The raven warrior’s malevolent blade sent a pervading sense of evil and doom down Ylva’s spine, making her legs shake withbitter cold. The brutal blow from the attacker’s sword broke rings in the chain mail armor covering Skårde’s right thigh. He staggered from the impact, but swirled around, beheading the brute with a savage slice before collapsing on the beach.
While two men dragged a bleeding, wounded Skårde to the safety of an awaiting ship, Gunni—his distinctive red hair and long braided beard visible in the bright moonlight—hollered for his men to retreat. As the invading raven warriors felled many of her father’s valiant knights, others scrambled to join Gunni and the withdrawing forces ofChâteaufortas enemy arrows rained upon them.
With Skårde aboard thedrakkarship, Gunni led the vessels with red striped sails and dragon prows out to sea, hastening away from the disastrous defeat.
Her sense of hearing returned first.
The squawk of seagulls and the roar of the waterfall reverberated in her bones. The salty scent of the sea tickled her nostrils, and the misty spray from the chute dampened her cheeks and hair.
Her vision cleared. Kallez and the guards stood nearby, vigilant and alert. The limestone of the white chalk cliffs glittered in the afternoon sun.
Pulse racing, limbs shaking, she scooped a handful of water to quench her parched throat.
The pervasive image of the Raven Warrior’s deadly sword slashing Skårde’s leg wracked her entire body with violent chills.
And a foreboding sense of doom.
Ylva remembered the three runes Úlvhild had cast to foresee Skårde’s future.Naudiz—struggle, hardship, and endurance. Undoubtedly, the impending battle with the Raven Warrior.Raido—a voyage. Skårde’s ships sailing to the besieged harbor. Since her father’s men were in the vision, Ylva realized the attack would occur on Fécamp.Perfect timing, while my father is gone.And the last rune,Kaun—for injury, disease, and destruction. The horrific battle.
And the atrocious wound on Skårde’s thigh, inflictedby the Raven Warrior’s malevolent sword.
I must pray to Divona and Rán. And Freyja, whose sacred knife drew my blood for the emerald talisman. I will make offerings to each of the three goddesses and a sacrifice to ensure their blessing.
She waved to Kallez, signaling her intent to enter the cave. When he nodded in acknowledgement, Ylva stumbled across the pebbled beach and staggered into the grotto.
Slices of sunlight bathed the limestone cave in a pearlescent glow. Upon the shelf that Skårde had chiseled into the back wall, the carved wooden statue of Divona—themorgen-gifubride gift from her generous husband—smiled from the sacred shrine. At the goddess’ feet, the nine pear shaped turquoise gems and three silver coins Skårde had given Ylva to create this altar glimmered in the golden light, framed by the huge scallop shells they had collected along the shore.
Freyja is the goddess of love and beauty. I will offer her the wildflowers I picked along the path.
Ylva retrieved the sprigs of sea lavender and white starflowers that she had tucked into the bodice of her gown and arranged them on the shelf of the shrine. The sweet floral fragrance mingled with the tang of the ocean breeze. “Dear Freyja, please accept these beautiful flowers and grant your blessing to the man I love.”
Rán—the Goddess of the Sea—may guide and protect Skårde’s ships. May she claim the Raven Warrior’s vessels for her dark underwater realm.
Removing her silver coronet, Ylva placed the slender crown atop the statue’s wooden head. She reverently traced her fingertips down the intricately carved swirls of long hair which tumbled to the sculpture’s slim waist, entwining with the smooth twirls of her elegant gown. Skårde’s exceptional skill as a woodcarver shone in every exquisite detail of the gleaming yew sculpture, from the delicate features of her pretty face to the ornate chalice cupped in her slender hands, symbol of the healing waters of her sacred springs.
“Rán, please accept this offering of precious silver and protect my husband’s ships at sea. I ask that you bring him safely home to me, that I may heal his grievous wound foreseen in today’s vision.”
Instinct told Ylva that the Raven Warrior’s sword was imbued with evil. And that she would need to wield all of her extensive skills as a healer to cure the accursed wound.
Her intensive training as a Breton priestess—a Celticguérisseuseproficient in Druidic healing herbs.
Her newly acquired knowledge of Norsegaldrmagic through curative crystals, minerals, and gems.
And above all, herLjósálfarweddinggift ofnen glir.The Light Elven song of water. To wield the healing essence of Divona’s sacred springs.
For this, she needed to make a painful personal sacrifice. A truly exceptional offering for a crucial request.
The emerald ring which Úlvhild had given her, so that she would conceive Skårde’s son, throbbed on Ylva’s right hand.
She remembered thevölva’s prophecy that their son would help found a dynasty which would rule for a thousand years.
If she offered this priceless treasure, surely Divona would heed her prayer. But such a sacrifice might render her barren, unable to bear Skårde’s child and fulfill the prophecy. And—if he she had already conceived him, would the surrender of the ring cause her to lose the babe?
Ylva slid the fertility ring off her finger and placed it before the goddess. The emerald blazed like verdant fire in the golden glow of the summer sun.
Her voice was a quavering, reverent whisper. “Dear Divona, please accept my sacred offering. A most precious gift and painful sacrifice.” Knees trembling, hand shaking, she nestled her fertility ring among the wildflowers, silver coins, scallop shells, and sparkling turquoise gems laid upon the altar. “May I wield the healing essence of your sacred springs through my Light Elven gift ofnen glir. May theLjósálfarsong of water enable me to cleanse and cure my husband’s heinous wound. Please heed my prayer and grant me your divine healing power.Merci, du fond du coeur.Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
The alabaster glow of the radiant, opalescent limestone seemed like a divinebenediction from the trio of goddesses. Head humbly bowed, her spirit suffused with prayer, Ylva was startled when a shout of desperation and despair rang in her ears like a clanging, jarring bell.
