Positioning herself so that the guests in the Great Hall could observe, Úlvhild removed the deep blue linen cloth wrapped around her waist and laid it upon the gleaming oak table before Svanhild. She closed her eyes and raised her woad-painted face toward the smoke hole in the peaked roof where stars glittered in the midnight sky. Thumping her moonstone staff on the floor of the wooden dais, she murmured an invocation.
“Three bones for the three who weave. Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld. O Norns, I call upon you. Reveal what was, what is, and what shall come to pass.” Úlvhild withdrew the black leather pouch from the intricate belt at her waist and shook the bone runes etched with blood. With long skeletal fingers clad in white catskin, she selected three runes and placed them side by side upon the dark blue cloth. She laid a finger upon the first oval shaped ivory bone, interpreting the rune for Svanhild.
“Geibo, the gift of your hand in marriage. Urd reveals your forewritten past. You are born of sea wind and raven’s blood, daughter of spears and storm kings. Already your cradle was shadowed by ships, the threads of your fate spun in flames.”
Úlvhild touched the second bone rune. “Verdandi reveals the present withFehu,symbol of wealth and power. You, Svanhild, stand on the threshold of men’s ambitions. Three Norse rulers shall unite through your wedding vows. A king in the east, a jarl in the west, and a duke across the Narrow Sea.”
When she glimpsed the final rune, Úlvhild’s knees nearly buckled beneath her amber gown. “Skuld reveals your futurewithJera, the rune for fertility. You shall bear your husband five strong sons. A raven flies westward, bearing your braid in its beak. The isle of sheep shall receive a new queen. Five flames shall leap from your womb to this world and inspire skaldic songs with mighty swords.”
Úlvhild gestured to the three ivory runes on her deep blue divining cloth as she met Sigurd’s enraptured gaze. “The Norns have revealed your daughter’s fate. The gods favor her marriage to Haldor Falk. Prepare Svanhild’s dowry. Her destiny sails with us on the morning tide.”
Bowing her head before the imposing jarl, Úlvhild placed the bone runes etched with blood back into the black leather pouch, securing it upon her belt. She folded the blue linen cloth, tied it around her waist, and looked at Njörd, who arose quickly and strode to her side. When he gallantly offered her his elbow, she placed her gloved hand upon his mail-clad arm, and he escorted her like a queen back to the table of honor.
Once Njörd and Úlvhild were seated, Sigurd rose to propose yet another toast. “Well spoken,völva. You have stirred the threads of fate, and we drink to what the gods have whispered through your hands.Skál!” Sigurd drank from his ornate elkhorn goblet, and the jubilant revelers leapt to their feet to join the jarl in celebrating Úlvhild’s prophecy. When the cheering subsided, Sigurd motioned for his guests to sit, but he remained standing as he turned to face Njörd.
“Wolf of the Nordic Seas, your ships arrived at my hall without warning. But the Norns, it seems, blew the winds of fate in your sails.” He paused, the expectant silence in the Great Hall echoing the weight of his next words. “You shall carry my message to Haldor Falk,Falcon of the Faroe Islands. I offer him my daughter’s hand in marriage and demand his answer by the winter solstice. I wish to seal Svanhild’s betrothal during the glorious season ofJól.”
Njörd stood and bowed his head before Sigurd. In a deep voice strong and clear, his solemn pledge resounded through the hushedhall. “You have my word, Jarl Sigurd. Haldor Falk will hear your message when I arrive in Tórshavn three days hence. I swear it as the former Jarl of Ribe, and the future Count of Étretat.”
Sigurd’s bearded face broke into a hearty grin as he raised his horn again. “Enough of omens and oaths. The feasting is over, the politics done. Now, bring forth the skalds!”
Chapter 13
Return to Fálkhöll
Skjöld sat with Haldor at a wooden table in the smoky hearth hall where musicians playing flutes andtallharpasentertained travelers and traders who exchanged tales and silver over steaming bowls of haddock stew and mugs of frothy ale. They’d arrived in Vågan that afternoon, mooringDragonfirenext to Haldor’s ship,Freyja’s Falcon,on a timber post along the pebbled shore of the sheltered bay. The four men who had helped them sail thesnekkjafrom the Sámi village—Ellef, Måhtte, Niillas, and Mikkel—had decided not to stay for a meal, since the autumn sun now set early, and they wanted to return before nightfall. After heartfelt farewells, they had rowed Skjóld’s spirit boat with the shining mermaid prow back to theLáhpitribe.
“I was looking forward to a warm winter in thePays de Caux,”Gråskegg, named for his thick grey beard, downed a hearty gulp of ale and swiped his mouth with the woolen sleeve of his tunic. The captain ofFreyja’s Falconsopped up the remainder of his stew with a hunk of warm barley bread. “But if Úlvhild has summoned you back to Tórshavn, we’ll reachFálkhöllin eight days, if the sea doesn’t swallow us first.”
Bjarni, the old swordsman who’d had been brutally efficient in training Skjöld, gestured to theÍsfirshield andÍsfálkrspear with a savagely scarred hand. “With those Dwarven blades, if we do sail into battle, the gods will surely grant us victory.” He grinned at theouroborosring that shimmered like violet fire on the smallest finger of Haldor’s left hand. Haldor had told theBlóðsmiðrcrew how Skadi had gifted it to him for saving her life. “Afrostdragon,”Bjarni whispered, his gravelly voice laced with awe. “Odin help us. That’s a beast fit forRagnarök.”
Yrjar, the burly berserker whose wild mass of dark, unruly hair and thick, untamed beard gave him the look of an enormous brown bear, growled his approval of Skjöld’s rugged appearance. “In two winters, you’ve gone from wolf cub to war ox. Now you wear the bearskin, like me. And fill it like a beast born to it.” He raised his mug of ale. “To the cub who grew teeth. To the boy who became a bear. May your heart and your blade never falter.”
With raucous cheers of “Skál!”, fists and palms hammered the table in thunderous rhythm, shaking mugs and sloshing ale, as theBlóðsmiðrcrewtoasted Skjöld.
Skjöld grinned from ear to ear, his thumping heart nearly bursting with pride.
“Now, for a willing wench to warm your bed. You choose first. The rest of us will fight over what’s left.” Yrjar slapped Skjöld on the shoulder, eyeing the women who hovered nearby, casting sly glances at their table.
Skjöld opened his left palm and revealed thefjörúnmark to Yrjar. The blue droplet, edged in silver with a heart of violet flame, blazed in the firelight from the stone hearth. “I amsoulbound.” He shook his head and smiled. “I want no woman but Skadi.”
Yrjar scoffed and guzzled his ale, slamming his mug down on the table. “So be it. Let the young bear sleep alone. As for me—I’ll take that one. Soft in all the right places.” He growled with laughter and rose from the table. Boots heavy on the timber floor, he strode toward the pretty blonde who welcomed him with an inviting smile.
Gråskegg and Bjarni followed the berserker’s example, rising to their feet to seek female companionship as well. “We’ll meet here fordagmál. And sail on the morning tide.” Gråskegg flashed a wolfish grin at Haldor. “You’ll be with your woman soon enough. But I need one tonight.” As the ship’s captain sauntered off toward the women mingling with the sailors, Bjarni inclined his head to Haldor and Skjöld. “See you in the morning.”
Skjöld watched theBlóðsmiðrdisperse with their chosen women,disappearing down a dark hallway toward private sleeping quarters in the rear of the vast tavern. He turned to Haldor, who eyed the lusty crew with a smirk as he sipped his ale. “I always wondered why you never took a woman in any of the ports we visited. But now I understand.” Skjöld met Haldor’s piercing falcon gaze. “I am bound to Skadi, as you are to Úlvhild. Heart, body, and soul.”
Haldor smiled wistfully, as if lost in thoughts of hisvölva. He drained his mug, set it down on the table, and rose to his feet. “Ready? Let’s get some sleep. We leave at first light.”
Skjöld nodded. And followed Haldor down the dim hall to their quiet shared chamber.
* * * *
Skjöld now sat on the deck ofDragonfirewith Bjarni—the old swordmaster who once served Skjöld’s grandfather, King Harald Bluetooth—and several of the hardened warriors they’d taken on in Vågan to complete the crew ofhis new ship.Haldor had distributed some of the oarsmen fromFreyja’s Falcononto thesnekkja, and they’d engaged an experienced captain, for although Skjöld was a competent sailor, they needed a highly skilled shipmaster to navigate the wild Western Sea between Norway and the Faroe Islands.
Hjálmarr Ironhelm was named for his renowned iron helmet with the head of a fierce dragon engraved across the brow, the bronze eyes of the beast ablaze with copper fire, the fanged maw forming the noseguard, as if the jaws would clench on enemies foolish enough to draw near. Hjálmarr had lost his magnificentdrakkarship,Járnvingr—Ironwing—in an attack by Rus raiders andDökkálfarwho served the infamous Skugga, like theband of mercenaries who had attacked Dvalinn’s cave. Broad-shouldered and battle-hardened, Hjálmarr was eager to restore his reputation and earn enough silver to buy a replacement ship. For now, he and his loyal crewmembers who had survived the Rus attack would sail to Tórshavn with Haldor and Skjöld. Once it was determined why Ûlvhild had summoned them to the Faroe Islands, then Hjálmarr could decide whether to remain with Skjöld as captain ofDragonfireor seek return passage to Norway.
For the past few days since they’d left Vågan, the strong easterly winds had been favorable, allowing the crew to rest and recover during the day while the dragon sail carried them swiftly across the Western Sea. They’d made swift passage, lowering the sail at night for Hjálmarr to navigate by the stars while the crew rowed in shifts, followingFreyja’s Falconin tight formationtoward the Faroe Islands.
