Egil, her father’s sublime skald, had arrived.
In the firelight, his moonstone clasp winked pale in the gloaming. Silver runes glimmered faintly on the hem of his deep blue tunic, and the braided silver and bone in his beard caught the flames like ancient stars. The rowan wreath crowned his brow, as thoughla Forêt du Louphad sent him.
Cradling his curved wooden harp, he settled upon the same old stump where he had sung theDrápa of Dag.A flutist eased down beside him, reed at the ready.
Egil plucked a plaintive chord and lifted his wreathed head, velvety voice mellow as honeyed mead. “Hear now the saga of Elfi, daughter of Thorfinn and Dúva, granddaughter of Rán. I shall sing for you my skaldic song,She-Wolf of the Sea...”
As he had once given voice to sorrow in a mournful elegy for Dag, now Egil gave song to triumph, lifting Elfi’s name into legend.
The limpid notes of the lyre flowed like starlight on water, the flute’s melody like wind over waves as the skald strummed his harp and sang Elfi’s praise. As the last echoes of Egil’s song faded into the gathering dusk, the crowd roared in thunderous applause and riotous cheers.
Thorfinn rose slowly, the bonfire’s glow casting flickering shadows across his awestruck face. The revelers stilled, until only the crackle of flame and the distant crash of waves remained. The golden hush of twilight settled over them, silent with anticipation.
From beneath his cloak, Thorfinn drew a long, narrow bundle wrapped in deep blue wool, bound with a strip of leather. Gaze steady, he strode across the leafy ground to Egil, who sat upon the smooth stump, curved lyre cradled in his lap, rising moon glinting in his wreath of rowan leaves.
Reverence laced Thorfinn’s deep, resonant voice. “Egil, your words have given breath to my daughter’s deeds. You have shaped her courage into song, and song into legend. For this, I give you my profound thanks.”
He unwrapped the blue wool of the bundle with care, revealing a sleek dagger whose curved hilt gleamed silver in thefirelight, its intricate pommel set with a smooth, pale moonstone. Amidst waves and scrolls etched along its slender spine,Laguzrunes glinted in the moonlight. He solemnly offered it to Egil. “Accept this gift as a token of my gratitude.” A pleased grin stretched across Thorfinn’s proud face. “Let this blade be your companion on dark roads, its edge sharp as your verse, its moonstone radiant as your voice.”
Egil rose, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed his rowan-wreathed head.“Lord Thorfinn, I am honored and humbled by your generous gift." The skald and his acolyte bowed before the crowd, then strode across the glen to sit at a table and enjoy the feast among the guests.
As the fire crackled, and waves crashed against the cliffs, Úlf rose from a nearby table and strode across the leaf-strewn clearing. Atop his human head, the ice blue eyes of the massive grey wolfskin gleamed with an otherworldly sheen in the moonlight. The towering blond brute, alpha wolf of theÚlfhéðnar,gave a slow, respectful nod to Jarl Rikard, then to Thorfinn, and finally to Elfi.
“Shieldmaiden of Étretat,” he rumbled, his deep voice feral and fierce. “La Louve Blanche. The pack has heard your name sung by firelight. When Njörd hears it upon his return, TheWolf of the Nordic Seaswill be honored by your valor. Your skill as the warrior he trained. And your lupine title as theWhite She-Wolf.”
Growls of approval rippled through theÚlfhéðnarbehind him.
“You blew theúlftirito summon the wolves and save your castle. TheÚlfhéðnarwill carry your name into legend.” As if bowing before a queen, Úlf swept his massive arm across his armored chest and bent regally at the waist. When he rose, his piercing gaze filled her with royal pride.
“Hail, Elfi.She-Wolf of the Sea. All hailLa Louve Blanche!”
Lifting their shaggy, lupine faces to the twilit sky, Úlf and the spirit wolves howled at the rising moon.
Chapter 32
The Wolf Redeemed
Elfi spotted Bodo rise from his seat beside Sif. He seemed haggard and weary, as if bearing an enormous burden. Thick brown wolfskin draped heavily over his broad shoulders, head hung low, he limped into the center of the clearing.
The feast fell into a heavy silence as all eyes turned to the loneÚlfhedinn.
He halted before Úlf, his breath ragged in the cool night air. Slowly, he lifted his harrowed face toward the full moon. The heavy wolf head of his cloak slipped back over his shoulders, leaving his features bare in the firelight. From deep within, a long, low howl rose—plaintive, pitiful, and primal. His mournful moan trembled the trees, drifted over the white-capped waves, and echoed off the craggy cliffs.
A soulful call of sorrow and supplication.
A desperate plea for forgiveness and redemption.
When he lowered his face, his expression was a mask of suffering and shame.
“There is something I must say. Because the truth must be spoken aloud—before gods, wolves, and kin.” As he turned to meet Úlf’s piercing stare, Bodo dropped to one knee before him, head bowed low.
“Úlf,” he rasped, voice hoarse with regret. “I betrayed the pack. Not by will—but by weakness. My hand was forced by cursed shadow, yet the guilt is mine to bear. I nearly cost us our lives…and Elfi’s, the She-Wolf carrying Njord’s child. My failure brought death andDökkálfarto our gates. And nearly doomed us all.”
Brows furrowed, a scowl distorting his bearded face, Úlf crossedsinewy arms over his massive chest, grey wolfskin shimmering silver in the moonlight. His brooding silence hung heavy with judgment.
Bodo slowly rose to his feet and turned to face Elfi. His voice was rough and raspy with emotion. “Elfi…She-Wolf of the Sea…You broke the curse in Ísland. You saw what I could not. And though my hands were forced to work against my own will, I am still ashamed. I did not know that the troll Narglok had ordered me to retrieve the key to the secret door from Sif. Nor did I know he had made a copy for the Count of Soissons. Nevertheless, the fault is mine. If not for my pride—if not for the ring—the Count would never have entered the castle keep. I failed you. I failed Sif. And I beg your forgiveness.”
Seated between Jarl Rikard and her father, Elfi rose with quiet grace. She inclined her head to Rikard—her liege—and then to Thorfinn, who watched her with somber pride.
