All afternoon, she had meticulously inscribed a Nordic rune into each bone with a sharp knife and chisel.
Ansuz, the rune of divine inspiration and wisdom, was now engraved in the wolf bone for Odin.Tiwaz—Tyr’s rune for justice, courage, and victory—was etched into the tusk of the boar. AndThurisaz, Thor’s rune for strength and protection, was carved into the bull’s horn.
Chanting avardlokkurto summon the Norse gods and protective spirits, Ylva inhaled the sweet scented smoke and sliced the tip of her wedding ring finger with the sharp point of her dagger.
Into theAnsuzrune inscribed in the wolf bone, she trickled three drops of her blood and whispered an invocation to Odin. “Blessed Allfather, grant your wisdom and knowledge to Skårde, Richard, and Harald as you guide them to victory in battle.”
Inhaling the fragrant essence of herbs, Ylva hummed hervardlokkuras she placed a trio of blood droplets into theTiwazrune inside the boar tusk. “Hail Tyr, God of War, Justice, and Valor! Imbue myverr,faðir,andsvátrwith your bravery and determination. Lead them to triumph over the foul Frankish enemy who stole my father’s castle.”
Singing and swaying, she summoned Skårde’s storm god. “Thor, God of Thunder! Defender of Asgard and Midgard. Imbue my husband’s swordDuradrakkwith the lightning power ofMjölnir!”
Her ritual complete, Ylva stared at the sunlit sea and watched the waves crash against the white chalk cliffs.
Skårde’s warriors are arriving now at Fécamp. May the gods grant them strength, protect them in battle, and lead them to victory over the Franks.
She raised the silver chalice of mead she had reserved for a tribute to the triad of gods. “To Odin, Tyr, and Thor! To the valiant Viking alliance! And to victory at Fécamp!Skál!”
****
The mood at the dinner table in the solar was somber. Although she tried to remain cheerful and positive for Sweyn’s benefit, Ylva was so tense, she could barely touch her meal, despitethe appetizing array of baked fish, roast pork, garden vegetables, and apple tart.
She knew Skårde was wounded. She’d felt the enemy blade slash through the chain mail armor and slice the exposed flesh of his left side. As she now sat at the head of the table, reliving her afternoon blood ritual, Ylva silently prayed that the Norse gods of war had infused Skårde with their strength in battle and that he would soon return toChåteaufort.
While Björn and his wife Bellerose, who was heavy with child, chatted at one end of the table with four ofChâteaufort’s highest-ranking knights, Ylva sat at the opposite end, next to Sweyn and his governess Helga. Gyda, Úlvhild, and Maeve flanked her other side.
Despite her unease, Ylva forced a smile when she caught Maeve’s worried eye.
The steward Petroc suddenly burst into the room, his wrinkled face alight with wonderful news. “Lady Ylva, the fire beacon is lit! Two flames, my lady—the signal of victory. Your husband and father have reclaimed Fécamp!”
Amid jubilant shouts of “Victory!”, knights and ladies jumped to their feet and embraced one another. Sweyn hugged first Helga, then Ylva, whooping with glee and jumping for joy. Although profound relief permeated the previously tense atmosphere, Ylva shuddered with a premonition of dread. She swallowed a lump of foreboding which constricted her throat and impeded her breath.
I must have faith in the Nordic gods. Rán, please bring Skårde’s ships safely home. Divona, help me heal his wounds. And Freyja, guide your Falcon and my father swiftly back to Chåteaufort.
For the rest of the evening, while the entire castle celebrated victory, Ylva kept a continuous, silent vigil in her anxious, apprehensive heart.
“They will be home tomorrow. Or mayhap the following day. Go to bed, say a prayer of thanks, and sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Úlvhild kissed Ylva’s cheek as she prepared to leave the solar with Maeve. The two priestesses were spending the night in the castle, sharingguest quarters at the end of the hall.
“Sure and Skårde will be comin’ home on the morrow. And Harald, so’s he can see his son Sweyn.” Maeve hugged Ylva tight and kissed her goodnight. “We’ll have another feast, won’t we now. And celebrate victory!” She whispered in Ylva’s ear. “I hope Gunni is on Skårde’s ship. I sorely miss my Viking redbeard.” Hooking her arm through thevölva’s, a smiling Maeve led Úlvhild out the door.
Gyda had already gone to bed, as had Helga and Sweyn. Eydis and Norhild accompanied Ylva to her chamber, lighting candles in her darkened room.
Norhild unplaited her hair, helped her out of her grey woolen gown, and into a soft linen chemise. Eydis banked the fire in her hearth and folded down the covers on her bed, but Ylva was not ready for sleep.
“I’ll sit here for a while,” she said, settling into the chair in her antechamber at the table beneath the open window. “Thank you both—you may go now. Good night.”
When the door closed, and she was at last alone, Ylva sat in the moonglow and starlight, watching the waves dance on the Narrow Sea, praying for Skårde’s safe return.
She must have dozed in her chair, for she was awakened to a sky streaked with the deep indigo, mauve, and purple shades of dawn. Norhild and Eydis rushed into her room.
While Eydis selected a green gown from her coffer at the foot of bed, Norhild announced the reason for the early awakening. “A messenger ship has just arrived. Your husband is returning to port. Haldor Falk is critically injured and needs the trio of Nordic healers to save him.”
Ylva quickly donned the gown, and Eydis ran an antler comb through her long blonde hair, plaiting it into a thick single braid down her back. “I will awaken Úlvhild and Maeve,” Norhild said to Eydis. “You take Lady Ylva down to the Great Hall. Petroc has the servants preparing an area to treat the Falcon and Gunni, who is also wounded and aboard ship. I’ll join you downstairs in a few minutes.”
When Norhild rushed off to awaken the two priestesses, Ylva grabbed her satchel of herbs from her antechamber and dashed down the stairs with Eydis.
Inside the Great Hall, several straw pallets had been set up along the wall where a roaring fire crackled in the enormous hearth. Gyda and Dagny, who were preparing strips of linen for bandages, greeted them as Ylva and Eydis entered the vast chamber.
“Fetch buckets of water from the sacred spring at the edge of the forest—where you bathed Skårde for the wedding.” Ylva sent two male servants to the bubbling underground spring in the dense woods near the castle.
