As Skjöld entered the limestone grotto, the deafening roar of the cascade was eclipsed by the brilliance of an ethereal female figure as radiant as starlight. Instinctively, his water spirit recognized the Celtic Goddess of the Sacred Springs as Skjöld bent his humbled head and knelt before Divona.
Long tresses of shining blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, the gossamer sleeves of her silvery gown fluttering like wispy tendrils in gentle waves. Upon her head, a crown of woven willow branches and river reeds was adorned with shimmery pearls and iridescent blue gems that glittered like droplets of morning dew. With slender, luminous hands, Divona indicated the ebullient freshwater pool into which the waterfall tumbled inside the cave. Her divine message flowed into Skjöld’s very soul. “Water is a mirror which reflects your fate. Use your inherited gift to view your destiny.”
Under the watchful, otherworldly gaze of the goddess and theÁhkká—his female ancestors who had passed on to him their divine gift of sight—Skjöld sought the wisdom of water in the sacred spring where his mother and grandmother had once worshipped Divona.
Images appearedamidst the bursting bubbles in the freshwater pool.
Skjöld glimpsed a snow-capped mountain jutting over an icy fjord, its towering peak piercing the clouds on a remote island shrouded in mist. At the base of the craggy cliff covered in shadows, he spotted the entrance to a hidden cave. Inside, amidst a hoard of treasure and a cache of gleaming weapons, he beheld a magnificent shield which caught his eye and sang to his soul.
Shaped like an inverted droplet of water, the weapon was an icy blue, with elaborately etched dark sapphire waves of glowing Nordic runes. In the center of the shield, encased in intricately carved shimmering silver, a faceted pale blue gem sparkled with fiery, wintry brilliance.
More images emerged in the effervescence of the waterfall pool.
A spectacular spear of frosted ash, its shaft etched with glowing runes, glimmered against the wall of the mountain cave where a dwarf with flaming red hair and braided russet beard toiled over an open forge. Beyond a stone archway, Skjöld perceived a small bed and wooden table inside the dwarven blacksmith’s abode. In an adjacent room, beneath a set of wooden shelves containing hammers, chisels, and assorted tools, an open treasure chest filled with gold and precious gems glittered in the firelight.
As the turbulent waters of the pool churned up more visions, Skjöld beheld asnekkjalongship with a raven prow, an ominous black sail with blood red stripe down the center, and a band of Rus raiders approaching the mouth of the mountain cave where the unsuspecting dwarf hammered a magical weapon over his flaming forge.
Comprehension dawned amidst the sparkling waters of Divona’s sacred spring.
Skjöld had to warn the dwarf of the impending attack, for the Rus raiders not only wished to seize the treasure and the hoard of priceless Dwarven weapons, they had been sent to thwart the long-foretold prophecy. With the water wisdom imparted from his ancestors, Skjöld understood that he was destined to wield the droplet-shaped Dwarven shield. As he glimpsed his destiny, theprophetic words of thevölvaÚlvhild floated to him from the spirit world of water.
You, Son of the Dragon, must shield the cape and defend the future crown.
The visions in the pool disappeared as his senses slowly returned.
The roar of the waterfall thundered in his ears. Shimmering rays of blue, gold, and pale violet light danced upon the surface of the bubbling spring. Skjöld rose to his feet and faced the luminous trio of female apparitions who floated in the surrounding waters where his spirit had ventured.
His grandmother Lova traced an ethereal finger along his bearded cheek and spoke wordlessly into his mind. “Use the wisdom gleaned from the realm of water to shield and protect. Return now to the world of humans and fulfill your destined prophecy.”
Skjöld watched in wonder as the ephemeral figures dissipated into the waves of the incoming tide which flooded the floor of the sea cave. He turned back toward the fjord behind him and spotted his mentor, Haldor Falk—Falcon of the Faroe Islands—standing on the distant shore, awaiting his return.
Like a beacon summoning a ship to port, Haldor held a torch which flickered in the wind whipping through the cliffs on the sheltered sides of the sacred fjord. Skjöld sent his spirit back to his slumped body, still sitting in the small ship. As he regained his human form, he sat upright, breathing deeply of the crisp saline air, gazing up at the swirls of stars in the sapphire night sky.
Gentle waves lapped the hull of his boat. Echoes of sloshing and the eerie whistle of winds funneling through the cliffs reached his heightened ears. In the distance, the low, rhythmic pulse of Jaskka’s drum and the melancholy notes of his repetitive, hypnotic chant drifted across the fjord, calling him back to shore.
Amidst the briny scent of the sea,the mineral tang of wet rock, and the pungent aroma of kelp, Skjöld sensed the charred woodsmokeof juniper and herbs burning in the tribal fire. He shivered violently as a gust of cold wind carried across the fjord, his limbs shaking with adrenaline, his skin tingling with the painful joy of being alive after the intense voyage into the spirit world. A salty crust covered his face, his lips dry and cracked, as if he had been breathing seawater in his sleep. Suddenly ravenous, he hungered for food, for warmth, and for human touch—the physical ache of being back in his body. Lifting the two oars, he rowed back to his mentor, standing at the edge of the icy fjord.
Haldor helped Skjöld out of the spirit boat and assisted him in dragging the ship onto the sandy beach. Together, they strode back toward the frosted glen where the villagers were gathered around the fire to witness Skjöld’s ritual ceremony and trial. On shaky legs, his head bowed in humility before the revered elder of the tribe, Skjöld approached Jaskka, seated upon an enormous stump of a tree, the all-seeing eyes painted upon his chalk-white forehead observing him from the Otherworld. The beating of thegoavddisdrum ceased, signifying the completion of Skjöld’s journey. Jaskka deep voice reverberated into Skjöld’s very bones.
“You have crossed into the spirit world, seeking ancestral wisdom through your inherited gift of water. Now that you have returned to the human realm, I proclaim younoaidi. May you always use your sacred power to defend and protect.” Jaskka summoned three elders of the tribe, who emerged from the throng, clad in elaborate furs and antlers, their chalky white faces painted with intricate Sámi symbols and black Nordic runes. They approached in solemn silence, bearing honored gifts for Skjöld.
The first, Ellef, offered a horned headpiece crafted from the antlers of a reindeer, an animal sacred to the Sámi people. The pale bone was finely etched with three symbols: the Nordic runeLaguz,for water;a paw to represent the sacredGuovžabear, and the Sámi star,Násti,to symbolize divine guidance. Ellef reverently placed the spirit helm upon Skjöld’s bowed head and stepped aside for the presentation of the next gift.
Måhtte’s white hair shone in the moonlight like the shimmering silver in the spirit ring cradled in his outstretched palm. Skjöld accepted the precious gift with a reverent nod, admiring the dark blue lapis lazuli stone set amidst waves of finely crafted silver. On the inside of the band, the sameLaguz,Guovža, andNástisymbols that adorned his reindeer headpiece were etched into the silver. The ring’s touch would therefore connect Skjöld to the realm of water and the wisdom of theÁhkká.He reverently placed the ring upon the center finger of his left hand, in accordance with the Sámi belief of receiving insight from the spirit world through the side of the body closest to the heart.
As Måhtte rejoined theLáhpitribe gathered around the fire, the skilled hunter and trapper Niillas approached Skjöld with a full-length cloak made from the fur of an enormous white bear. Along the collar and edges of the sleeves, the Nordic runeLaguzwas embroidered amongst bear claws and stars in shimmery silver thread. Upon the left shoulder, just above the heart, the majestic cloak fastened with a braided leather loop and a silver toggle engraved with runes and adorned with a lapis lazuli stone to match Skjöld’s spirit ring. Lined with supple seal skin for flexibility and warmth, the fur cloak would be ideal for the harsh climate of the wild north of Norway.
Jaskka rose to his feet, adjusting his own antler headpiece, his reindeer fur cloak, and his belt with suspended bones, teeth, and claws. He accepted the bearskin cloak from Niillas with a reverent nod, draped it around Skjöld’s shoulders, and fastened the lapis lazuli clasp. His deep voice echoed between the craggy cliffs across the silent, starlit fjord.
“Skjöld Skårdesson, known as theSon of the Dragon, you are a fierce Viking warrior who has become anoaidi.In creating your spirit name, I shall blend the rune ofLaguz—for your Nordic heritage and ancestral gift of sight through water—with your new Sámi title ofnoaidi. From now on, you shall be calledLagudi.The one who walks the spirit paths of water.”
Skjöld’s spirit soared like the pale grey sea bird drifting high above the fjord on a cold, rising wind.
Jaskka extended his hands, palms up, toward the sacred fjord as he announced to the tribe, “Tonight, theÁhkkáspirits have spoken.Lagudiis no longer a seeker—but is now anoaidi.Let all who have witnessed this ritual bear the truth. May we honor the spirits with a sacred feast.”
Two large reindeer were roasting on spits over open fires, the delicious aroma of grilled meat wafting in the crisp saline air. While several men quickly set wooden planks atop large stones to create makeshift tables, covering them with woolen blankets and animal pelts, others carved the cooked meat and heaped it onto wooden platters for the tribe to share. Women scurried into theirlávvu—tents made from reindeer hide—to fetch wooden bowls of wild lingonberries, platters of smoked salmon, and stacks of flatbread made from barley. As the women set the food and pitchers of mead upon the tables, the tribe gathered around for Jaskka to make a tribute and special offering to the spirits.
Skjöld stood near the fire with his mentor, Haldor Falk, proudly displaying the gifts he had received to commemorate becoming anoaidi.
