Page 28 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)
Sólrún
The cawing of gulls and the crashing of waves awakened Elfi to the dim, lavender light of dawn. Njord smiled, stretched his long limbs, and reached for her. But just as Elfi prepared to welcome him into her warm, willing body, three knocks sounded upon the door.
Njord groaned in frustration as Elfi slipped from the bed, quickly donning her chemise and gown. He pulled on his linen hose and breeches, rose to his feet, and kissed the back of her neck. “Bodo and I could meet you in the tunnel again tonight. I can never get enough of you.” He murmured into her ear. “My siren with the sea goddess eyes.”
Elfi swirled around to face him, thrilled at the idea of another night together. “Let’s do it! Each night, until we leave for ísland.”
Eyes as enticing as the turquoise sea, he flashed her a dazzling grin as he donned his tunic, pulled on his boots, and strapped his sword at his hip.
Elfi opened the door to greet a smiling Sif and a beaming Bodo.
Sif lingered in her lover’s arms before finally slipping into the quiet chamber.
Njord kissed Elfi goodbye. “See you tonight at náttmál . You can tell me all about the visit with úlvhild.” He kissed her hand, a fierce, protective gleam in his dark lupine eyes. “Wear your trollkors and white wolf weapons. And bring at least four armored guards.” Seemingly satisfied with Elfi’s nod of consent, he departed with his úlfhéeinn companion.
Sif swirled in a circle, her skirts fluttering like wings, as she hummed in content. “When your faeir returns, I hope to purchase my freedom.” She patted a small pouch hooked to the belt at her waist. “Bodo has given me eighty silver pennies. Twice the value of a female thrall. If Lord Thorfinn accepts it, I shall be a free woman. And Bodo and I can marry. In one of the mass Viking weddings on Frigg’s Day.” She hugged Elfi tight, swaying back and forth. “I can bear his children. Be a wife and mother. Oh, Elfi, I pray that your father says yes!”
Elfi hugged the young woman whom she loved like a sister. “Even if my faeir refuses, when Njord and I become Count and Countess of étretat, I’ll grant your freedom.” As she made the promise, Elfi wondered if her father would be so furious about her sailing to ísland that he might disown her. And refuse to name Njord as his heir. If that came to pass, then she would not become the Countess of étretat. But she would still be the noble wife of the Danish Jarl of Ribe. And since Sif was her personal attendant, Elfi would bring her to Denmark. And grant Sif her freedom there. One way or another, she would ensure that Sif and Bodo could marry.
While rampant thoughts raced through Elfi’s mind, Sif unlocked the door to the antechamber. She returned to seat Elfi at the vanity table, running an antler comb through her long hair and plaiting it in intricate braids with deft, nimble fingers.
Oda and Vilde appeared a few moments later, headed to the Great Hall for the morning meal. “Did you sleep well?” Oda asked, bending to kiss Elfi’s cheek.
Elfi blushed at the memory of the delicious night with Njord. “ Very well,” she purred, winking at Sif over Oda’s shoulder as her amma gave her a maternal hug. “This morning, after dagmál , I must go into the village to visit úlvhild. She wants to cast the runes and see what the Norns will reveal for the upcoming voyage to ísland.”
Elfi hesitated. She didn’t want to ask her grandmother to lie, but neither could Thorfinn know the whole truth. “ Amma …” her voice quavered as she grasped Oda’s gnarled hands. “I must sail to ísland with Njord. The Gallizenae foretold that I would need to wield my sjóv?ttir magic to help him fulfill the prophecy. And that Njord and I must marry in ísland, to foil the Count of Soisson’s plans to force a wedding with me.” Elfi gently squeezed her grandmother’s frail fingers. “Njord and I must depart at once, before Faeir returns, so he cannot forbid me from leaving. And lock me in the tower again!” Tears welling in her eyes, Elfi implored her beloved amma . “Please tell him that Njord and I had to set sail before the seas became too icy for the voyage. That úlvhild had foreseen another Frankish attack to force a wedding with me. That the seidr vision revealed how Njord and I needed to marry in ísland. To foil the Count’s plans and save étretat.” She kissed the knotted knuckles, tightly clutched in her own trembling hands. “Perhaps, gods willing, we return victorious to Chateau Blanc , Faeir will be so overjoyed to have saved the castle — and defeated the vile Count who killed Dag — that his anger will abate and soon be forgotten.”
Oda tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Elfi’s face. “Of course I will, elska .” She caressed Elfi’s crumpled cheek. “You focus on the voyage and helping Njord fulfill the prophecy. Meet his Light Elven mother. Have a glorious Ljósálfar wedding. And return triumphant to étretat.” She kissed the top of Elfi’s head. “I will have several weeks to soften his ire and open his eyes to see the truth.” A mischievous gleam glinted in Oda’s wise eyes as she slowly rose to her feet and smoothed her crumpled gown. “Now, let Sif finish your lovely braids, and I’ll meet you downstairs for dagmál .” Oda grinned at Elfi, accepted Vilde’s supportive elbow, and hobbled out the bedroom door.
****
Inside the volva’s dim hut, the cloying scent of myrrh mingled with the pungent aroma of drying herbs suspended from hooks on the carved wooden walls. Strands of beaded glass, exotic feathers, and silver charms dangled from beams which supported the high ceiling. Lidded jars, animal bones, and glittering gems lined the shelves along the wall near the stone hearth where a black cauldron simmered over the flames. In the back corner of the large room, the black cat Kól watched with golden eyes amidst a pile of furs heaped upon the narrow bed. While Elfi’s armored guards waited outside the thick oak door, úlvhild welcomed her into the enchanted hut.
úlvhild kissed Elfi’s cheek in greeting and seated her at the small oak table. “I could offer you a mug of mead or a goblet of wine, but perhaps you would prefer a chamomile tisane , somewhat safer for your babe?”
“You know?” Elfi’s voice hitched in surprise.
“Of course I know. Ljósálfar light radiates within you.”
“A tisane would be lovely, thank you.”
úlvhild spooned the dried flowers into two ceramic cups, poured steaming water from a spouted tin kettle, and strained the dried herbs, carrying the two mugs back to the table. While Elfi sipped her herbal brew, the volva retrieved a dark blue linen cloth and a black leather pouch from the shelves near the hearth. She laid the blue cloth across the table, shook the small bag, and selected three runes, which she placed upon the cloth.
Skeletal fingers hovering over the oval bones etched with soot and blood, úlvhild interpreted the fate cast by the Norns. “Urd’s rune — which reveals the past — is Othala , for heritage and ancestral roots. Your sjóv?ttir magic inherited from Dúva. And Njord’s úlfhéenar blood descended from Odin .” The volva examined the second ivory rune. “Verdandi shows us the present. Thurisaz, the thorn, represents danger from a powerful external force. The Frankish Count of Soissons who hunts you. With Dokkálfar allies and the shapeshifting troll.” Elfi recognized the last rune. Dread clenched her gut as úlvhild unveiled what the Norn Skuld had revealed for the future. “ Hagalaz, for hail, destruction, and disaster. There will be a bloody battle in ísland.” úlvhild’s brows furrowed in contemplation. A shaft of sunlight from the smoke hole in the roof gilded her eyes like golden amber as she held Elfi’s rapt gaze. “Perhaps a seier vision will allow me to perceive more.”
úlvhild gathered the three runes and returned them to her black leather pouch, closing the drawstring tight. She folded up the blue linen cloth, and returned it with the small bag to her cluttered shelf. Rummaging among the covered jars, she selected one which contained seeds, a few of which she tossed into the flames. As she inhaled the crisp pine scent of juniper deep into her lungs, the volva chanted a vardlokkur to summon the spirits between worlds.
Elfi watched in wonder as úlvhild selected several covered jars from amongst her vials, spooning herbs into an ornately engraved, gem-encrusted silver chalice, all the while chanting her rhythmic invocation. From the tin pot over the fire, she poured steaming water into the elaborate goblet, added several drops of a tincture, and withdrawing three seeds from a tiny pouch at her waist, dropped them into the mysterious brew. With a silver spoon, she stirred the potion and while it cooled, pulled a tall wooden chair from the back corner of the room toward the center where Elfi sat at the table. Continuing her ethereal vocalizations, the Viking volva returned to the counter where the herbal elixir awaited, tested it with a finger, and drank it all down.
She donned her pale catskin gloves and fetched the moonstone tipped wooden staff standing near the hearth, thumping it on the rush-strewn earthen floor like a drum. Singing and swaying to the rhythm of her chant, she leaned her staff against the seidr chair and perched atop the high backed seat. Her chanting suddenly stopped, golden eyes rolling back in her head to expose just the whites. In a strident, eerie voice—as if emanating between worlds—úlvhild conveyed her unfolding vision.
“A malignant force enshrouded in darkness…powerful seier magic, but evil…cloaks of malevolent shadows, impervious to Ljósálfar light…” The volva swooned in her seat, lost in an otherworldly trance. úlvhild’s head snapped up, her sightless, all-seeing eyes aglow like golden globes. “In the distant land of fire and ice, the Ljósálfar must aid the wolves. The wrath of the sea must sink the ships, for the prophecy to be fulfilled.” Long black locks covering her stricken face and falling to her lap, the seeress lifted her arms, as if beseeching an unseen spirit. “Sól, radiant Goddess of the Sun, shine your golden rays to illuminate my path. Grant me the wisdom to overcome darkness. And save the Ljósálfar with your divine light.”
From the smoke hole in the thatched roof, a shaft of brilliant sunlight entered the dim exterior of the hut, the smoky air shimmering as the beam of golden light followed a path across the earthen floor and centered on the volva seated upon the elevated chair. A feminine image appeared amidst the golden glow, enveloping úlvhild in a celestial embrace.
Long locks of molten gold, glistening with ethereal light, framed the exquisitely beautiful face of the Goddess Sól, her delicate features luminescent, oval eyes shining like the midday sun. The diaphanous sleeves of her long gown fluttered like clouds, her gilded skin emitting a radiant warmth that pulsed with power and expanded throughout the room. As she floated in the sunbeam, hovering before úlvhild, the goddess raised her long, slender fingers and bathed the volva with brilliant rays of golden light.
Sól’s whisper was as ephemeral as the wind. “My gift is Sólrún , the sacred knowledge of the sun, the untold secrets of the stars. May you wield it to dispel darkness and protect the purity of light.” With a shimmer of golden waves and a whoosh like unfurling wings, the goddess floated on the sunbeam back up to the cloudless sky.
úlvhild slumped forward, and Elfi rushed to catch her, helping the volva descend from her elevated chair. “Six Ljósálfar must sail with you to ísland,” she croaked, leaning on Elfi for support, her haggard face ravaged by the strong herbs. “Lugh and Olvir…Rúnar and Veldar… áryndor and Ildris.”
Clutching Elfi’s arm, the volva staggered across the room toward the pile of furs heaped atop her straw mattress. “With six úlfhéenar , to battle a dozen Dark Elves.” When she climbed into bed, the cat Kól — as if sensing his mistress’ distress—moved over for her to lie down. “I must accompany you as well—to wield sólrún for them to succeed .” úlvhild collapsed among the furs, her voice raspy and rough. “I must sleep now, to recover from the seidr vision. Return to the castle and prepare another welcoming feast. Sk?rde and Ylva’s ship arrives on the morrow. I shall join you then for náttmál at Chateau Blanc .” She gripped Elfi’s hand weakly, closed her weary eyes, and succumbed to exhaustion.
Elfi arranged the furs around úlvhild. Kól snuggled inro the covers, purring as Elfi stroked his silky black fur. “Watch over her for me. Take good care of her while she sleeps.” Crossing the room, she removed the steaming cauldron and tin pot from the fire, setting them upon flat stones in the floor area surrounding the hearth. Elfi remembered that Kól liked to jump through the window to hunt and prowl at night, so she left the deerskin flap open, securing it to the hook in the wooden wall . Assuring that úlvhild was comfortable and safe, Elfi left the dim hut, closed the wooden exit door, and rode back to the castle with her armored guards.
That evening, after Njord and the úlfhéenar returned from their training in la Forêt du Loup, Efi shared the details of úlvhild’s startling seidr vision over náttmál in the Great Hall. She explained how six Ljósálfar and six úlfhéenar would be needed on the voyage to ísland. How the volva had foreseen a battle against a dozen Dokkálfar, sheltered by magical cloaks shrouded in darkness. How she had invoked the Sun Goddess Sól, whose divine gift úlvhild would wield in ísland. “She also foresaw that Ylva and Sk?rde will arrive tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll prepare a welcoming feast for the evening.”
While everyone enjoyed the meal, Elfi spoke quietly to Njord. “Tomorrow morning, after our dance with swords in the sacred grove, you and I shall go to the waterfall cave and summon Lugh. We’ll tell him about úlvhild’s vision, and how we need the Ljósálfar to sail with us to ísland. We can return to welcome Ylva, Sk?rde, and Vivi.” She sipped her watered down ale. “It will be awkward to leave so soon after they arrive. But I’ll explain that my magic is necessary for you to claim your father’s sword and fulfill the prophecy, so I must sail with you. That I must wield the white wolf weapons to slay the troll. And that we must depart before my faeir’s return. So he cannot forbid me to go. Or lock me in the tower again.”
Later that evening, after Oda had retired to bed, Sif slipped out of the castle with Bodo.
And Elfi sneaked Njord into her room.
****
The following morning, when Elfi met Njord in the sacred grove for training, he suggested practicing with the white wolf bone dagger that Lugh had crafted for her. “You’re used to the straight handle of my blade. The curved bone will require a few adjustments in your grip and technique. Let’s practice with your Ljósálfar dagger.”
Elfi unsheathed úlfblad from the dark green dragonscale scabbard strapped at her waist. As she withdrew the blade, she noted how the curved bone handle molded perfectly to fit her grip.
“With a straight handle, you’ve learned to throw with the force of your arm and shoulder.” His long, calloused fingers traced the curve of the jawbone. “But the curve alters your grip, requires more of a snap in your wrist, and allows for a lighter, more accurate throw.” He nodded toward the target attached to the trunk of the nearby tree. “Try it. And adjust your throw to fit the new blade.”
Elfi hurled the dagger, but exaggerated the snap of her wrist, resulting in too much spin. For the next throw, she used the same force as she had done with Njord’s straight handle, quickly realizing her error as it veered away from the center and hit the outer edge of the target. Over the course of many attempts, she made slight alterations in her grip, the snap of her wrist, and the angle of release, until úlfblad felt like an extension of her own arm as she hurled the white wolf bone dagger.
She beamed at Njord, proud of her improvement and accomplishment as she successfully hit the target with several consecutive throws. “It’s much lighter and more accurate. And a perfect fit for my hand.”
“ Ljósálfar weapons are crafted by immortals. They surpass anything made by a human.” He traced the intricate carvings inscribed into the bone. “These runes are etched with my úlfhéenar blood. The blood of Odin to protect you.” Njord’s piercing gaze penetrated Elfi’s soul as he solemnly returned the dagger.
She sheathed úlfblad at her waist, unable to take her eyes from his. A powerful wave surged through her body from the swirling depths of dark blue stare, savage as the Nordic Seas.
He pulled her against him, possessive lips claiming hers, the shared essence between them ebbing and flowing like an endless, eternal tide.
She melted into his embrace, drowning in desire. Just as she thought he might lay her down amongst the leaves, Njord released her, stepping back and adjusting his breeches with a lusty grin. “I’d like to make love right here. Or in the waterfall cave. But we’ll have to wait until tonight. We need to summon Lugh.”
Elfi exhaled forcefully, smoothing her woolen breeches to compose herself. “And get back to the castle to welcome Ylva and Sk?rde.”
He offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”
She nodded, linking her elbow through his. They strode across the sacred grove of ash and fir trees to the tunnel on the opposite side of the forest which led to the waterfall cave.
Inside the grotto, the thunderous cascade tumbled from the clifftop over the open mouth of the cave, filling the cool, salty air with droplets of mist as it crashed into turquoise waters of the Mermaid Cove far below. Elfi removed Dag’s whalebone flute from the leather pouch at her waist, raised it to her lips, and played the familiar melody which would summon Lugh.
He soon emerged from the dark recesses of the cave, a radiant grin stretched across his luminous, clean shaven face. “What a delightful surprise to hear you play. Why have you summoned me, Elfi of étretat?” Lugh bowed his silvery blond head and bestowed a soft kiss on Elfi’s hand.
She told him how úlvhild’s seidr vision had revealed that six Ljósálfar would be needed for the voyage to ísland. She described how the goddess Sól had gifted the volva with magic to combat the Dokkálfar. And how she and Njord would set sail in two days, before her father returned with Jarl Rikard to étretat.
“I will assemble the Ljósálfar at once. The six of us will come to the castle at first light the day after tomorrow. In full armor. Bearing Ljósálfar weapons to battle the Dokkálfar.” Lugh spotted the blade on Elfi’s hip. “How do you like the úlfblad dagger?”
“It’s incredible. Lightweight and perfectly molded to my grip. I’ve been practicing with Njord in the sacred grove.” Elfi gazed up Lugh, whose dark green eyes glistened like rare emeralds. “Thank you so much for crafting it for me. I will treasure it always.”
At the thought of returning to the castle to prepare for tonight’s welcoming feast, she remembered that Lugh had crafted Sk?rde’s sword — the Ljósálfar blade with which the Dragon of Denmark had slain the infamous Raven Warrior. Elfi also recalled that Lugh’s sister Luna had gifted Ylva the Ljósálfar magic of nen glir . Perhaps the Light Elven siblings would like to come to tonight’s feast. “Sk?rde and Ylva are arriving this afternoon. They will stay here until Jarl Rikard and my father return from Reims . They plan to remain at the castle for Dag’s burial ceremony with Galadir as well , once Njord and I—gods willing—return from ísland .” Elfi smiled at Njord, then glanced up at Lugh. “Would you and Luna like to come to tonight’s feast to welcome Sk?rde and Ylva to Chateau Blanc?”
“I would indeed. And I’m sure Luna will want to come as well. I’ll return to álfheim , fetch my sister, and see you tonight in the Great Hall.” Lugh shook Njord’s hand, kissed Elfi’s cheek, and with a radiant farewell grin, disappeared into the dark portal.
Elfi and Njord slipped behind the waterfall, walking back to the cave which led to the sacred grove. As he started a small flame with his firesteel tool, she told him how Lugh had crafted Jarl Rikard’s sword, Aragil.
“ It means “Noble Star” in Lugh’s Elven tongue,” she explained as he relit the torch to light their way in the dark tunnel. “Lugh also forged Sk?rde’s sword Duradrakk from dragonfire in álfheim. He crafted Galadir, named for the enchanted starstone in the hilt of Dag’s beloved blade.” When Njord rose to his feet, clutching the fiery torch, Elfi held his gaze. Ferocity and conviction laced her quavering voice. “The Light Elven sword I shall bury with my brother in his haugr of the sacred grove .”
With a bent finger, Njord gently lifted her chin so she would look at him. Blue fire blazed in his fierce gaze. “Indeed you will, my love. As soon as we return from ísland.” He brushed soft lips against hers. “And I shall be at your side.”
When they reached the hidden stairwell at the bottom of the castle keep, Njord held the torch high and escorted Elfi up to her room. She opened the door to find Sif seated beneath the open window, a bone needle in her hand and embroidery in her lap.
Sif placed the sewing on the table at her side and rushed Elfi into the room. “Your amma is awake. We need to get you out of Dag’s armor!”
Elfi kissed Njord goodbye at the bottom of the stairs, with a promise to see him in at the welcoming feast. When he left, Elfi latched the heavy door behind him, dashed back up to her room, and locked the hidden door behind the tapestry. Just as she lowered it back into place, Oda entered the room.
Elfi couldn’t deny where she’d been, for she had just locked the hidden door. Nor could she deny what she’d been doing, for weapons were strapped to her hip, and she was clad in Dag’s lamellar armor. Mortified, Elfi stood speechless before the stern, scowling chatelaine of Chateau Blanc. To her utter astonishment, a broad smile stretched across her amma ’s crinkled cheeks, amusement glinting in her twinkling gaze.
“Do you really think I was unaware all those years you trained with Dag in the sacred grove? That I didn’t know he’d given you his leather armor? Or his Shadowbane sword?” Oda hobbled across the room, her stride slowed by her sore hip. She grasped Elfi’s hands in a strong, affectionate squeeze. When she looked up at Elfi, tears welled in her proud, loving eyes. “I have no doubt that you, elska , are as valiant a warrior as the beloved brother who trained you. And now—with the additional skills you are learning from the Wolf of the Nordic Seas —you shall one day rule at Njord’s side as Countess of étretat. To defend this castle and the Pays de Caux. As Shieldmaiden of Chateau Blanc.” She hugged Elfi, kissed her cheek, and smoothed the sides of her own gown. “Now, get out of this armor and into the bath that I had drawn for you in the antechamber. Sif will bathe you, braid your hair, and help you into a lovely gown. Meet me downstairs to finish decorating the Great Hall when you look presentable. Sk?rde and Ylva should be arriving soon.” Holding her regal head high, Oda smiled at Elfi. And followed Vilde out the bedroom door.
Elfi spun toward Sif. “She knew! All those years, training with Dag. And now…the sessions with Njord.”
Sif helped Elfi out of her armor and into the bath. “Mayhap she and my mother both know that I’ve been slipping out of the castle with Bodo. And that you’ve been sleeping here with Njord.”
Elfi grinned, slid under the steaming water, and rose back to the surface for Sif to wash her hair. As the scent of lavender and chamomile lather filled the steamy air, she laughed. “I suspect you’re right. My amma and your moeir are very shrewd indeed.”