“That’s it, Elfi,” said Úlvhild, standing between her parted legs, where clean linens had been placed beneath her. “As the pain crests, bear down hard. Your daughter will soon be born.”
Elfi clenched her teeth when the next wave came, her cry mingling with the crash of the sea against the tower walls. Ylva braced her back, murmuring encouragement, but the hours endlessly dragged on. Her legs trembled, her strength waned, and still the babe did not come. Sobbing with frustration, Elfi collapsed onto the bed, strands of her long hair plastered to her face with sweat.
“Rush down to the beach and fill this with sea water,” Ylva whispered to Vivi, handing her a silver flask. “Quickly—before the next wave of pain.”
The fire crackled and snapped as Úlvhild tossed juniper berries into the hearth, the sharp pine scent mingling with the brine that drifted through the open windows. Thumping her moonstone staff against the floor, thevölvabegan to chant, Ylva joining her ephemeral voice to the rising rhythm of the tide.
When Vivi returned, breathless, Ylva bathed Elfi’s dry skin with the cool seawater. “She has thesjóvættirblood of a mermaid,” Ylva said softly to Vivi. “The sea will restore her.” She soaked Elfi’s feverish brow, quivering arms, and trembling hands. “Rán,” Ylva murmured, “through the curative waters of the sea, grant Elfi the strength to bring forth her child.”
A tremor rippled beneath the floor and up the limestone walls as a thunderous wave slammed againstla Tour d’ Écume. Sea foam sprayed high into the air, the glittering mist wafting into the sunlit room, hovering over Elfi like floating, ethereal fingers.
Elfi deeply inhaled the briny spray, her eyes brightening, her skin flushed with renewed vigor. When the next surge of pain came, Ylva helped her sit up. Elfi rolled forward with the wave, gripping her thighs, and howled—a long, low lament that echoed the cry of the sea itself—as theShe-Wolf of the Seafinally gave birth.
* * * *
The pale grey sky of dawn was streaked with dark red like the blood-soaked Seine. As the third day of conflict began, the relentless thunder of oars and the blare of war horns announced the deluge of attacking Rus. Sleeksnekkjasurged forward through the morning mist, raven sails streaked with soot and ash, asDökkálfarshadows leapt on the decks, flickering like flames of black fire.
The Vikings held fast, the nine chaineddrakkarstraining against the incoming tide and the relentless assault of enemy ships. Arrows hissed through the fog; steel clashed on shields slick with blood. Njörd fought like a berserker, white wolfskin cloak splattered with gore and drenched with salt spray,Úlfsongrsinging death in his skilled hands.
Through the din of battle, his lupine ears detected a distant sound.
Faint at first, increasing in intensity, until it thrummed in his spirit and reverberated in his bones. A long, lamenting howl, carried across the sea.
The Wolfsong ofla Louve Blanche, She-Wolf of the Sea.
Elfi had given birth.
The chaos of battle dimmed. The clashing of blades faded to a distant murmur. Distracted by the haunting howl of his lupine mate, Njörd reacted too slowly when aDökkálfarlunged from the smoke, his malevolent blade etched with arcane runes that slithered like snakes.
Pain ripped through Njörd’s side and across his belly, the shadowed steel biting deep through the chain mailbrynja. His grip onÚlfsongrfaltered; his knees buckled as the Dwarven sword fellupon the deck. The explosive impact from the blow sent him crashing into the rail and over the gunwale, plummeting into the cold, black sea below.
The Seine swallowed him whole.
His sodden wolfskin cloak weighed him down. Chain mail clung to his weakened limbs, dragging him under the tumultuous waves. Blood poured from his gaping wound.
The raging battle above the sea’s surface blurred into shadow and foam. He kicked once, twice, lungs burning, but the weight pulled him deeper into the watery abyss.
As the light faded, Njörd thought of Elfi— hissiren with the sea goddess eyes.
Her long, light brown hair streaked with gold. The blue and green scales in her mermaid tail. Making love to her in the waterfall cave. TheMiralircastle which awaited them inÁlfheim.
He thought of Brökk, killed in the Battle of Tórshavn twenty winters ago while defending Haldor Falk’s new stronghold in the Faroe Islands.
So this is how it ends. I will die like my faðir.. Slain by a Dökkálfar blade.
As Njörd succumbed to the numbing darkness, he clutched the turquoise talisman, sending his spirit across the sea in a loving farewell to Elfi.
* * * *
Elfi lay trembling, her newborn daughter swaddled at her breast. Joy overflowed her mermaid heart as she gazed into Nyssara’s wide blue eyes and caressed her delicate skin. The golden glow of the setting sun gilded the waves of the Narrow Sea and bathed Elfi’s chamber in warm, radiant light. The tangy air still smelled of salt, birth, and blood, mingling with the spicy scent of juniper and herbs in the fragrant smoke of the hearth. Outside, the wind whirled and whistled with the breath of life.
Then she heard his voice—faint as a whisper through the waves.
Njörd.
His plea rose from the depths, broken and distant, carried on the tide that lapped against the stone walls ofla Tour d’Écume. Her heart seized. She could feel his pull—the drowning weight, the fading warmth—like a tide receding from her soul.
Úlvhild had placed the afterbirth in a large silver bowl, its rim etched withLaguzrunes, moons, and wavelike scrolls. The vessel gleamed like a captured tide as thevölvamidwife veiled the sacred flesh with linen. With her sacred dagger, Freyja’s Whisper, Úlvhild cut the cord close to Nyssara’s tiny belly, tying it with a leather cord and swabbing it with pure honey.
