“Let’s go ashore and set up camp. While you start a fire and lay out the bedrolls, I’ll hunt a couple hares for ournáttmál.” Haldor took up the extra set of oars, and the two men rowed toward an island with a sandy shore and forested ledge where they beached the boat above the hide tide line, looping a leather cord around a weathered tree trunk to moor it securely.
After unloading the bedrolls of reindeer hide, the leather satchels containing their supply of nuts, herbs, fish oil, and dried berries, and the stoppered birchbark container of fresh drinking water, Skjöld collected large stones and placed them in a circle, gathering moss, lichen, and timber for the campfire. He fetched the firesteel tool from the pouch at his waist and slowly coaxed tiny sparks into flickering flames within the stone enclosure.
Haldor hunted in falcon form, plummeting swiftly and silently from the darkening skies, talons extended like razor-sharp scythes as he slammed into his prey. After two successful strikes, he shifted back into human form and retrieved the large white hares, which he meticulously skinned, retaining the precious fur while cutting the meat into slices to be skewered over the open flames.
Skjöld watched his mentor with admiration and awe, then fetched hisvitkistaff— crafted from the willow wood sacred to his Breton priestess ancestors— from the narrow boat moored at the shoreline. Clutching the long, curved woodengandr,he chanted an invocation to conjure wards of magical protection around the perimeter of their camp as he etched a trio of Nordic runes into the frosted, grassy ground.
Laguz,the rune for water, to connect withÁkkháspirits of the fjord and Divona, the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs.
Algiz, for sacred protection of the animal spirits in the land, sea, forest, and sky.
Eihwaz, symbol of Yggdrasil, to access the divine guidance of the Norse gods.
His task complete, Skjöld returned to spread the reindeer hide bedrolls and blankets near the campfire. Although it was just past the autumn equinox, the nights in the Lofoten Islands of northern Norway were quite cold, and the warmth from the fire would be welcome.
While Haldor roasted the rabbit meat over the open flames, Skjöld arranged three flat stones on the opposite edge of the fire, withdrawing a soapstone pot from their supplies and filling it with water, He set the pot upon the triad of stones to boil and fetched the pouch of barley, pouring in a small amount for the porridge which would accompany the meat. He crushed some juniper berries, simmering them with wild garlic, sea salt, and a drizzle of honey in a small pot beside the barley. The resinous, piney flavor of the berries would be delicious with the gamey meat. There was a small amount of reindeer milk left in the sealskin pouch. He would add that to the porridge when it was ready. The creamy tang of the slightly soured milk would offset the bitter flavor of the dried lingonberries and bilberries. Skjöld tossed in a pinch of wild thyme to the barley porridge, then settled down upon his bedroll, occasionally stirring the pot while he cracked open a handful of hazelnuts to complete theirnáttmálevening meal.
“TheBlóðsmiðrmust have arrived in Vågan by now,” Skjöld said, referring to the crew ofFreyja’s Falcon, Haldor’sdrakkarlongship. He and Haldor had arranged to meet theBlóðsmiðrupon the autumn equinox in the Norse village where the crew could repair the sail, prepare the ship, and stock supplies for the upcoming voyage to Normandy.
Skjöld was eager to see his parents, Skårde and Ylva, and his little sister Vivi. He hadn’t seen them in eight long winters since he’d first sailed to the Faroe Islands as Haldor’s acolyte. At long last, they were returning to thePays de Caux—the alabaster coast of Normandy where his father Skårde ruled as Count in the clifftop castle ofChâteaufort. And since the crew planned to stop along the way south in the Danish trade center ofHeiðabýr, where they would rest and refurbish supplies, Skjöld would also get to see both his Uncle Sweyn, the new king of Denmark, and his younger brother Tryggvi, who was being trained as a warlord in their uncle’s royal hall.
When Skjöld last saw his family, he’d been a lad of only ten winters. And now, he’d return home as fierce a Viking warrior as his famous father Skårde the Scourge, theDragon of Denmark. And as powerful avitkiandnoaidias his shapeshifting mentor, theFalcon of the Faroe Islands.
Skjöld’s proud heart pounded with adrenaline and anticipation.
Haldor removed the skewers from the flames in the enclosed hearth and set them to cool upon wooden plates he’d retrieved from among their supplies. “Gråskegg will oil the sail, caulk the hull, and store plenty of grain, dried fish, and barrels of fresh water. It will take them at least a week, depending on the damage to the ship during the voyage from Tórshavn.” Haldor referred to the village on the Faroe Island of Streymoy where his famous hall,Falkhöll,was situated on a fjord. The crew ofFreyja’s Falconhad sailed from that port to the village of Vågan in the Lofoten Islands, where they would meet Haldor and Skjöld for the imminent sea voyage to Normandy.
Skjöld knew they needed to depart as soon as possible, for autumn storms would soon make sailing on the North Sea increasingly difficult and dangerous. “What if we can’t find the dwarf’scave in time to meet the crew? You said we would need to leave Vågan within the next two weeks, before the seas become impassable.”
Haldor regarded him with the piercing stare of a peregrine falcon. “We’ll find the dwarf’s cave. TheÁhkkáwill guide you.” He handed Skjöld a wooden plate with a skewer of roasted rabbit meat. “Today, when I flew overhead, I glimpsed a snow-capped mountain on an island just northwest of here. We’ll reach it by midmorning.” Haldor ladled some porridge into a wooden bowl and set it on his bedroll before spreading some of the juniper berry sauce over the roasted meat. Half of his bearded face curled up into a lopsided grin as he gestured to the sealskin pouch on the blanket beside Skjöld. “Pass me the reindeer milk for the porridge.”
Skjöld complied, adding the juniper berries over his rabbit meat, and accepting the sealskin pouch from Haldor so he could add the last of the thick, creamy milk to his own bowl of barley porridge. “You think we’ll find it in the morning?” His eager voice wafted on the salty night air.
“I do. Now let’s eat.” Haldor scooped a small portion from his plate and bowl as an offering to the spirits of the forest before digging into his own food with ravenous hunger. Skjöld joined him, savoring the tang of the berries, the rich flavor of the grilled rabbit meat, and the savory herbs in the barley porridge. They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Skjöld collected the wooden plates and bowls, rinsing them in ice cold sea water at the edge of the shore. When he returned to the camp, Haldor announced, “I’ll take the first watch while you get some sleep.”
Exhausted after a full day of rowing, Skjöld gratefully settled down onto his reindeer fur bedroll and pulled a thick, Sámi woven blanket over his white bearskin cloak. Under the clear, starry night sky, he soon drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Haldor leaned back onto a large, smooth stone and stared into the flickering flames of the campfire. Gråskegg, the seasoned captain of his ship, would be waiting with theBlóðsmiðrcrew in the Norse trading port of Vågan. He grinned at the thought ofseeing the grizzled old graybeard whose wrinkled skin had been weathered by more than forty winters on the frigid northern seas. And Yrjar, the bear, with his unkempt, tangled mass of long dark hair, as wild and untamed as his spirit, his bearded face tattooed with runes that glowed like his eyes, pale as the moon, when he entered theberserkergangtrance. Bjarni, the old swordmaster who had once served King Harald and was now fiercely loyal to Haldor. Tall, lanky, and lean, with long white hair and a deeply scarred face, Bjarni’s rare grin revealed several missing teeth, lost in countless battles and raids aboardFreyja’s Falcon.
He was looking forward to being reunited with his crew, for Haldor and Skjöld had lived among the Sámi tribe for the past two summers while his acolyte learned the ways of anoaidi.And now that Skjöld’s training of eight long winters was finally complete, Haldor would deliver him home to Normandy—a Viking warrior,vitki, andnoaidias physically and magically powerful as Haldor himself.
The water Haldor had set over the fire was now boiling, rattling the metal cover on the small iron pot. Wrapping his hand with reindeer leather for insulation, he carefully removed the pan from the fire and placed it atop a flat stone. He removed the lid and added some dried yarrow leaves and juniper berries to steep for an herbal infusion. After several minutes, Haldor carefully poured the steaming liquid into his wooden cup, straining the herbs and berries with the cover of the small pot. He tossed the herbs into the fire, where they snapped and crackled, releasing a piney scent into the frosty, briny night air. Settling back against the large rock, he savored the earthy, sharp flavor of the bitter brew which would keep him warm yet awake during his watch. As he sipped the yarrow and juniper elixir, his thoughts of the upcoming voyage to Normandy shifted from theBlóðsmiðrcrew of hisdrakkarwarship to the intoxicatingvölvawho would welcome him home.
Heart, body, and soul.
Haldor’s loins throbbed painfully at the thought. Odin’s eye, how he’d missed her! He sipped his herbal brew, staring into the flames, reflecting about the only woman he’d ever loved.
And ever would.
He’d first met Úlvhild inBlátonnshöll, King Harald Bluetooth’s sumptuous royal hall in Tønsberg, the Viking trade center on the Skagerrak in southern Norway. She’d been the king’svölva—foreseeing battles, raids, and conquests with her powerfulseiðrmagic that had innately stirred his own the moment he saw her.
He’d been mesmerized by her haunting beauty. Her long, thick mane of wild, black hair. Her golden eyes that glowed like embers of a smoldering fire. Her porcelain skin and lithe body, graceful as a swan.
She’d been clad in a cloak of falcon feathers, like the goddess Freyja herself. The very goddess who had gifted Haldor the power to transform into a falcon and summon winged creatures at his command.
A necklace of carved amber with Freyja’s image had adorned Úlvhild’s slender throat and sleek torso.Seiðrmagic had thrummed from her, seeking and probing his own. Indeed, thevitkiin Haldor had instantly recognized thevölvain Úlvhild as a powerful sorceress and seer, blessed by Freyja, just like himself.
