And nettle, to strengthen her weakened body.
Úlvhild set the pot over the fire and sat down at the small table to watch the flickering flames, lost in the fateful vision.
Njörd would indeed reclaim his father’s Dwarven sword, and Elfi would marry him in a gloriousLjósálfarwedding. But there would be a decisive battle in Ísland. WithDökkálfarDark Elves clad in the shadow cloaks she’d foreseen in a previous sighting. The ones she would destroy with the solar magic ofsólrún.
Úlvhild removed the boiling pot with the iron tongs and set it upon a flat stone to cool while she fetched a ceramic cup from the wooden shelf near the hearth. Wrapping her hands with the linen cloth, she carefully poured the restorativetisaneinto the mug,straining the herbs with a wooden spoon. She sipped the pungent brew, savoring the bitter bite of yarrow, the honeyed almond of meadowsweet, the earthy musk of angelica, and the metallic grass of nettle.
She would die in the imminent battle, struck down by the crimson-eyed witch. But Haldor would live, for Úlvhild would slay the Snake Warrior. And give every last drop of her magic to her Falcon.
Úlvhild searched among her pouches, withdrawing three more dark berries and a pinch of herbs, which she tossed into the fire to purify the air. The sharp, piney scent of juniper mingled with the calming fragrance of sage. She poured herself another cup of the herbal brew, the warmth flowing into her shaking limbs, grounding her in the human realm, closing the veil to the Otherworld.
From among the supplies in her wooden trunk, she retrieved the polished silver plate which would serve as a mirror while she applied the blue woad paint to her face. Upon the bed of soft furs, she laid her falcon feather cloak embedded with charms, bones, and beads, along with her golden woolen gown and the blue linen cloth she would use at the feast while casting runes to entertain Jarl Sigurd’s guests. She withdrew her precious amber necklace, carved with the image of Freyja and laid it on the table beside the sheathed daggerembellished with ruby red garnets and etched with swans in flight. At their side, she placed her white catskin leather gloves and matching boots, and the bronze diadem with glowing moonstone that matched the tip of her ashwood staff.
Tonight, she wanted to be revered and feared in the full glory of avölva.
In a wooden bowl she fetched from the shelf, Úlvhild mixed blue woad with water, applying the paint with her fingers as she smoothed the thick paste over her face. While the first layer dried, she spooned ash from the hearth into a separate small bowl and poured melted beeswax from the tabletop candle into the cinders, mixing it with a fragment of cat bone shaped into a long, slender point.
After applying another coat of blue woad to her face and letting it dry, she painted rows of shining runes along her pale neck, dipping the bone like a brush into the inky black soot. When both woad and ash were thoroughly dry, she donned her amber colored gown, tying the blue linen cloth around her waist, topped by her black leather belt with pouches of herbs, charms, bone runes, and beads. Using the silver plate to see her reflection, Úlvhild attached the amber necklace beneath her long, wild black mane. With deft fingers, she wove a trio of amber beads into a slender braid on either side of her face. She placed the narrow bronze diadem with moonstone gem low over her blue brow. tying together the glowing amber in her necklace with the bronze circlet upon her head.
She finished the remainder of her herbaltisane, rinsing the cup and drying it with the linen cloth before returning it to the shelf. Deeply inhaling the cleansing herbs which wafted from the fire, she donned her catskin boots and gloves, now properly attired for the welcoming feast. When she opened both windows as a signal to Elfi and Njörd that she was ready, the sun had already set, and the grey gloam of twilight shimmered with emerging stars.
Chapter 12
Svanhild
Elfi appeared at the door with Luna and Sif, as if she had been waiting for Úlvhild to open the shuttered windows. Dressed in a deep blue gown which highlighted hersea goddess eyes, Elfi was nearly breathless with excitement.
“The feast is about to begin! Look—Eysteinn arrives with thehuskarlarwho will escort us to the Great Hall.” She gestured to the elegantly dressedbryti, who was now clad in a deep red tunic, fine woolen breeches, and highly polished brown leather boots. His charcoal wool cloak was lined with rich brown marten fur, and his gleaming sword and bearded axe were sheathed in fine leather at his waist. Thick silver bands adorned each of his brawny arms, engraved with Sigurd’s raven sigil, like the ornate silver brooch which fastened his heavy cloak.
The sixÚlfhéðnarfiled out of their guest house, clad in magnificent wolfskin cloaks over glistening chain mail armor. Njörd came to Elfi’s side, and Njáll offered Luna the crook of his arm. Úlf, the great grey wolf, escorted Úlvhild, while Bodo walked with Sif, followed by Flóki and Hrolf Redbeard in the rear.
TheLjósálfar, luminous in shades of silver, green, and grey, joined their group as Eysteinn and thehuskarlarled them all to the massive Great Hall.
As they entered the enormous carved oak double entrance doors,Sigurðshöllstretched long beneath a high, timbered roof. Massive oak beams, carved with knotwork and raven motifs, arched overhead like the ribs of a great beast. Along the side walls hung two rows of decorative shields, the vivid colors on their battered surfaces painted with wolves, dragons, boars, and bears. A central hearthwith roaring flames ran the length of the vast hall, sparks swirling upward through the smoke hole in the peaked roof. Along either side of the blazing hearth fire, long trestle tables were crowded with warriors, wives, and jubilant guests eager for the feast to begin.
At the far end of the Great Hall stood the elevated high table where Jarl Sigurd sat in regal splendor, his thick coppery hair and long red beard braided with amber beads which glimmered like droplets of gold. Wide silver torcs etched with ravens and runes shimmered on each of his brawny arms. Draped in a majestic black bearskin cloak, gleaming sword strapped at his waist, Jarl Sigurd was an impressive sight to behold.
At his side stood a beautiful maiden with loose blonde hair that fell to her waist, her silverkransenglittering with deep red garnets that matched her blood red gown. Her grey woolen cloak was lined with white fox fur, fastened by a silver brooch embellished with garnets like the narrow circlet upon her head.
Eysteinn led them to the table of honor, seating Njörd nearest the jarl, with Elfi on his right and Úlvhild at Elfi’s side. Once all theLjósálfarandÚlfhéðnarguests had been seated,Jarl Sigurd nodded his head, and the blonde maiden filled her father’s ornate elkhorn with golden mead from a sumptuous silver pitcher inlaid with glittering garnets and etched with ravens and runes.
A hushed silence swept across the Great Hall. All eyes watched the jarl’s daughter, having served her father first, glide along the elevated wooden dais and sweep down the stairs, graceful as a swan, to the polished oak planks which lined the prestigious floor. She poured mead into Njörd’s exquisite elkhorn next, honoring him as commander of the threedrakkarships. Like her father’s luxurious mead vessel, the mouthpiece of Njörd’s antler horn was rimmed in rune-inscribed silver and inlaid with the same glittering garnets as Svanhild’s delicatekransen. She then served Elfi, Njörd’s betrothed, bowing her blonde head respectfully as she filled the elkhorn chalice. When Svanhild stood before Úlvhild, a shiver rippled up hervölvaspine, as if the Norns had tightened the threads of their interlocking fates.
Visibly unnerved by the blue woad painted face, falcon feather cloak, and glowing moonstone staff of a powerfulvölva, the jarl’s daughter faltered, as if she, too, had felt the Norn’s fateful touch. Her slender hand shook slightly as she poured mead into Úlvhild’s elkhorn goblet before returning to the large wooden tun at the edge of the flaming hearth to refill her silver pitcher. Dutifully performing the noble task as her father’s mead maiden, Svanhild served theLjósálfarnext,then theÚlfhéðnar, in deference to their rank as honored guests. After replenishing her silver pitcher several times at the tun, she poured mead for Eysteinn as thebryti,then her father’s elitehuskarlar,returning to the high table to fill her own horn last of all. Her ceremonial task complete, she took her seat at her father’s side as the majestic jarl rose to his feet, lifting his elaborate elkhorn to welcome his guests with an honorary toast.
“Welcome, one and all, toSigurðshöll!” A collective murmur of anticipation rippled through the festive Great Hall. “Tonight, the fire burns bright, for it is fed not only with pine, but with purpose. We have meat on the table, mead in our horns, and the favor of the gods in our company.” Sigurd bowed his head and lifted his horn to Njörd. “Wolf of the Nordic Seas, commander of the threedrakkarships, your sails were not expected, but your keels do not bear war. Be welcome under my roof, and drink deep.” The jarl ofOrkneyjarraised his mug to Elfi. “And to the lovely Heiress of Étretat, who sails with Njörd to their upcoming wedding in Ísland. May your vows be spoken in starlight, and your eternal bond sealed in the luminous songs of theLjósálfar.” Elfi beamed at the mention of her imminent wedding, her blue green eyes as radiant as the droplet shaped gemstones which sparkled at her throat.
Sigurd directed his attention and tribute to Úvhild and the remainder of guests seated at the table of honor. “To thevölva, whose sight reaches farther than sails; to theLjósálfar,whose enchanted blades turn the tides of war; and to theÚlfhéðnar, wild wolves with the blood of Odin, whose fury never falters in battle—may the mead warm you, and the meat hone your brutal strength.” The stalwart jarl turned to the ethereal blonde at his side. “And to Svanhild, my beautiful daughter, whose fair hands pour with grace and whose future is closely watched by the gods.” Sigurd bellowed across the hushed hall. “Raise your horns, and drink with me! To the winds that brought the sails of fate, to the threads woven by the Norns, and to all that stirs beneath this roof tonight, where divine and mortal meet!"
As jubilant cheers of “Skál!” echoed through the Great Hall, thralls appeared, bearing huge platters of roast boar, venison, salmon, and cod, artfully arranged with carrots, turnips, garlic, and kale, which they placed upon the trestle tables. They served Jarl Sigurd and Svanhild first, then the guests at the table of honor, followed by the warriors and wives seated at tables along both walls opposite the central hearth. Baskets filled with barley bread and wooden bowls of goat cheese sprinkled with herbs completed the hearty first course of the feast.
Musicians began playing lutes, lyres, and flutes, the lively melodies a perfect backdrop for the vibrant revelry. As she sampled the salmon and sipped her mead, Úlvhild’s wandering gaze kept returning to Svanhild. Sigurd’s daughter was indeed beautiful, her face radiant with a youthful glow, her creamy skin pale as the moonstone at the base of Luna’s throat or the gem which glowed in Úlvhild’s staff, leaning against the wall behind her.
She will be the perfect wife for Haldor. And their marriage will align the Faroe Islands and Orknejar with Denmark and Norway, forming political steppingstones for King Sweyn Forkbeard to reclaim the lost Viking territories in Ænglaland. Jarl Rikard is also eager to ally the Pays de Caux, establishing a powerful Viking alliance of three vast Norse realms. But to do so, Haldor must wed Svanhild. And I have foreseen my fate.
Although she knew it was for the best, and that her death in the upcoming battle in Ísland would free Haldor from thefjörúnwhich bound their souls, the thought of Svanhild in Haldor’s bed constricted Úlvhild’s throat so much that she choked on thedelicious fish and had to force it down with a bracing gulp of mead.
Njörd leaned forward and spoke to Úlvhild around Elfi, seated at her side. “The crews have restocked our supplies, so we’ll set sail in the morning on the outgoing tide.” His encouraging smile was an attempt to cheer her up. “We’ll reach Tórshavn in three days.”
