“Thank you for saving my life, Lord Falk. Now please allow me to save yours.” Skadi’s radiant smile bathed Haldor in shimmering, otherworldly light.
“I retrievedÍsfálkrfrom the deck of thesnekkja.Near theDökkálfarguard you turned to stone.” Grinning from ear tobearded ear, Skjöld proudly handed the Dwarven spear back to Haldor.
Dvalinn, who had been tending the wounded dwarf that had fallen from the ledge, now approached hurriedly with Inga.
“A Ljósálfar healer. Odin be praised!” Dvalinn presented Inga, his cook who was also skilled in healing herbs. She had applied a poultice to Durinn’s wounded leg and bandaged it in a swath of white linen. “Inga and her husband Gunnar live here with me,” Dvalinn continued the introductions. “And my two nephews, Dáinn and Durinn, my Dwarven blacksmith apprentices.” Dvalinn gestured to the pair of copper-haired dwarves whose long red beards were braided with glowing amber beads like their uncle’s.
Dvalinn flashed Skadi a sooty, welcoming grin, “Come, my lady, while Gunnar and Dáinn help Durinn up the stairs, allow me to welcome you toNåttgraf.The clifftop cave I proudly call home.”
A surprisingly charming host, Dvalinn gallantly offered his elbow to the youngLjósálfarhealer, escorting her up the stairs behind Gunnar and Dáinn, each of whom supported the injured Durinn under a broad, armor-clad shoulder.
Skjöld grinned at Haldor as the two of them followed Inga up the stone stairwell, through the heavy oaken door, back into the firelit cave.
While Gunnar and Dáinn settled Durinn in a sleeping area down the hall, Dvalinn seated Skadi at his trestle table and gestured for Haldor and Skjöld to sit at her side.
Inga washed blood from her hands in a wooden basin carved into the worktable near the hearth, pouring water from a ceramic pitcher to rinse away the ash soap. With a clean linen cloth, she dried her hands near a vast collection of healing herbs displayed upon stone shelves carved directly into the wall of the cave above the wooden counter where she prepared meals.
Clay jars covered with cloth-tied lids lined the shelves, amidst an assortment of dried leaves and flowers hanging from hooks. Instoppered bottles of precious blue and green glass, herbal tinctures and essential oils glimmered in the firelight. The cleansing aromas of sage and thyme, the pungent tang of garlic and yarrow, and the piney, resinous scent of juniper berries reminded Haldor of Úlvhild’s thatched hut in the dense woods nearla Forêt du Loup—the Wolf Forest of Étretat in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. The familiar herbal scents comforted him, as if she’d wrapped him in her fragrantvölvaembrace.
Skadi’s crystalline voice flowed like a cool, cleansing stream. “I will need fresh water from the underground spring—the cascade that pours down the mountain into the waterfall pool. And a clean linen cloth, to wash his wound.”
“I’ll fetch the water, my lady.” Gunnar emerged from the hall and appeared in the doorway, followed by Dáinn, who took a seat at the table beside Dvalinn. “Won’t take but a moment.” He selected a ceramic pitcher from the shelf and disappeared out the heavy oak door.
“How will you heal him without herbs?” Inga poured pewter goblets of mead and served everyone before sitting across the table from Skadi. Curiosity and wonder gleamed in her wide, inquisitive eyes.
“With the Light Elven magic ofnen glir.”Skadi’s lovely face glowed with radiant light. “TheLjósálfarsong of water.”Skadi searched the folds of her deep blue cloak and withdrew a silver bowl whose rim was etched with an interlocking pattern ofLaguzrunes.
Haldor instantly recognized the namenen glir. Úlvhild had told him how Skjöld’s mother Ylva, a Celtic healer, had used it to cure her husband Skårde when he’d been sliced by aDökkálfarblade in the Frankish attack on Jarl Rikard’s fortress of Fécamp.
“My mother usednen glirto cure my father—theDragon of Denmark— when he was critically wounded in battle by aDökkálfarsword.” Skjöld leaned toward Skadi, delight dancing in his deep blue eyes. “She told me that theLjósálfarhealer Luna had given it to her as a wedding gift.”
Skadi stared at the trio of water droplets—theVeil of Vision— inked beneath Skjöld’s left eye. “You inherited the giftof sight through water from her.” With a delicate forefinger, she traced the patterns of runes tattooed on Skjöld’s forearms. As if responding to her Light Elven touch, the runes shimmered in glowing waves. “AndLjósálfarmagic flows in your veins.”
Gunnar reentered the cave, shutting out the frosty, salty chill behind him by closing and bolting the heavy oak door. He strode across the vast hearth chamber and placed the ceramic pitcher on the oak table before Skadi. “Will this be enough, my lady?”
“That will be plenty. Thank you, Lord Gunnar.” While Skadi carefully poured some of the spring water into her silver bowl, the gruff, stolid woodcutter smothered a smile, inordinately pleased at her addressing him with a title of respect.
“Please remove the vambrace from your injured arm, Lord Falk.” Skadi waited while Haldor unstrapped the protective leather wrap, embellished with real falcon feathers and tooled with Nordic runes.
Inga gasped at the gruesome sight of the atrocious wound. “It’s already festered. And the poison is spreading.”
Indeed, the sinister black swirls Haldor had observed only moments ago had already snaked up the entire length of his arm.
Skadi folded a swath of linen on the table and rested Haldor’s arm on top of the soft cloth. The silver bowl, filled with water from the spring, shimmered in the firelight beside it. “May I please use your dagger? TheDökkálfartook mine when they captured me.”
Haldor withdrew the blade from his belt and handed it to Skadi.
While everyone at the table watched in wide-eyed wonder, Skadi pricked the tip of her finger and carefully dripped three droplets of blood into the water. As crystalline notes of her pure voice floated like music from a flute, her long fingers fluttered over the silver bowl. TheLaguzrunes inscribed along the rim began to glow, and the water within radiated a brilliant ice blue light.
Dipping slender fingers into the silver basin, Skadi poured the cleansingwater over Haldor’s noxious wound, the fluid notes of her song flowing from her like the waterfall cascading into the clear pool.
The black streaks around the wound sizzled and hissed, recoiling like writhing snakes. As the serpentine swirls disappeared, the festering flesh turned a healthy pink. Within moments, all traces of the injury were gone.
“By the gods, it’s completely healed!” Inga clutched a weathered hand over her heart, mouth agape in awe.
“Ljósálfarlight dispelsDökkálfardarkness. Andnen glirwashes away every trace.” Skadi beamed at Haldor, her lustrous skin luminous and lucent. “I could also cleanse thesnekkjaship for you. Remove the malevolent magic.” Her sparkling gaze darted from Haldor, to Skjöld, then to Dvalinn. “That vessel is very valuable. A worthy prize for the victors.”
Dvalinn swallowed a large gulp of mead and wiped his thick red moustache with the back of a swarthy hand. “I have no need or desire for such a ship. The location of my Dwarven forge must remain hidden, and such a vessel would attract unwanted attention. You must take thesnekkjawhen you depart.”
