“Nei,”Úlvhild replied as she and Haldor stepped out of the cave and onto the snow covered ground. “I did not want the dampness and salt spray to ruin the delicate fur. It’s safely stored inside my trunk for the sea voyage.”
“As is my silver fox cape—in our chambers atChâteau Blanc,”Skadi said, referring to Úlvhild’s wedding gift. “Like you, I did not want to damage the magnificent fur.”
Once their belongings were secured onto the two sleds, which Skadi and Sköld pulled down the mountain behind them on skis, Haldor helped Úlvhild slowly descend the treacherous slope.
The icy wind stung her cheeks and whipped her long black hair, the briny tang of the fjord mingling with the crisp scent of pine. As snow crunched beneath her skis and she headed toward the village of Vågan, Úlvhild breathed in the fresh air of freedom, her fragile heart filled with hope, her fertile womb full of life.
* * * *
After three arduous weeks at sea, especially difficult due to the rough winds and waves of late winter, the white chalk cliffs of Étretat finally appeared on the horizon. AsFreyja’s FalconandDragonfirebeached on the pebbled shore, Thorfinn’s sentinel blew a single horn blast to signal their arrival. Warriors hurried down the grassy slope, hauling ropes to secure the ships and laying wooden planks for the voyagers to disembark.
Haldor wrapped a supportive arm behind Úlvhild’s back and guided her off the ship. “I know you are weak from sickness. Lean on me.”
At the edge of the cliff, Elfi stood with Oda, too heavy with child to descend the slick, grassy slope. When Úlvhild and Haldor arrived at the top, she waddled over to greet them, tears streaming down her smiling cheeks. “Freyja be thanked—you’re alive and well,” she sobbed, pulling Úlvhild into a fervent embrace. “And here in Étretat, just when I need you most. I don’t want any other midwife but you.” She pointed to a shimmering white fortress at the westernmost point of the cliff. “That is the tower myfaðirgave Njörd and me as a wedding gift.La Porte d’ Écume—the Foam Tower—where our daughter shall be born.” Hope bloomed on Elfi’s bright face. “There is a magnificent view of the sea from all sides—theperfect spot forla Louve Blancheto give birth.”
While Elfi spoke with Úlvhild, Haldor greeted Oda. “Good day, my lady,” he said, raising her gnarled hand to his bearded lips. “It gladdens my heart to be back in thePays de Cauxafter eight long winters.”
Elfi hugged Haldor and kissed his cheek, hersea goddess eyessparkling like sunlight on the Narrow Sea. “Welcome home. It has been far too long.”
Thorfinn’s deep voice bellowed across the glen as he strode from the castle to join them. “We’ll feast in your honor tonight,” he announced with a broad grin, clasping Haldor’s forearms in fierce affection. He turned to Úlvhild, relief and joy spreading across his weathered face. “I thank the gods you’re hale and whole.” He lifted both of her chilled hands, bowing slightly as he pressed his lips to her pale skin. “My servants will escort you to your private quarters in the castle and bring your belongings from the ship to your chamber. The bath house is ready, and I shall send refreshments to your room.” As he headed toward the path leading down to the shore, he hollered over his shoulder. “See you tonight in the Great Hall for the feast.”
Njörd appeared at the top of the cliff, cradling Úlvhild’s moonstone staff. Two burly deckhands hauled her trunk, with another pair lugging Haldor’s. With a quick farewell to Elfi and Oda, she and Haldor followed the servants to their room. Once their belongings were placed on the pinewood floor, and her staff unwrapped and placed near the hearth, Njörd left, with the promise to see them later at the feast.
After washing the sea salt and grime from their bodies and hair in the luxurious steam of the bathhouse, Úlvhild and Haldor returned to their chamber, refreshed from the long sea voyage. They savored fresh barley bread with creamy goat cheese and chewy figs, sipped cider from Thorfinn’s own orchard. And made love in the golden light of the afternoon sun.
That evening, after visiting her hut in the village—and reuniting with her beloved cat Kól—Úlvhild admired the green ivy garlands entwined with pink primrose blossoms and the fragrant wreaths of lavender and wild thyme which decorated thehigh-peaked wooden walls of the festive Great Hall. As she sampled the grilled haddock, roast vegetables, and poached pears with honey, Haldor spoke to Luna and Njáll.
“Skjöld and Skadi told us you two were wed inÁlfheim—and that Queen Íssla herself granted you the Moonlit Forest near the Ísilwen Spring.” He lifted his horn of mead. “To Luna and Njáll. May the moon’s bright blessing and the spring’s pure song bind your souls together, now and evermore.”
Úlvhild drank in tribute, then asked Luna about the moonstone cottage she and Njáll were building. “When will your home be finished?”
“By late summer,” Luna replied, sipping from her horn of mead. “We plan to live inÁlfheim—with frequent visits to Étretat through the waterfall cave of the Mermaid Cove.” She leaned into Njáll’s arm, which he draped over her shoulder, her radiant face alight with love.
“Will the two of you live inFalkhöll?” Njáll asked Haldor.
Úlvhild’s throat clenched in dread, anticipating his affirmative response. Her Falcon was infinitely proud of the famed longhouse in Tórshavn and his title as Jarl of the Faroe Islands.
But Haldor stunned her with his startling response.
“Nei,”he replied, fierce eyes piercing her with a penetrating stare. “Myvölvawife wishes to live in her belovedPays de Caux.And so we shall. Our daughter Freyja will be born here in Normandy.”
Too astonished to speak, she threw her arms around his corded neck and showered his scarred, bearded face with fervent kisses. “By all the gods, how I love you.” She buried her tear-streaked face on his shoulder.
He gently lifted her chin with a curved finger. “Jarl Rikard has offered us land inVeules-les-Roses,” he whispered, kissing her lips softly. “Midwaybetween Étretat and Dieppe. Close to all we call kin.”
Like the melody of lyres and lutes floating in the festive air, Úlvhild’s heart soared as she finished her delicate fish and sipped her sweet honeyed mead.
Ylva’s voice drew her quickly back to the table. “With war looming, I would like to craft amulets of protection for my two sons, as you and I did years ago, when we created the emerald talisman for Skårde.”
Úlvhild nodded, pensive. “And I would like to craft one for Haldor of golden amber—Freyja’s sacred stone.” She glanced at the Dwarven wedding rings which Dvalinn had gifted to Haldor.Freyja’s Eyes, crafted from the same amber as the legendary Brisingamen necklace. The perfect stone to protect her Falcon. She smiled at him and squeezed his beloved hand.
Sif, seated beside Bodo, leaned forward to speak to Úlvhild and Ylva. “Though I have no magic of my own, I would ask for your help in creating one for Bodo.”
Úlvhild nodded and thoughtfully sipped her mead. “We’ll meet at my cottage tomorrow morning. I have gems, herbs, silver bezels, and tools. Myvölva’shearth and moonstone staff will both burn bright.”
Ylva’s brow furrowed in concern, her expression becoming solemn. “Our men will need protective talismans,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had a recent vision… I saw Haldor’s birds plummeting like spears from the skies—and a hideous troll with reptilian scales and veins of liquid fire.” Face pale with fright, herseeresseyes darted to Skadi. “He was hurling balls of flame at a silverfrostdragonsoaring overhead…” Ylva reached across the table and grasped the hand of her son’s new wife. “I shall craft a talisman for you, too.”
Elfi spoke across the table to Skjöld. “Trolls can assume any form,” she warned, her shieldmaiden gaze sharp as a blade. “The one I slew in Ísland had taken the form of Njörd’s wolf—to lure me into a trap and prevent him from fulfilling the prophecy.” She unfastened thetrollkorstalisman from behind her neck and placed the iron amulet into Skjöld’s broad palm. “Wear this intobattle. If the Frankish king sent ships bearingDökkálfaranda troll to Ísland, he might well try to thwart you in Noyon.”
