blue face uplifted toward the realm of the Norse gods in Asgard, the Viking seeress swayed with the cadence of her chant. Clutching the black leather pouch close to her heart, she shook the runes, reached into the bag, and—eyes still closed and face uplifted—withdrew three small oval runestones, which she placed one by one upon the blue linen cloth.
Each stone was made of smoothly polished white bone, inscribed with a deeply etched, reddened rune. Njord remembered how úlvhild had imbued galdr magic and three drops of his own blood into the runes on Elfi’s trollkors talisman. No doubt the runes in these oval bones had been etched in blood as well. Mayhap the blood of the volva herself.
“These three runes represent Urd, the Norn who reveals the past.” úlvhild pointed to the first stone on the left. “ Othala , the rune of heritage. A gift that has been passed down to you from your ancestors.” She indicated the second smooth oval in the middle. “ Laguz , the rune of water. The healing essence of sacred springs, waterfalls, and coves. The raw, inherent power of the sea.” The volva’s skeletal fingertip delicately traced the third rune. “ Uruz , for strength, endurance, and untamed potential.” She flashed Elfi a chilling grin. “You have inherited a gift from your ancestors. A power associated with water that you have yet to discover.”
Astonishment and excitement blazed in Elfi’s sea goddess eyes as úlvhild shook the leather pouch and selected three more oval stones. “These are Verdandi’s runes, revealing the present. The first is Dagaz —the dawn. Symbol of awakening, illumination, and enlightenment.” Golden eyes glistening in the firelight, the volva interpreted the second rune. “ Geibo , the gift. You are about to receive an item of tremendous importance. The Ljósálfar weapons crafted from the bones of the sacred white wolf.” She smiled at the third oval stone. “ Algiz , for protection. The trollkors talisman—to defend you from the treacherous troll.” úlvhild’s expression became grave. “I have foreseen that the man who hunts you has allied with the Dokkálfar and a shapeshifting troll. Trolls are especially dangerous, for unlike the Dark Elves, their presence cannot be detected by the preternatural senses of the úlfhéenar. But your talisman will alert you if a Dokkálfar Dark Elf is near, for it will become warm. And—should you come in contact with a troll, the amulet will become very hot, warning you of his presence that even the úlfhéenar cannot detect.”
Elfi’s pretty face froze. “Can I kill a troll with my sword?” Her eyes darted from the volva to Njord. “Both my brother and my betrothed have trained me well.”
“ Nei, a troll can only be killed by a Light Elven or Dwarven blade specifically crafted for that purpose. Or by exposure to sunlight, which turns the Dokkálfar and trolls to stone.” úlvhild rattled the remaining runes in the black velvet pouch and withdrew the three final stones. She laid them side by side on the blue cloth and interpreted Elfi’s future. “For the Norn Skuld , revealing what has not yet come to pass, there is Raidho , the rune for journey. Representing the sea voyage you shall soon undertake. Thurisaz , the thorn, symbolizes the conflict and danger of the Frankish count, the Dokkálfar Dark Elves, and the shapeshifting troll who pursue you. And the last rune, Hagalaz . The wrath of Nature, chaos, and war.”
While Elfi shuddered with the implications of her ominous future, úlvhild strode across the room and selected a vial, a leather pouch, and a gem-encrusted chalice from the cluttered wooden shelves which lined one wall, all the while chanting and thumping her glowing moonstone staff. She placed the items upon a counter near the hearth and leaned her long staff against the wall as she opened the pouch, tossed a handful of berries into the crackling fire, and breathed in the thick, heady fumes. Continuing her eerie, melodic evocation, the volva ladled some of the liquid from her cauldron and poured it into the elaborate silver chalice. She placed a few droplets of liquid from the vial, stirred the contents, and drank the brew from the glittering chalice. Seating herself upon an elevated chair, her blue brow furrowed in contemplation, úlvhild resumed her vardlokkur chant. Deeply inhaling the sweet smoke and humming in an ethereal, otherworldly voice, the Viking volva summoned the spirits between the nine realms as she invoked a seier vision.
“I glimpse a waterfall and a hidden cave. A secluded inlet guarded by a sjóv?ttir sea spirit—a mermaid who was your ancestor.” úlvhild’s eyes rolled back to reveal just the whites, her jaws tightly clenched in a grimace, her skeletal body rocking like a ship in a raging storm. “You must learn to wield your inherited power and summon the strength of the sea. The nine mermaids will teach you. The shapeshifting priestesses of the ?le de Sein. The legendary sea dragon warriors of the Gallizenae .” úlvhild slumped forward, released from the throes of a tempest, and opened her glowing, golden eyes. “One of the Ljósálfar will craft the white wolf weapons. And take you to the ?le de Sein. Through the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove.”
Elfi gasped and spun toward Njord. “That’s the cave that Dag and I discovered as children. I go there every day after my dance with swords—to play Dag’s flute. So that my music honors him in Valhalla.”
Njord arose from the table to help the unsteady volva descend slowly from her elevated chair. He guided úlvhild back to her seat across from Elfi.
The seeress beamed at Njord, her blue face serene and sublime. “That is how you may summon the Ljósálfar who defends the Pays de Caux. The Light Elf who will forge the white wolf weapons prophesied to protect your fated mate. Lugh is drawn to Elfi’s beautiful music. He often comes to the cave to hear her play.”
Elfi leapt to her feet, her face alight with joy. She grasped the volva’s bony, catskin-gloved hands. “Thank you for revealing my fate. I cannot wait to meet the Ljósálfar who will craft the white wolf weapons. Or the nine mermaids of the ?le de Sein who will teach me to use my inherited gift.”
Njord rose from the table and adjusted his belted sword. “ Takk, úlvhild. Thank you for casting the runes and invoking a seier vision. Now I understand why Elfi is essential for the upcoming voyage. She will learn to control the sea!”
“Her mother was a sjóv?ttir sea spirit. One of the nine billow maidens with the power of the ocean’s waves. A mermaid, like the Gallizenae priestesses of the ?le de Sein. They will teach Elfi about her heritage. And how to wield her innate power as a daughter of the sea . ”
The black cat jumped off the bed and curled around the legs of Elfi’s long, dark blue gown. Kól’s contented purr was a deafening roar in Njord’s sensitive lupine ears.
Elfi stroked the cat’s silky black fur while Njord handed úlvhild a few silver coins. With a deep intake of breath and a glorious smile, Elfi hooked her arm through his. Said goodbye to the purring pet and the Viking volva . And walked with Njord out the carved oaken door.