Chapter 21
Emerald Talisman
Ylva was glad to see Úlvhild looking refreshed by restful sleep and a hearty morning meal. In the sunny solar ofChâteaufort,seated at the oak table with Skårde and his highest-ranking knights, they had shared boiled oats with honey and chopped hazelnuts, baked cod with fresh thyme, sliced apples and pears with soft creamy cheese. While the men had washed it all down with ale, Ylva, Gyda, and Úlvhild had chosen sweet cider instead.
Now, as she and thevölvadescended the pebbled road leading from the castle toward Úlvhild’s forested hut at the edge of the village, Ylva looked forward to seeing Maeve again. And she was most eager to craft the talisman to protect Skårde during his upcoming voyage to Denmark.
While her royal guards stood watch at the entrance, Úlvhild—balancing the small wooden bowl filled with baked fish and bits of cheese that she’d saved for Kól—unlocked her front door and led Ylva into the cottage.
The pungent aroma of drying herbs hanging from the rafters blended with the tangy scent of the sea through the open window. Kól lifted his sleepy head from the pile of furs on the bed. At the sight of Úlvhild, he jumped down and came to greet her, purring loudly and rubbing his sleek black fur against her lower legs.
Úlvhild caressed her cat, crooning softly as she set the delicious dish in front of him.
Kól attacked thedelightful meal with ravenous relish.
“I’ll light a fire and burn some herbs. And incense, to summon the spirits. While you select the stone for the talisman.” Úlvhild fetched the violet colored silk bag from her shelves and handed it to Ylva, then returned to the hearth to start the fire. She gathered moss and wood shavings from a basket on the floor and arranged them into a small pile of tinder inside the stone enclosure. Retrieving her firesteel tool from the nearby shelf, she struck a piece of flint and blew upon the sparks until a tiny flame flickered in the hearth. Slowly, she built up the fire with progressively larger sticks until it blazed when she added a thick log. Picking up the cauldron from the floor, she explained as she headed toward the door, “I’ll dispose of this potion and fetch fresh water so we can start anew.” When she exited the cottage, Ylva spread a linen cloth onto the table, sat down on the bench, and poured out the stones from the purple pouch.
Among the many gemstones which she recognized—amber, carnelian, ruby, moonstone, turquoise, amethyst, and lapis lazuli—Ylva spotted a large emerald which glittered like verdant fire. With its oval shape, the deep green stone would be perfect for a pendant. Encased in silver, the talisman would portray Skårde’s heraldic colors as the Dragon of Normandy. Ylva cradled the precious gem in her hand.He can wear it under his chain mail armor, tucked beneath his hauberk tunic. It will protect him on the voyage to Denmark. And in battle against the Raven Warrior I saw in the waterfall pool.
“Bonjour, Ylva!” Maeve’s smiling, freckled face appeared in the doorway.
Ylva rose from the table and rushed to greet her new friend. “Bonjour,” she replied cheerfully, kissing Maeve’s cheek. “Please, come in. Úlvhild is cleaning her cauldron and fetching water from the well. Come see the stone I’ve chosen for the talisman.”
“I’m returnin’ the pot from last night’s rabbit stew. Ingi and Gillie loved it, just like I knew they would.” Maeve placed the kettle back on the shelf in the kitchen area of Úlvhild’s hut. Eyes alight with curious delight, she approached the table to examine the gemstones.
“This emerald.” Ylva placed the dark green gem in Maeve’s hand, a thrill rippling up her spine. “We’ll encase it in silver, inscribed with runes. And imbue it withgaldrmagic.”
Maeve’s mouth puckered as she admired the emerald. “Ooh, ‘tis a fine stone. It will make a perfect talisman.” She returned the emerald to Ylva just as Úlvhild entered the hut with the cauldron.
“Bonjour, Maeve,” she said, setting the cauldron over the roaring fire and coming to kiss her friend’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. With all three of us chanting, thegaldrspell will be triply enhanced. For three is a sacred number.” Úlvhild noticed the gemstone in Ylva’s hand. “An emerald. Perfect for the Dragon ofChâteaufort.”
With a deep intake of breath as adrenaline surged in her veins, Ylva nodded and watched as thevölvagathered the gemstones, put them back in the violet silk bag, and replaced the pouch among the feathers, vials, and potions on the shelves under the drying herbs. She selected a small cone of incense, which she placed into her elaborate ceramic burner. Placing the tip of a slender stick into the fire within the hearth, Úlvhild lit the incense. The sweet, spicy scent of myrrh mingled with the aroma of drying herbs.
Kól, who had finished his feast, leapt back up onto the bed, licked his paws, and nestled into the snug pile of soft furs. Golden eyes glowing in the morning sunlight, he observed Úlvhild gather herbs, strewing some among the rushes on the floor, tossing others into the fire.
“Lavender, whose sweet scent will summon the spirits.” Thevölvascattered dried purple flowers onto the reeds covering the earthen floor. “Rosemary and yarrow, for purification and protection.” Selecting strands from the drying herbs overhead, she spread the stalks among the aromatic sweet flag rushes. “And juniper berries to ward off negative spirits.” She tossed a handful of dark purple berries into the fire. A warm, spicy pine scent floated from the flames.
“Do you have a setting already formed? We could heat the silver and shape it to fit the stone.” Maeve searched among the trinkets and tools on the cluttered wooden shelves.
“I do indeed.” Úlvhild rummaged through her jewelry and hacksilver, selecting a round silver casing with a closed back and loop at the top to form a pendant. “We’ll heat this in a small iron pan. Shape it with my hammer soit securely holds the emerald. And etch Nordic runes in the silver with my chisel.” She handed the tools to Maeve, who carried them to the table while Úlvhild fetched a metal dish from her supplies.
The völva placed the silver setting for the pendant in the small pan and held it over the fire with tongs. After a few moments, while Ylva and Maeve watched in fascination, Úlvhild returned to the table and placed the stone into the setting to determine the necessary adjustments. She removed the emerald, hammered the silver into shape, and fitted the stone securely in the setting, shaping the silver with pliers. “While the silver is still malleable, I’ll engrave a trio of runes.” Golden eyes glowing like her cat’s, she fixed Ylva with a penetrating feline gaze. “You have learned the Nordic runes. Which three do you choose for your husband’s talisman?”
Ylva carefully considered the question, running through the runes in her mind before answering. “Tiwaz,Tyr’s rune. So that the Norse God of War will grant his strength to Skårde during battle.Algiz, the Elk. To ward off evil and protect him from harm. AndEihwaz,symbol ofYggdrasil,the tree of life which connects the physical and spiritual realms. That Skårde may summon the divine assistance of the gods to aid him in time of need.”
“Excellent choices. While the silver is still soft, I will inscribe them in the setting surrounding the gem.” Úlvhild engraved the three runes with the sharp, pointed tip of her chisel. She looked up at Maeve, who was enthralled, watching her carve the symbols into the silver. “We need soot to blacken the runes. And blood to seal thegaldrmagic when we chant and imbue the stone.”
Using the shovel beside the hearth, Maeve scooped some of the ashes from the fire into an intricately carved silver chalice adorned with gems and brought it to the table.
“Chant with me as I blacken the runes. We’ll imbue them with a trinity ofgaldrmagic.” Withdrawing a narrow instrument with a rounded tip from her supply of tools, Úlvhild began an incantation as she painstakingly filled the runes with soot.
Maeve and Ylva joined in singing thevardlkokur, summoning the spirits between realms as they wove powerfulgaldrspells of protection, endurance, and strength. Limpid and pure, the high notesof Ylva’s voice evoked the crystalline notes of a flute, while Maeve’s mellow range was warm and rich, like the resonant strings of a lute. Úlvhild’s melody was a mellifluous harp, the deep tones creating a harmonious balance as the three voices wove a trinity of magic into the trio of Nordic runes.
When the symbols were sufficiently blackened, Úlvhild stopped singing, rose to her feet, and strode across the room. Retrieving a bejeweled scabbard from amongst her charms, potions, feathers, and bones, she returned to the table and unsheathed a small knife.
The wooden handle was intricately carved with the Nordic runeAnsuzand elaborate scrolls depicting swans in flight.In the hilt, a ruby red garnet glittered in the firelight.“Freyja’s Whisper,” she murmured, her velvety voice laced with ethereal reverence. “Reserved for sacred blood rituals.”
Ylva’s heart swooped like wings of the swans in thevölva’ssmall, sharp knife.
