Úlvhild shook the bottle of elderflower tincture which she was steeping in potent red wine. Soon, it would be ready to strain and serve to their patients in the Great Hall, with the rest stored for future use. Nostalgia glowed in her golden eyes as she reminisced about the past.
“I met him in King Harald’s royal longhouse in Tønenberg, a Viking port on the Skagerrak, near the Baltic Sea. Harald had summoned him to accompany the explorers he was sending to establish a Viking colony in the Faroe Islands. As a powerfulvitk,Haldor Falk would provide spiritual guidance and protection during the voyage and ensure the blessing of the Nordic gods in the new settlement.” Úlvhild spooned ground rosemary and calendula into a bowl of melted beeswax, mixing the crushed herbs into the base which would harden into a healing ointment. “As Harald’svölva,I was introduced to the intriguing sorcerer who had studied in the Lofoten Islands—the wild, rugged north of Norway.”
She flashed an enigmatic grin to a captivated Maeve and Ylva. “Legend says that the goddess Freyja herself took him as her lover. Some versions recount how she appeared before him on Dragon’s Peak, the highest cliff overlooking an icy fjord. Others relate that it was inside the ancient stone circle of Flakstadøy, or the Midnight Cove on Austvågøy. Regardless of the location in the Lofoten Islands, all the tales describe how—during thevitki’sritual to invoke the gods—Freyja appeared before him in the form of a falcon. And that, when she shifted into human form, and they made love beneath the shimmering aurora borealis, the goddess imbued Haldor Falk with her divine essence, granting him the power to transform at will into a falcon. She also gave him a cloak of shimmering feathers, like her own, and the power to communicate with—and command—all winged creatures. Haldor Falk, the Falcon of the Faroe Islands, is a master of avian magic.”
“I cannot wait to meet him. Today, when I go to the waterfall cave, I’ll make an extra offering to Freyja and ask that she guide her lover safely to us.” Ylva had taken the wooden yew sculpture of Divona back to the waterfall cave, recreating the sacred shrine where she worshipped the trio of goddesses every afternoon. Her heart now fluttered like the wings of the swan inFreyja’s Whisper, the sacred knife she had used to imbue the runes on Skårde’s emerald talisman with her blood. “And to Rán, so that she will control the seas and bring Skårde quickly home.”
“I need to check on Kól. I have some fish for him that I saved from the midday meal.” Úlvhild turned to Maeve, who was scraping her herbal ointment into a ceramic jar. “Do you want to come with me into the village?”
Maeve wedged the cork stopper into the vial containing the crushed garlic, sage, and rosemary salve she had just prepared. “I would love to. I want to stop in and see Gillie and Ingi.” She placed the jar on the wooden shelf and smiled at Ylva. “We’ll come back to the castle in time to feed our patients their supper.”
The three priestesses put away their herbal supplies, cleaned off the counter, and kissed each other on the cheeks to say goodbye. As Maeve and Úlvhild left the workshop and exited the castle, Ylva went into the Great Hall to speak to Gyda.
Skårde’s grandmother was with Dagny, tending the wounded with castle servants and women from the village. She looked up at Ylva’s approach, a warm smile crinkling her soft, wrinkled face. Setting down the scissors she was using to cut linen into bandages, Gyda strode across the hall to greet her.
Ylva kissed Gyda’s crinkled cheek. “I’m going down to the waterfall cave to pray for Skårde’s safe return. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” She gazed at the wounded Viking warriors who lay stretched upon straw pallets, valiantly clinging to life. “I’ll pray for them, too.”
“Say a prayer for me as well. For my grandson… and for all these injured men.” Gyda squeezed Ylva’s hands and returned to cutting bandages with Dagny.
****
The late August sun was warm on Ylva’s face as she stopped amidst the wildflowers to gather meadowsweet, rockrose, and sea lavender for her offering in the waterfall cave. Escorted by Kallez and her personal guards, she descended the grassy path from the clifftop near the castle to the pebbled shore a hundred feet below.
A briny breeze caressed her cheek, the salty tang of pungent seaweed tickling her nose as gannets and gulls squawked and soared overhead. Near the entrance to the sheltered sea cave, the thunderous waterfall of Divona’s sacred spring cascaded from the top of the white chalk cliff.
Ylva crossed the rocky beach and scooped a handful of cool liquid from the waterfall pool to quench her thirst before entering the cave. Inside the opalescent grotto, perched upon the limestone shelf, the wooden statue that Skårde had sculpted for her smiled to welcome Ylva.
She arranged the trio of wildflowers on the altar at the statue’s feet, amongst the silver coins, turquoise gems, and scallop shells. The three imbued stones she had used to heal Skårde’s wounded leg now flanked her enchanted emerald ring, sparkling in the afternoon sun. The silver coronet she had sacrificed glistened like a halo on the sculpture’s divine head.
“Divona, I offer meadowsweet, whose fragrant blossoms I hope will please you as I ask that you heal our wounded warriors and protect Skårde and his crew. Rán, please accept my gift of sea lavender and grant my request. That the waters of your vast ocean guide theSea Sirensafely home. Freyja, I present rockrose—symbol of love, nature. and beauty—and pray that you will protect my husband. And send your lover, Haldor Falk, quickly toChâteaufort.” Ylva knelt before the altar, head bowed in reverence to the trio of goddesses. Her prayer complete, she rose to her feet, brushed the sand from her deep green gown, and exited the cave, back into the solar brilliance of the late summer sun.
When she returned to the castle, Ylva joined Gyda in the Great Hall. As she placed droplets of herbal tincture into a pitcher of pure water filled from the underground spring near the castle, she remembered that Skårde had been bathed in the icy pool for theirwedding. As if he had touched her, a current of desire sparked up her spine. Smiling inwardly, Ylva bent to help one of the injured Viking warriors drink the healing tonic when Björn suddenly appeared at her side.
“My lady, a longship has been sighted in the harbor. Several of our warriors from Norway recognize it asFreyja’s Falcon,Haldor Falk’s vessel. The Falcon of the Faroe Islandshas arrived.”
Once the wounded warrior had finished drinking, Ylva dashed to the western bank of the river to watch the sleek Viking ship sail into the sheltered harbor ofChâteaufort.
Upon the cream colored sail billowing in the summer wind, the emblem of a magnificent falcon soared with outstretched wings feathered in shades of brown, deep blue, silver, and black. Its keen eyes glimmered gold like the goddess for which the ship was named. At the prow, the carved wooden image of Freyja, clad in her raven cloak, legendary necklaceBrísingamenat her majestic throat,clutched a spear in her right hand and perched a falcon upon the left, as if symbolizing her divine protection and spiritual bond with thevitkicommanding the ship.Amidst shouts, cawing gulls, the clinking of oars, and the creak of the winch as the chain boom arose from the murky brackish water, the briny scent of the sea mingled with the earthy aroma of wet wood and tar from the ship’s hull asFreyja’s Falconglided into the harbor and docked at the port.
Richard, who had been working at the mouth of the river with Skårde’s men fortifying the ramparts and gatehouses along the eastern wall of the harbor, came to the dock with an entourage of attendants to be formally presented to their highly anticipated guest. As the crew ofFreyja’s Falconpoured from the ship onto the bustling quay, they were welcomed by Danish warriors, Norman knights, stable hands, dockworkers, and castle servants alike. Björn and his men ushered the new arrivals toward the Viking bathhouse and the knights’ lodge where they would reside for the next two or three weeks.
Although she would soon arrange a welcoming feast to properly receive her honored guest, Ylva, as chatelain of the castle, went down to the dock with two maidservantsto officially welcome Haldor Falk.
Her breath hitched and her pulse raced as the formidable falcon disembarked.
He was tall, though not as towering as her father or Skårde, with rich dark brown hair that fell past his broad, armored shoulders. A prominent nose, like the beak of a hawk, curved above his well-trimmed dark beard. Painted wings stretched across his weathered face, the brown feathers detailed with subtle shades of black, silver, and grey. And below each of his dark brown, predatory eyes, theKaunrune—symbol of fire, power, and transformation—glowed in fiery red and orange hues.
His leather armor was a deep chestnut brown, the elongated, overlapping plates shaped like falcon feathers, embossed with intricate detailing and edged with swirls like sea and sky. Real falcon feathers were meticulously woven into the leather vambraces on his rugged forearms, the striking appearance evoking wings of his shapeshifting ability and avian magic.
Atop his stunning leather headpiece, a striking crest of feathers arose in a magnificent plume, with a carved amber image of Freyja in falcon form nestled at its base. A trio of red and gold glittering gemstones—undoubtedly imbued with powerfulvitkimagic—adorned the elaborate leather coif. Garnet, the deep red symbolizing Freyja’s passion and the falcon as her devoted lover. Carnelian, for courage and conviction. And pyrite, gleaming gold in the setting sun, a shining shield against evil. Haldor Falk removed the crested coif and leather gloves in humility as servants approached to formally present Richard the Fearless.
Legs shaking under her deep green gown, Ylva inhaled deeply to compose herself as attendants introduced her father to the Falcon. As the highest ranking noble and the Viking Duke of Normandy, Richard would receive the first introduction in honor of his prestigious title.
Richard’s booming voice welcomed the famed Falcon. “Greetings, Haldor Falk.” He shook theviki’sscarred, sinewy hand. “May I present my daughter Ylva, chatelain ofChåteaufortand Countess of thePays de Caux.”
Ylva inclined her head in homage. Her voice quavered in the Falcon’s intimidating presence. “Greetings, Lord Falk. Welcome toChâteaufort.Thank you for answering Úlvhild’s call. She will join us this evening in the private solar, where my father will explain the purpose of your summons. For now, please allow my servants to escort you to the guest quarters we have prepared in your honor. I’ll have water heated for your bath and send a platter of fresh fruit, cheese, and bread to your chambers. With an ewer of pure water from our underground springs and a pitcher of sweet honeyed mead.” She smiled warmly despite the chill in her shivering limbs. “Tonight, my father and I will welcome you and your men with a festive feast. Until then, may my castle attendants serve and refresh you after your long, arduous voyage.”
Haldor Falk gallantly bent to kiss Ylva’s trembling hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ylva. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I look forward to this evening’s feast and the pleasure of your fine company.” His resonant voice was as mellow as a lyre.
