From a jar on the shelf, shetossed a few seeds into the crackling embers. Deeply inhaling the acrid fumes, Úlvhild thumped her staff upon the earthen floor. Ethereal and haunting, her rhythmic, melodic chanting of thevardlokkursummoned the spirits between worlds to aid in her divination.
Thevölvaspread a blue linen cloth across the oak table, all the while continuing her eerie incantation. She withdrew the black pouch tied at her waist, shook the contents, and cast three oval shapes etched in blood upon the sacred cloth. Pounding her staff like a drum on the ground, humming an otherworldly harmony, she leaned over the ivory bones to interpret the Nordic runes.
“The rune for Urd, the Norn goddess of the past isNaudiz—for hardship, endurance, and struggle.” Úlvhild’s golden eyes glazed like embers in the fire. “You and your mother lived apart—taunted, ridiculed, and shamed.” She swooned and swayed, perceiving the past. “Skårde suffered rivalry, envy, and strife—endless battles and raids…”
Eyes closed, in consultation with divine spirits between the realms, Úlvhild hummed, thumping her staff on the ground before examining the second ivory bone etched in blood. “Verdandi’s rune for the present isRaido—symbolizing a ride or journey. I see… a long voyage in a carriage… with hidden secrets, mystery, and danger.”
Úlvhild returned to the fire and tossed a handful of herbs into the flames, inhalingthe thick, sweet-smelling smoke. As she thrummed her staff on the floor of the hut, the luminous moonstone encased in filigree at the tip of her wand glowed in the firelight.
Evocative and eerie, thevölva’sotherworldly voice summoned the spirits as she returned to the table and examined the final rune. “Skuld—the Norn who reveals the future-shows usKaun. Representing injury, destruction, and disease.” Úlvhild’s eyes glowed like the radiant moonstone in her iron staff. “I sense betrayal, evil, and doom. To understand more, I must seek answers throughseiðrvision.”
Ylva watched in wonder as Úlvhild selected herbs, flowers, berries, and seeds from the stores upon her shelves. “Henbane and wormwood, to enhance divination.” She tossed a handful of yellow flowers, silvery green leaves, and three small seeds into the cauldron. “Rowan and juniper, to purify and protect against evil.” Deep purple and bright red berries went into the steaming pot. “Mistletoe and vervain, to promote visions and magical ability.” Thevölvaadded several white berries and tiny purple flowers to the elixir. While it simmered, she fetched her goblet from the table and added a spoonful of honey. “To sweeten the bitter brew.”
Úlvhild returned to her cauldron and stirred the potion, chanting incantations for divination. When she deemed it ready, thevölvaladled the liquid into her goblet. She stirred it with a small spoon, then downed the contents, resuming hervardlokkurchant and drumming her staff on the rush-covered floor. When she moved a high-backed wooden chair into the center of the room and seated herself upon it, her head lolled to one side, and her eyes rolled back, exposing just the whites. After a few moments, she bolted upright, golden eyes glazed, staring into the distance between realms.
“A trio of evil will betray the Danish king.” Thevölva’sephemeral voice echoed in the quiet cottage. “I see a fire… Viking ships burning…a young boy abducted in the night. A long voyage in a carriage. He is imprisoned in a fortress on an island…l’ Île de la Cité…in the heart of Paris.”Úlvhild slumped forward. Ylva was about to rise from her chair to help when thevölvastiffened her spine, suddenly alert. But her glassy gaze remained fixed far away.
Raising her arms as if taking flight, Úlvhild stretched her skeletal fingers toward the sky. “I must summon the Falcon to find the boy… and the Dragon must free him. To save the Danish king… the Norman duke…and the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”
Like a whisper on the summer wind, Úlvhild’s otherworldly voice carried across the Narrow Sea. “Haldor Falk! Heed my call. Come at once to the clifftop castle ofChâteaufort.On the alabaster coast of thePays de Caux.”
Chapter 18
First Female Friend
Physically and emotionally depleted from theseiðrvision, the enchanted trance, and the ill effects of the bitter herbs, Úlvhild hunched forward in her chair.
The Celtic healer in Ylva responded at once. She helped the exhaustedvölvato bed, covering her in a sheet of cool silk rather than heavy fur, for it was very warm inside the smoky hut. The black cat curled up in a protective ball beside his mistress’ prone body, his loud purring a calming chant. “We must take good care of her, Kól. She needs us to watch over her.” Ylva caressed the sleek feline fur, then crossed the room to fetch a pitcher of water.
She moved theseiðrchair back into a corner of the hut, poured some liquid into a small pot, and set it over the fire to heat. Among the herbs hanging from the ceiling, she selected a stalk of chamomile with fragrant yellow flowers, which she would steep in a ceramic mug when the water was hot. She found nettles, a few sprigs of basil, and dandelion flowers hanging upside down to dry. With mortar and pestle from thevölva’sshelf, Ylva carefully crushed the selected herbs, preparing the flowers, leaves, and stems for a cleansing infusion to restore Úlvhild’s weakened, ravaged body.
A frantic female voice floated into the cottage through the open window. “Úlvhild? Are you all right? Why are there armed guards at the door?”
Ylva set the stone pestle down on the counter and rushed to the entrance of the hut. Shepeered outside and was surprised to see a young woman with a long cascade of flaming red hair, vibrant green eyes, and a splattering of freckles across her distraught face. Dressed in a simple homespun gown and beige linen apron, she was holding a pair of strung rabbits—ready to cook—an overflowing basket stuffed with fresh vegetables, a baked tart, and a large loaf of barley bread.
Ylva nodded to her wary guards and spoke reassuringly to the young woman. “Úlvhild is inside the cottage, resting. She’s recovering from aseiðrvision. I’m a healer, and I am caring for her. Who are you, might I ask?”
The maiden’s eyes widened, her mouth agape in astonishment at the recognition of Ylva. She quickly curtseyed as best she could with her arms full. “Sweet Brigid’s Breath! You’re Ylva Rikardsdóttir. LadyofChåteaufortandCountess of thePays de Caux!”Recovering from her awkward obeisance, she stammered, “I’m Maeve MacCleirigh. A neighbor—keepin’ an eye on Úlvhild. I’ve just come from the village, with all the fixin’s to make a fine rabbit stew. Might I come in and set these things down?”
Ylva motioned for her guards to step aside and allow Maeve to enter. “Of course,” she said cheerfully, taking the fruit tart and barley bread to ease Maeve’s overburdened load as she led her into the cottage. “I’m preparing a tisane for when Úlvhild awakens. To rid her body of the harmful herbs used for theseiðrvision.”
Maeve nodded with a knowing smile, scurrying into the area that served as a small kitchen. She laid the basket and pair of rabbits on a counter next to the hearth. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured, curtseying again as she took the bread and pie from Ylva’s hands and placed them down next to the basket. Although she spoke Norman French, her accent was odd and unfamiliar. Maeve peeked at the sleepingvölvain the back of the hut.
While Ylva removed the steaming water from the hearth, pouring it into the ceramic cup and stirring in the chamomile and crushed herbs to make her cleansing tisane, Maeve strode over to the bed and checked on Úlvhild. Like a doting mother hen, she clucked as she tucked the silk covering over thevölva’sexposed shoulder. “She’ll sleep for hours,” she informed Ylva. “She always does after aseiðrvision.” The intriguing, flame haired neighbor caressed Kól,crooning at the cat as if he were a baby. “Sure and you’re a beautiful boy, with whiskers like reeds by the river. You’re the perfect guard, aren’t you now. You’ll watch over your mistress while she sleeps.”
Maeve scratched the purring cat’s head, then returned to the kitchen area to join Ylva. She brushed a bit of dirt off the front of her linen apron and unloaded the items from her basket. “I like to keep an eye on her, don’t you know.” Compassion shone in her kind gaze as she glanced at Úlvhild on the bed. “She’s been teachin’ megaldrmagic—Norse healin’ with crystals and gems. In turn, I repay her by cookin’ and cleanin’. Gatherin’ herbs, mushrooms…berries.” She grinned, an adorable dimple forming in her freckled cheek. “I’m a fine cook, if I do say so meself. And I’m goin’ to fix her a fine rabbit stew. When she wakes up—even if it’s not until tomorrow morn—she’ll have a delicious meal now, won’t she?”
With a proud sweep of her hand, Maeve gestured to the items she’d spread upon the counter. “Carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, garlic, and onions. And a wild plum tart for dessert.” She nodded at the dried herbs hanging from the rafters. “There’s fresh rosemary, sage, and thyme. I’ll add a dollop of lard to the stew, so the meat’s good and tender. And a cup of red wine for a rich, hearty broth.” Maeve fetched an iron cookpot from the shelves on the wall, poured in water from the pitcher, and returned to place the container on the counter. She selected a smooth wooden board from the shelves, retrieved a sharp seax knife from the sheath at her waist, and began skinning the two rabbits. Humility and generosity laced her gentle, lilting voice. “It’s not elegant fare for a lady so fine as you, but I’d be honored if you joined me. Would you like to stay …and share my rabbit stew?” Golden light from the afternoon sun set Maeve’s dark red hair aflame, and hope glittered like emeralds in her deep green eyes.
A thousand thoughts raced through Ylva’s mind as she beheld Maeve’s eager, optimistic gaze.
She was expected to return to the castle.
Although she had originally planned to practicegaldrmagic with Úlvhild this afternoon, now—with Ylva’s sighting in the waterfall cave and thevölvadepleted by herseidrvision—all that hadchanged. And Gyda would surely be worried.
Yet, Ylva wanted to be here when Úlvhild awakened. She needed the seeress to explain the unsettlingseiðrvision about the boy imprisoned in a tower. And the mysterious man named the Falcon whom thevölvahad summoned.
She didn’t want to go back to the castle and do nothing but fret. Skårde would be gone all day, and she had no desire to sit in the salon with Gyda, trying to weave on the whalebone loom. Ylva was frantic to know who the raven warriors were that she’d glimpsed in the waterfall pool. And what theseiðrvision meant with a trio of evil who would betray the Danish king.
