Ylva showed her daughter the clear blue stone which glittered like an icy fjord. “Aquamarine, like Skadi’s pale blue eyes—and the gem in the wedding rings I had crafted for her and Skjöld.” She pierced her fingertip and anointed the sparkling stone with three drops of blood. “I shall summon the goddess for whom she is named.”
Ylva’s fluid voice flowed like a crystalline spring over the gem she imbued for her son’s new wife.
“Skadi, goddess of winter snow,
breathe your spirit into this sacred stone.
Blessmy daughter, thefrostdragonwho bears your name.
May her flames of ice chill Frankish foes,
her scales shine withLjosálfarlight,
and her shimmering wings endure
theDökkálfar’sshadowed storm.”
She completed the ritual by adding three more droplets of blood to the silver chalice. As Ylva wiped clean the ritual dagger and returned the sacred blade to its ornate leather sheath, Úlvhild strode across the rush-strewn floor, selected a small clump of myrrh from a covered jar, and tossed it into the flames inside her stone hearth. She returned to the table and lifted the silver chalice etched with runes and embellished with glittering gems. The golden mead glowed with the blood of the women who had imbued the protective stones. “We have crafted nine amulets and invoked nine gods—the sacred number of the Norns. Now we offer golden mead, to seal the blessing in blood and breath.”
Úlvhild solemnly emptied the silver chalice into the roaring fire. As the flames sizzled and snapped, the sweet scent of honey mingled with the coppery tang of blood and the spicy smoke of myrrh. “O Freyja, Baldr, Odin, and Njörd… Freyr, Divona, Thor, Tyr, and Skadi. We offer golden mead and myrrh in tribute. May our blood and breath bind your divine blessings into these sacred talismans and protect our kin in battle.”
With a pair of iron togs, she held the silver bezels over the fire, meticulously etching runes into the softened silver and blackening them with fragrant soot. “Algiz, to protect our loved ones.Uruz, to give them strength in battle. AndAnsuz, for divine guidance from the gods. A trio of runes in each talisman.” Úlvhild shaped the silver settings to snugly encase the stones, then set them upon a silver platter to cool while she cut nine pieces of black leather cord, distributing them among the women. When the silver bezels were ready, she said, “Thread the cord through the loop at the top to make a pendant. Give them to your men—and daughter—tonight at the farewell feast.”
As the women wrapped the talismans in leather and secured them in pouches at their waists, Úlvhild fetched ceramic mugs from her small kitchen. She poured mead for them all and raisedher cup to propose a toast. “To the nine gods who have blessed the amulets. May they grant our loved ones victory in Paris and Noyon. And bring them safely home to thePays de Caux.Skál!”
Chapter 45
A Song of Sails and Steeds
When Úlvhild and the women returned toChâteau Blanc, the castle was in a flurry of activity, for Tryggvi had arrived fromHeiðabýrwith the three Danish warships.Crews scrambled along the wooden decks, checking sails and sealing planks with hot pine resin, while Thorfinn’shuscarlsloaded supplies and weapons onto the trio ofdrakkarwhich would sail with Njörd’s fleet to Paris on the morning tide.
That evening, Thorfinn hosted another feast, both to welcome Tryggvi and his Danishhird—and bid farewell to the warriors who would ride the trail or sail the tide toward war.
Ylva and Vivi sat with Skårde, Skjöld, Skadi, and Tryggvi, the two priestesses bestowing the sacred talismans they had crafted in Úlvhid’s hut. As the fire crackled in the enormous hearth, vibrant melodies of lyres and lutes floated in the festive air, the reunited family sharing meal, mead, and blessing in the jubilant Great Hall.
After the farewell feast, Úlvhild and Haldor made love in the moonglow and starlight of their private quarters ofChâteau Blanc, the fragrant fire crackling in the hearth, the briny scent of the sea wafting into their chamber through the partially open windows.
When the morning sun basked them in golden light, they made love again, their coupling urgent, primal, and raw, for they both knew it might be their last.
Desperate arms gripping his taught back, long legs clamped around his pounding hips, she clenched him tightly inside and out, as if she would never let him go. When he thrust in deep and gave her his seed, she convulsed in release, the rhythmic contractions of her body drawing his essence into hers.
They rose and washed in sacred silence.
Standing nude before his naked body, she stroked the dark hair across his broad, scarred chest. Tender fingertips caressed the iridescent feathers ofFreyja’s Markwhich enabled him to fly as a falcon. With her tongue, she traced theseiðrfjáðrmark above his heart which bound their souls.
She retrieved the amber talisman from the pouch of her belt which she had laid across the bedside table and returned to Haldor’s side.
Fierce devotion blazed in his dark falcon gaze.
“You must wear this into battle,” she whispered, kissing his soft lips as she tied the black leather around his corded neck. “It is imbued with Freyja’s blessing…and sealed in my blood and breath.” She looked up at him, tears welling in her adoring eyes. Her bottom lip trembled as her voice broke on a choked whisper. “Promise you will come back to me.”
He raised her shaking hand to his full lips and bestowed a reverent kiss. “I will always come back to you.” Feral eyes held hers, his piercing gaze penetrating her soul. “Even if my human body should fall, my falcon spirit will always fly home to you.” He cradled her head over his pounding heart, the amber talisman gilded in golden sunlight. “I love you, Úlvhild. I am yours, forevermore. In this life and the next.”
Her legs quivered as she donned a deep purple gown—the vibrant hue of theseiðrheart inside theirsoulboundrune. She left her long black tresses free, the way he liked, as she helped him don his distinctive armor with its long, lamellar plates shaped like feathers and etched with falcons and runes.
Tucking the amber talisman beneath his padded gambeson, she tied the leather straps and fastened the buckles of his dark brown leather armor with loving, practiced hands. She watched him paint intricate peregrine feathers across his fierce face, the Kaun rune of fire blazing beneath each predatory eye. He strapped the vambraces woven with real falcon feathers across his brawny forearms, then donned themagnificent helm with its striking peregrine plume.
He strapped his Dwarven spearÍsfalkracross his broad back, the gleaming swordSeiðrvingr— bequeathed years ago by King Harald Bluetooth—sheathed in the studded scabbard at his sinewy waist.
