When his body calmed, he lingered for a few moments, savoring the sated glow which flowed through his veins. Njörd shifted his weight to one elbow, leaning down to kiss Elfi softly. “Our last tryst in the waterfall cave. Lugh comes tomorrow.”
Excitement and regret warred in her wide, expressive eyes. “I can’t wait to see the weapons he’s crafted with the bones of your white wolf. I’m thrilled to go with him to theÎle de Sein.And learn to wield my mother’ssjóvættirmagic. But…” she said, tracing a tender fingertip in the dark hair on his chest, “I will miss our afternoons here in the waterfall cave. And our swims in the Mermaid Cove.”
“We’ll be able to come here when you return.” He held her against his chest, stroking her soft, supple skin. He sighed and kissed her hair. “I must get back to the castle. There’s another wedding feast tonight, and I need to finish the final section of the wooden palisades before Jarl Rikard and his men ride to Reims tomorrow.” Njörd reluctantly sat up, pulled on his hose, and stood to don his woolen breeches. He took Elfi’s hand and raised her to a stand. While she swept her braided hair over one shoulder, he secured the trollkorstalisman and kissed the back of her slender neck. “We have one last night together. Before you leave for theÎle de Seintomorrow.” Njörd grinned as he strapped on his sword. “I’m looking forward to another glorious night in your room. And Bodo cannot wait to spend tonight with Sif.” He helped Elfi secure the bow across her back and handed her the quiver of arrows. “That bloodstone ring—the one he bought from Óttarr Skov—is incredible. It has completely cured his limp. Now he can dance with Sif all night long. I just hope we can keep him away from Áki.”
As Njörd lifted the torch to light the way back through the dark tunnel, Elfi grabbed her shield. “I’ll have Inga—the pretty blonde servant from the kitchen—dance with Áki tonight. Odin willing, he’ll focus on her and forget about Sif.”
****
A long black cloak—adorned with raven feathers, bloodied bones, glittering gems, and eerie charms—draped like enormous wings across her narrow shoulders and down her slim back. Catskin gloves lined her long arms, and skeletal fingers clutched the carved wooden staff with its elaborately encased, glowing moonstone tip. Her striking oval face painted with deep blue woad, the Vikingvölvathumped her wand on the leafy ground rhythmicallylike a drum. Melodic voice as mellow as a harp, Úlvhild chanted avardlokkurto summon benevolent spirits and invoke the blessings of the Nordic gods.
While moonlight danced on white-capped waves which crashed against the craggy cliffs far below, the pagan priest at her side dipped an ash twig into the blood of the boar which had been sacrificed and roasted for the wedding feast. His white, chalk-painted face streaked with black Nordic runes, thegoðisplattered the newly handfasted couples with the liquid offering to the gods. As Njörd and Elfi stood among the wedding guests gathered in the grassy clifftop meadow, the Viking priest poured the remains of the sacrificial blood onto the roaring flames within the stone enclosed altar. The crackling bonfire sizzled and spit, sending golden sparks soaring into the starry night sky.
Like every Frigg’s Day since Njörd and his Danish army had arrived from Ribe, widows and warriors were handfasted in a mass pagan wedding near the bonfire under the stars.
Tonight, to honor the moon god Mani for the vibrant Viking feast, and to seek the blessings of the gods for the upcoming voyages which would take place on the morrow, castle servants had set up dozens of tables outdoors under the canopy of enormous oaks. Now, with the ceremony complete, the newly wedded couples dashed to tables laden with sumptuous food in the jubilant frenzy of the traditionalbruðhlaupbridal race. As the last place couple ceremoniously served goblets of mead to the winners, Njörd settled Elfi at the head table where Jarl Rikard was seated with Count Skårde, Úlvhild, Oda, Bjarke, and Varg. Taking his place at Elfi’s side, Njörd accepted a mug of mead and perused the castle grounds.
Bodo and theÚlfhéðnarpack—along with several Danish warriors from Ribe— were at a table where Sif and the pretty blonde Inga were pouring generous mugs of mead. Odin be praised, there was no sign of Áki. Exhaling in profound relief, Njörd piled his plate high with baked haddock seasoned with thyme, a vegetable medley of wild carrots, peas, mushrooms, leeks and onions, and several thick slices of roast boar slathered with honey.
Skårde the Scourge—the burly blond giant once known as theDragon of Denmark, now the ruling Count of thePays de Caux—spoke to Njörd from across the table. “Jarl Rikard informs me that you will be meeting Lugh tomorrow in the waterfall cave. That Lugh is craftingLjsósálfarweapons from the bones of a sacred white wolf—thehámrspiritof your father, a Völsung warrior descended from Odin.” Fierce pride blazed across Skårde’s bearded, tattooed face. “Lugh was the one who forged myLjósálfarsword,Duradrakk. As well as Jarl Rikard’s bladeAragil, and Dag’s stolen sword,Galadir.I am most anxious to see what weapons he has crafted for you.” TheDragon of Normandyraised his engraved silver goblet to Elfi.
“That will have to wait until I return from theÎle de Sein.”Barely able to contain her enthusiasm, Elfi squirmed in her seat, her excited voice a breathless whisper.“After he brings the white wolf weapons to the waterfall cave tomorrow, Lugh is taking me there. To meet the legendary mermaids of theGallizenae!” Exhilaration glittered in her sea goddess eyes.
When Skårde raised a curious eyebrow, the blue-facedvölvaseated at his side answered the unspoken question. “Elfi’s mother was Dúva, one of the nine billow maiden daughters of Rán. Asjóvættirsea spirit mermaid.”
“Lugh explained that theGallizenaecould teach me to wield her power. And learn to control the sea!” Elfi’s radiant face glowed like the moonstone in Úlvhild’s carved wooden staff. “Perhaps I will need it on the voyage to Ísland, when Njörd reclaims his father’s Dwarven sword.”
Worry lines furrowed the crinkled skin around Oda’s eyes. “When will you sail for Ísland?”
“After theHaustblótFestival, whenfaðirreturns to Étretat. AndGaladiris properly buried with Dag in the sacred grove.” Hand shaking as she grasped for her goblet, Elfi downed a bracing gulp of mead.
Njörd darted another glance at the table where Sif now sat on Bodo’s lap, her face alight with laughter.Thank the gods, still no sign ofÁki.He redirected his attention back to Elfi.
“Will you ride or sail toChâteaufort?”she asked Skårde, referring to his clifftop castle in nearby Dieppe.
“Sailing is quicker, and less physically exhausting for Ylva and our daughter Vivi, who is twelve winters old.” The Count of thePays de Cauxsmiled wistfully and drained his goblet, summoning a servant for more.
“Skårde’s wife Ylva is Jarl Rikard’s daughter,” Elfi explained to Njörd. “She and Skårde have two sons, in addition to their daughter Vivi.” Nostalgia glimmered in her sorrowful eyes as she smiled softly at Skårde. “Their oldest son, Skjöld, used to train here atChâteau Blancwith Dag as a young boy. But for the past eight years, Skjöld has been training to become avitki—a Viking sorcerer with powerfulgaldrmagic. In the wild north of Norway. With the Falcon of the Faroe Islands, Haldor Falk.”
Recognition dawned upon hearing that name. Njörd remembered Bodo explaining how their king, Harald Bluetooth, had sent theÚlfhéðnar—including Njörd’s father Brökk—to aid Haldor Falk in the Faroe Islands. Where Brökk had been killed by aDökkálfarin the bloody Battle of Tórshavn.
Elfi sipped from her goblet and smiled before she resumed speaking to Njörd. “Skårde’s second son, Tryggvi, is in Denmark. Training to become a warrior with his uncle, Sweyn Forkbeard—Skårde’s younger brother.”
“Tryggvi fought alongside Sweyn two years ago in the Battle ofHeiðabýragainst the Franks. Their victory enabled King Harald to reclaim the Danish port from Otto the Red and his Holy Roman Empire.” A gloating grin stretched across Jarl Rikard’scraggy face. “And Otto’s royal cousin, the Frankish King Lothaire.” Richard the Fearless directed his ducal attention back to Skårde. “Tryggvi is sixteen winters. The same age you were when you fought at your father’s side in alliance with me against Lothaire. That decisive victory not only helped me defend Normandy against the Franks. It earned you the titleDragon of Denmark, warlord of King Harald’s Viking army.” Jarl Rikardraised his silver goblet in tribute, and all at the table drank to Skårde.
There was a lull in the conversation, and everyone returned to the delectable fare of the feast. As lively music filled the festive air, silver goblets glistened in the moonglow, and the crisp pine scent ofla Forêt du Loupstirred his lupine blood, Njörd filled his lungs with the saline breeze of the salty sea, reflecting upon the strands of fate.
The völva in Norway foretold that destiny would lead me across the Nordic Seas to my mate—the siren with the sea goddess eyes. When King Harald sent me to Normandy for a Viking alliance with Jarl Rikard, not only did I find Elfi, but another völva, who led me to Bodo. I’ve learned about the prophecy, my father Brökk, and that I have the Úlfhéðnar blood of the wolf. And now, I shall meet Haldor Falk, Falcon of the Faroe Islands. Ally of my Völsung father, my Viking jarl, and my Danish king. The three Norns have interwoven the threads of all our fates.
Jarl Rikard’s deep rumble interrupted Njörd’s reverie. “It’s been eight long years since I’ve seen Skjöld.” The weathered, leathery face of Richard the Fearless crinkled in a proud, paternal smile. “He’s a man now. Undoubtedly a powerfulvitki. Like the shapeshifting sorcerer who trained him.”
Blue woad face painted with black runes, feathered cloak splattered with glittering gems like a star studded midnight sky, Úlvhild leaned forward and mesmerized Njörd. “Like you, Skjöld is destined to fulfill a prophecy.” Thevölva’sgolden eyes glowed like liquid amber, her oracular voice hallowed and haunting.“The eldest child born to the daughter of a Norman duke and the son of a Danish king will forge a dynasty to unite this land and rule for a thousand years.”A cryptic smile crept across her eerily beautiful face. “It appears the Norns have entwined Skjöld’s prophecy with your own.”
Chapter 21
Preparing to Depart
While Njörd considered the implications of Skjöld’s prophecy interwoven with his own, Jarl Rikard spoke to him from across the table. “Thorfinn will be most pleased and impressed with the new defensive structures you implemented. Those spiked palisades protruding from the moat will impale any enemieswho manage to breach the outer wall. It was brilliant to model them after King Harald’s fortifications of theDanevirkin Denmark. And themashrabiyaalong the castle ramparts—themurder holes, as the men call them,” he chuckled, “will thwart any future attacks onChâteau Blanc.”
