TheLjósálfarmagic ofnen glir.
On the small table in the corner of the room stood the three silver flasks she had filled last night with the healing waters of Divona’s sacred spring from the waterfall pool. As sweet smoke purified the scented air, andgaldrmagic from the trinity of stones pulsed with protective power, Ylva stared at the Nordic runes engraved in the trio of silver flasks.
Algiz, rune of protection.Thurisaz, rune of Thor, whose thunder blazed across Skårde’s naked chest.Laguz, Ylva’s rune ofwater. Whose song she would now sing to wield the magic ofnen glir.
And heal Skårde with the divine waters of Divona’s sacred spring.
I must offer a worthy sacrifice. As I did with Freyja’s Whisper when I crafted the emerald talisman, I’ll etch these runes with my blood.
Replicating the pure, crystalline notes of Luna’sLjósálfarvoice, Ylva sang from the depths of her soul. She withdrew the sharp knife from the belt at her waist and pricked the tip of the finger which bore her wedding ring. As she had done in Úlvhild’s hut, Ylva placed three droplets of her blood into each of the three runes in the trinity of silver vials, melodiously vocalizing the Light Elven song of water.
When she’d finished etching the runes with her blood, she opened the first vial and anointed Skårde’s body with the healing water of the sacred spring. As fluid notes flowed from her like the waterfall cascading into the pool, she poured the pure water from the flask into Skårde’s putrid flesh. Her voice ethereal, ephemeral, and evanescent, Ylva invoked the magic ofnen glirand summoned the healing essence of Divona’s sacred spring.
Skårde mumbled, tossing his head back and forth. Ylva grasped and opened the second silver vial from the table. Lifting his head from the pillow, she placed the rim to his lips and helped him drink from the flask. When she lowered him back down onto the bed, a sublime, serene expression illuminated his radiant face.
She continued singing, the limpid, liquid music bathing Skårde in the pristine magic ofnen gliras she purged the poison from his wound. When the third flask was empty, he opened his eyes.
And seared her with the blue brilliance of a sunlit sea.
“Ylva.” His hoarse voice was raw and rough. He glanced around, recognizing his surroundings, and returned his attention to her. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember is battling Anvarr.” He raised his head to inspect his injured leg. “And the bite of his wicked blade.”
To Ylva’s utter astonishment, there was no trace of the atrocious wound. No blackstreaks. No scar. No sign that he had ever been injured. The flesh was completely healed. She leaned forward and brushed his lips with her own. “I healed you withnen glir.”
“The wedding gift from Luna.” He grinned, the golden glow of health restored to his bronzed, brawny skin. He reached up and tenderly stroked the side of her cheek. “I used the emerald talisman to summon Thor. That’s how I defeated Anvarr.” His hand searched for the missing pendant around his bare neck.
“It’s right here.” Ylva retrieved the amulet that she’d placed on the table when the men stripped off Skårde’s armor. “Raise your head so I can tie it.” When he complied, she fastened the emerald talisman around his neck. The blond tuft of hair at the base of his throat was irresistible. She nuzzled it, deeply inhaling his healthy male scent. “Thank you, Divona,” she whispered with reverence, relief, and gratitude.
Ylva rose from the bed and walked over to the table where she had placed the trio of herbal tinctures last night. From a ceramic pitcher, she poured water from the sacred spring into a goblet, mixing in one droplet each of sage, yarrow, and thyme. When she handed him the herbal brew, he sat up to drink it and noticed the shrine on the table beside the bed. “You brought her here.” He grinned at the silver coronet on the statue’s head. “The crown suits her. It’s simple, yet divine.” He drained the goblet and returned it to Ylva. “You even brought all the offerings from her altar.” Skårde smiled at the gems, coins, shells, and flowers. He frowned when he spotted her emerald ring.
“I offered it to Divona so she would grant my prayer to heal you.” Ylva wrapped her arms around Skårde, cradling his golden head over her grateful heart. “I am so thankful that she did.”
He pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed and engulfed her in a sinewy embrace. Warm, insistent lips sought hers, sending a searing current straight to her loins.
Despite her compelling desire, she disentangled herself from his strong arms and stood on unsteady legs. “You need to rest. And I must tell everyone that you’ve healed.” She fetched linens from the wooden armoire standing against the wall and spread a soft sheet over him. Since the salty spray coming through the open window was a bitcool despite the heat of late summer, she also draped a light blanket on top. Tucking the covers around him, she bent down to kiss his bearded cheek and whispered, “Sleep, my love. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
Ylva extinguished the candle and banked the fire in the hearth. The herbs had burned out, but the sweet scent of floral smoke lingered in the purified air. When she looked at Skårde, she was delighted to see that he was already asleep. Kneeling before the shrine, she whispered her gratitude. “Thank you, dear goddess, for answering my prayers.” Rising to her feet, she bowed her head before the statue, gazed lovingly one last time at her sleeping husband, and quietly slipped from the room.
In the hallway, two armored knights stood guard. They spun toward her, instantly ready to obey.
“Odin be praised, Skårde has recovered. He is sleeping now. I’m going down to the Great Hall, but I’ll return soon. Allow no one to enter these rooms.”
“As you command, my lady.” The knight named Yvrou humbly bowed his coiffed head as Ylva strode down the hall toward the stone stairwell, her heart soaring like a northern gannet over the Narrow Sea.
****
The coppery stench of blood and the pungent aroma of herbs assailed Ylva’s nostrils as she entered the crowded, cramped Great Hall. Weaving among the wounded soldiers who lay on straw pallets along the walls, Ylva spotted Úlvhild, Maeve, and Gyda. When Skårde’s grandmother saw her, she raced over, a curious blend of anxiety and relief etched into her crinkled brow.
“How is he?” Hands quavering as much as her tremulous voice, Gyda tightly clenched Ylva’s forearms.
“His wound has completely disappeared. There’s no trace of it at all. Thenen glirmagic cured him.” Ylva cradled a trembling Gyda, who sobbed for just a moment on her shoulder before composing herself, dashing away her tears, andinhaling deeply to summon her strength.
“Odin be praised.” She kissed Ylva’s cheek, bright eyes glimmering with gratitude. “Your father is here. He arrived about an hour ago. He’s in the solar with Björn, Gunni, and Viggo. They’re planning to attack Fécamp, Before King Lothaire sends reinforcements. Lugh is there, too. With two otherLjósálfarwarriors.” Gyda gestured across the hall. “Luna is here, helping us heal the wounded. She’s over there, near the hearth.”
Ylva saw the silvery blonde hair and luminous glow of theLjósálfarwho had gifted her the magic ofnen glir. Making her way carefully across the chaotic Great Hall, she approached the Light Elven lady who had enabled her to save Skårde.
Luna’s radiant smile was as brilliant as the moonstone pendant at the base of her slender throat. “Greetings, Ylva. I am pleased to see you again, despite these desperate circumstances.” She gestured to the injured men whose pitiful moans rent the herb infused air.
“I wanted to thank you for the priceless gift ofnen glir.I used it this very day to save my husband’s life.” Ylva lowered her head in gratitude.
