As the attendants exited the Great Hall, a visibly distraught Úlvhild appeared in the doorway with an equally distressed Maeve. Norhild, who had accompanied them, joined Gyda, Eydis, and Dagny in preparing beds and bandages while the trio of priestesses headed toward their herbal workshop near the castle kitchen.
“I’ll gather comfrey, yarrow, and chamomile to cleanse wounds and stop bleeding.” Úlvhild turned to Ylva, anxiety brewing in her anguished eyes. “Fetch three curative crystals. Amber, for warmth and healing. Garnet, for love and strength. And amethyst, for spiritual protection.”
Ylva collected the trio of gems while thevölvaselected the dried healing herbs.
“I’ll blend honey and garlic, for a poultice. It’ll prevent the wounds from festerin’.” Maeve lowered a jar of honey from the abundant array of vials and flasks which lined the wooden shelves. Ylva and Úlvhild quickly peeled several cloves of fresh garlic to help her, placing them into the stone mortar for Maeve to grind with a pestle. As she crushed the garlic, the potent, pungent aroma mingled with the crisp, clean scent of herbs. “It’s ready for the honey,” she said, referring to the milky, sticky paste in her stone dish. She looked up suddenly at the two of them, fat tears filling her beautiful, bewildered eyes. “Gunni’s wounded…” she choked, trying to maintain control.
“But not critically.” Úlvhild hugged Maeve, who dashed her tears away and nodded with conviction.
“Brigid be praised,” Maeve whispered, inhaling deeply to compose herself. She poured honey into the bowl of garlic paste and mixed it to form the healingsalve. When she’d finished, she turned to face her two companions, verdant fire blazing in her brave gaze. “Let’s go heal our men.”
Clutching the trio of crystals, Ylva suppressed the persistent, nagging dread that had plagued her all night.
Skårde is wounded. Dear Divona, help me heal him.
Armed with herbs, ancient knowledge, and powerfulgaldrmagic, the trio of Nordic priestesses rushed back to the Great Hall.
****
The two male servants had returned with buckets of water from the sacred spring and were now standing along the wall near the hearth. Four Viking warriors carried a wounded Gunni into the Great Hall, settling him onto one of the straw pallets on the rush-strewn limestone floor.
Maeve raced to Gunni’s side and knelt by his bed. “Where are you wounded? Show me.” Her voice quivered as shaking hands gently pushed back the thick red hair which had stuck to the dried blood and grime on his bearded, bristled face.
Gunni grinned wolfishly, a lusty gleam in his dark eyes. “Peel off my chain mail leggings and hose. I’ll be glad to show you everything I’ve got,elska min.”
Maeve suppressed a gleeful, grateful chuckle and waved to Eydis for a bucket of spring water and a basin. As she gently washed the blood and gore off Gunni’s injured face with yarrow soap and a soft linen cloth, Sweyn and Helga slipped into the room and joined Gyda.
When Skårde entered the Great Hall moments later, a crowd of castle servants, Viking warriors, and Norman knights followed close behind.
Cradled in his mail-clad arms, wrapped in blankets and a leather cloak, was the critically wounded Falcon. Skårde strode across the room to Úlvhild and Ylva, standing near a table where they had assembled their herbal supplies.
Ylva’s spirit soared to see Skårde strong enough to walk. Her eyes held his, sharing wordless passion and profound relief, before shifting to the wounded bird nestled against his armored chest.
Slender fingers caressed the feathered head as Úlvhild soothed Haldor Falk. “Where is he wounded?” she asked Skårde without taking her eyes off the vulnerablevitki.
“An arrow must have pierced his right wing. There’s a hole from the puncture, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Skårde carefully placed the maimed Falcon into Úlvhild’s outstretched arms.
Nestling him against her breast, she tenderly kissed the bird’s head and whispered words of comfort. “I have you now. I’m going to lay you down on a bed and have a look at your wing.” She carefully laid the Falcon on an empty straw pallet, unwrapping the leather and blood-soaked linen to reveal the crumpled, wounded wing.
A gruesome hole marked the area where the arrow had penetrated the skin. Around the puncture mark, many of the long brown feathers—tinged with the distinctive peregrine shading of black, grey, blue, and white—were missing, broken, or saturated with blood. The exposed, featherless flesh was deep red, inflamed, and horribly swollen. The Falcon was obviously in agonizing pain.
“He can’t shift into human form with such a grievous injury. He’s lost far too much blood.” Úlvhild gently wiped the injured wing with a sea sponge soaked in healing waters from the sacred spring. With loving fingers, she scooped some of Maeve’s garlic and honey poultice and spread it gently over the perforated wing. Fire flared in her amber eyes as she beheld Ylva and Maeve. “Haldor Falk is Freyja’s lover. We must summon the goddess to heal her Falcon.”
Thevölvarose to her feet and motioned for Gyda, Sweyn, and the servants to move away from the fireplace. Fetching a handful of juniper berries from the pouch at her waist, she tossed them into the flames and grasped her long wand, standing beside the stone hearth. “Place the trio of crystals around his body in a triangle,” Úlvhild ordered Ylva as she began chanting avardlokkur, thumping her iron staff on the stone floor.
Ylva laid the garnet, amber, and amethyst gems around the Falcon’s inert body and joined Maeve in chanting with thevölva.The trio of melodic voices blended in ephemeral harmony, floating on the pine scented, sea kissed air. The moonstone at the tip of Úlvhild’s staff glowed in the firelightand the early rays of the rising sun.
“O Freyja, goddess of love and healing, hear my plea. Mistress ofseiðrmagic, with your tears of amber, shed your golden light of love. Restore vigor and vitality to thisvitki. Freyja, heal your Falcon. I beseech you to save Haldor Falk.”
The trio of gems forming the triangle around the wounded bird began to glow and pulse. With a whoosh of wings and a whisper of wind, a shimmery golden light wafted in through the open window. Filling the room with an aura of palpable power, the radiant glow formed an ethereal, feminine figure whose cascading tresses and billowy gown flowed like waves of liquid gold. In the ambient light, Freyja’s exquisite face reflected the celestial beauty of the stars, creating the illusion of her essence being part of and apart from the mortal realm. Around her slender neck, the amber beads of herBrisingamennecklace gleamed like droplets of gold. Draped across her shoulders, her cloak of feathers glittered with thousands of glistening gems.
The goddess floated down to land upon the stone castle floor. She bent over the injured Falcon, lowering her lips to the wounded wing. A golden glow radiated from Freyja’s kiss, spreading healing light throughout the bird’s crippled, crumpled body. The punctured skin sealed itself, an iridescent mark of shimmery violet and golden light replacing the hole pierced by the arrow. Gilded feathers edged with shades of iridescent purple emerged, replacing the ones that had been lost. In a matter of moments, the Falcon raised himself up onto yellow avian legs, clutching the blankets of his bedding with four sharp, pointed black talons. Furiously flapping both of his wings, thevitkishifted back into human form in rippling waves of luminous color and lustrous, shimmering light.
Rugged face painted like outstretched wings, prominent nose curved like a raptor’s beak, clad in his striking dark brown leather armor with its elongated plates detailed like intricate feathers, Haldor Falk appeared before everyone’s astonished eyes. The glimmering goddess lingered, kissed the full human lips above the dark, thick beard, then disappeared in an evanescent wisp of golden, otherworldly light.
Haldor tilted his head and blinked like a bird as he fully regained his human senses. His shrewd, predatory eyes darted around the room, taking in Skårde, Sweyn, Ylva, and the others before finally focusing on Úlvhild. Recognition and longing gleamed in his intense gaze as he removed the crested coif atop his head and set it down upon the bed.
When she reached for him, he grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms. He cradled her against his chest and lowered his head protectively upon hers.
