“Good morning, Jarl Rikard. Might I have a word?” Njörd shook the duke’s powerful grip and nodded respectfully to Varg, who waved goodbye as he headed toward the bathhouse.
“Of course. Is there a problem among the men?” Jarl Rikard scowled, prepared to handle a dispute and mete out justice. Despite being close to fifty winters in age, with silver streaks in his blond hair and beard, Richard the Fearless still had the strength and vigor of a formidable Viking leader and commanding Duke of Normandy.
“Nei,not at all, my lord. I wanted to ask you about theLjósálfar,Lugh. The one who crafted Dag’s swordGaladir. He also forged your own Light Elven blade, didn’t he?” Njörd eyed the gleaming sword sheathed in the embellished scabbard at the duke’s armored waist.
“Indeed he did.” Richard the Fearless withdrew his blade and handed it to Njörd. A glittering gem in the sword hilt sparkled with stellar brilliance in the late summer sun. “Aragil.It meansNoble Starin the ancient language of theLjósálfar. That brilliant gem is agildirstarstone, like the one in Dag’s swordGaladir.Imbued with Light Elven magic to defend thealabaster coast of Normandy—the realm which Lugh protects from harm.” Jarl Rikard’s weathered face crinkled into a noble grin.
Power thrummed in his calloused hands as Njörd held the Light Elven sword. “It is truly magnificent.” He reverentlyreturned the enchanted blade and broached his intended subject. “ThevölvaÚvhildforesaw that Lugh would craft Light Elven weapons for Elfi. Do you know how I might reach him?”
“He often comes to our sacred grove to protect the sacred forest and honor our fallen. When I defended my dukedom against the invading Franks—and forced King Lothaire of West Francia to proclaim me the Duke of Normandy—Lugh found me in the sacred grove near my fortress in Fécamp. He gave meAragilto commemorate my victory and valor. That is also where I found him when I commissioned Lugh to forgeGaladirfor Elfi’s brother—as a reward to Dag for saving my life in that bloody battle against the Franks.” He sheathedAragilin the leather scabbard studded with gems. “You’ll find Lugh in the sacred grove near Dag’s burial mound. Elfi’s brother was a valorous Viking who died defending thePays de Caux. Lugh honors those who protect the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.”
“Takk,Jarl Rikard. I hope to find him there soon.Fardu vel. See you tonight in the Great Hall.” Njörd bowed respectfully before Richard and headed toward the castle to meet Elfi. He hoped that the ride into town to visit Úlvhild would reveal Elfi’s future. And the role she would play on the sea voyage to Ísland when Njörd reclaimed his father’s Dwarven sword.
When he entered the castle, his breath hitched at the sight of her.
His bewitching, beguiling betrothed. His fated mate. His siren with the sea goddess eyes.
She was wearing the necklace he’d given her as a bridal gift. The three tiers of blue and green gems highlighted the ocean colors of her eyes and the dark blue of her long linen dress. Thetrollkorsamulet dangled below the necklace, over the bodice of her gathered gown, the lapis lazuli gems sparkling in the sunlight which streamed through the narrow windows. Elfi’s light brown hair cascaded like a waterfall to the curve of her rounded hips, sending a surge of desire through him like a wave crashing against the white chalk cliffs. She was with Sif, arranging an enormous vaseof wildflowers while she waited for him. The sweet, floral fragrance blended with the salty breeze floating into the castle over the Narrow Sea. At the sound of his booted footsteps, she spun toward him.
Her radiant, dazzling smile robbed him of breath and coherent thought.
“The horses are saddled. Are you ready to go?” She rushed up to him, filled with anticipation. A delicious thrill shivered up his spine at the excitement in her eager expression.
“You look beautiful. I love the necklace on you. It enhances your sea goddess eyes.” He pulled her to his chest, wrapped his arms behind her waist, and bent down to brush her soft lips with his own. “I’m also glad you’re wearing thetrollkors.Úlvhild will be pleased as well.”
Elfi said goodbye to Sif. “I’ll be back soon—to put on my armor and fetch my sword.” She grinned up at Njörd. “We’re training in the sacred grove this afternoon.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and smiled conspiratorially at her thrall. “Please be sure myammatakes her daily nap.” Elfi winked at Sif, linked her arm through Njörd’s, and led him out the castle door.
Two stable hands brought the awaiting horses to them, and Njörd boosted Elfi into the saddle before climbing onto his own. With a gentle nudge of his knees, he urged his mount forward, and Elfi’s Friesian trotted along at his side.
When they reached thevölva’sdistinctive hut, Njörd dismounted and helped Elfi down from her saddle. He tethered the two horses to graze in the grassy area behind the small wooden cottage with the thatched roof. When he joined Elfi at the entrance to the hut, Úlvhild’s startling blue face and striking black hair greeted them at the carved oaken door.
“Vel kommin. I am glad to see that you are wearing thetrollkors,Lady Elfi.Please, come in.”Thevölvaled them into her dimly lit, eerie abode where the pungent scent of herbs and the sweet smell of smoke mingled with the acrid aroma of a bitter brew simmering in a cauldron over the hearth. Atop a pile of furson the bed in the back of the room, the black cat Kól watched them enter, his golden eyes glowing in the firelight.
“Have you come to seek anotherseiðrvision?” Úlvhild seated Elfi and Njörd at the table as she settled into an ornately carved chair across from them. She scrutinized Elfi with a trance-like gaze. “I sense a latent power in you. Like the unknown depths of the sea.” Her mystical eyes, as golden as her cat’s, focused on the three tiers of blue and green gemstones draped across Elfi’s slender throat. “And protective spells of enchantment in that stunning necklace as well.”
To dispel the nervousness which made Elfi’s legs tremble against his under the table, Njörd squeezed her hand reassuringly as he spoke to Úlvhild. “I did seek the stonecutter Bodo as you instructed. He informed me that I must reclaim my father’s Dwarven sword to fulfill a prophecy. And that Elfi must accompany us on the sea voyage, for she plays an essential role in my quest. We’ve come here today, hoping that you might foresee how she will aid me. And what the prophecy entails.”
Thevölvapushed back the cloak adorned with glittering gems, charms, and feathers which draped her shoulders. She removed a blue linen cloth wrapped around her waist and spread it upon the table before Elfi. Úlvhild stroked a leather pouch belted at her waist, caressing the smooth black lambskin with long, slender fingers. “The three Norns—Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—determine our fate,” she murmured, fixing Elfi with a perceptive, penetrating stare as she retrieved her iron staff leaning against the wall near the hearth. “Throughgaldrmagic of divination, I shall call upon them to reveal your destiny as I cast these Nordic runes. The sacred number nine. Three runes, for each of the three Norns.”
While Elfi regarded Njörd with eyes widened in wonder, Úlvhildbegan a melodicvardlokkurchant, rhythmically thumping her staff on the rush-strewn earthen floor of the hut like a drum. Inside its silver filigree casing, the moonstone at the tipof her wand glowed with otherworldly light.
Thevölvatossed a handful of seeds into the blazing fire, the crackle emitting a thick, sweet, spicy smoke, which she deeply inhaled before returning to the table. Her voice ethereal and haunting, Úlvhild summoned the protective spirits and deities of divination with her evocative song. Eyes closed, blue face uplifted toward the realm of the Norse gods in Asgard, the Viking seeress swayed with the cadence of her chant. Clutching the black leather pouch close to her heart, she shook the runes, reached into the bag, and—eyes still closed and face uplifted—withdrew three small oval runestones, which she placed one by one upon the blue linen cloth.
Each stone was made of smoothly polished white bone, inscribed with a deeply etched, reddened rune. Njord remembered how Úlvhild had imbuedgaldrmagic and three drops of his own blood into the runes on Elfi’strollkorstalisman. No doubt the runes in these oval bones had been etched in blood as well. Mayhap the blood of thevölvaherself.
“These three runes represent Urd, the Norn who reveals the past.” Úlvhild pointed to the first stone on the left. “Othala, the rune of heritage. A gift that has been passed down to you from your ancestors.” She indicated the second smooth oval in the middle. “Laguz, the rune of water. The healing essence of sacred springs, waterfalls, and coves. The raw, inherent power of the sea.” Thevölva’sskeletal fingertip delicately traced the third rune. “Uruz, for strength, endurance, and untamed potential.” She flashed Elfi a chilling grin. “You have inherited a gift from your ancestors. A power associated with water that you have yet to discover.”
Astonishment and excitement blazed in Elfi’s sea goddess eyes as Úlvhild shook the leather pouch and selected three more oval stones. “These are Verdandi’s runes, revealing the present. The first isDagaz—the dawn. Symbol of awakening, illumination, and enlightenment.” Golden eyes glistening in the firelight, thevölvainterpreted the second rune. “Geibo, the gift. You are about to receive an item of tremendous importance. TheLjósálfarweapons crafted from the bones of the sacred whitewolf.” She smiled at the third oval stone. “Algiz, for protection. Thetrollkorstalisman—to defend you from the treacherous troll.” Úlvhild’s expression became grave. “I have foreseen that the man who hunts you has allied with theDökkálfarand a shapeshifting troll. Trolls are especially dangerous, for unlike the Dark Elves, their presence cannot be detected by the preternatural senses of theÚlfhéðnar.But your talisman will alert you if aDökkálfarDark Elf is near, for it will become warm. And—should you come in contact with a troll, the amulet will become very hot, warning you of his presence that even theÚlfhéðnarcannot detect.”
Elfi’s pretty face froze. “Can I kill a troll with my sword?” Her eyes darted from thevölvato Njörd. “Both my brother and my betrothed have trained me well.”
“Nei,a troll can only be killed by a Light Elven or Dwarven blade specifically crafted for that purpose. Or by exposure to sunlight, which turns theDökkálfarand trolls to stone.” Úlvhild rattled the remaining runes in the black velvet pouch and withdrew the three final stones. She laid them side by side on the blue cloth and interpreted Elfi’s future. “For the NornSkuld, revealing what has not yet come to pass, there isRaidho, the rune for journey. Representing the sea voyage you shall soon undertake.Thurisaz, the thorn, symbolizes the conflict and danger of the Frankish count, theDökkálfarDark Elves, and the shapeshifting troll who pursue you. And the last rune,Hagalaz. The wrath of Nature, chaos, and war.”
While Elfi shuddered with the implications of her ominous future, Úlvhild strode across the room and selected a vial, a leather pouch, and a gem-encrusted chalice from the cluttered wooden shelves which lined one wall, all the while chanting and thumping her glowing moonstone staff. She placed the items upon a counter near the hearth and leaned her long staff against the wall as she opened the pouch, tossed a handful of berries into the crackling fire, and breathed in the thick, heady fumes. Continuing her eerie, melodic evocation, thevölvaladled some of the liquid from hercauldron and poured it into the elaborate silver chalice. She placed a few droplets of liquid from the vial, stirred the contents, and drank the brew from the glittering chalice. Seating herself upon an elevated chair, her blue brow furrowed in contemplation, Úlvhild resumed hervardlokkurchant. Deeply inhaling the sweet smoke and humming in an ethereal, otherworldly voice, the Vikingvölvasummoned the spirits between the nine realms as she invoked aseiðrvision.
“I glimpse a waterfall and a hidden cave. A secluded inlet guarded by asjóvættirsea spirit—a mermaid who was your ancestor.” Úlvhild’s eyes rolled back to reveal just the whites, her jaws tightly clenched in a grimace, her skeletal body rocking like a ship in a raging storm. “You must learn to wield your inherited power and summon the strength of the sea. The nine mermaids will teach you. The shapeshifting priestesses of theÎle de Sein.The legendary sea dragon warriors of theGallizenae.” Úlvhild slumped forward, released from the throes of a tempest, and opened her glowing, golden eyes. “One of theLjósálfarwill craft the white wolf weapons. And take you to theÎle de Sein.Through the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove.”
Elfi gasped and spun toward Njörd. “That’s the cave that Dag and I discovered as children. I go there every day after my dance with swords—to play Dag’s flute. So that my music honors him in Valhalla.”
