Prologue
Njord
The Well of Fate lay under the third root of Yggdrasil. It was a quiet place illuminated by a full summer moon, and Njord could sense the presence of the Norn of the future and fates. Skuld was here.
He stood still and watched the stars sparkling above, enjoying the peace of the moment as long as it lasted. Until theÆsirwould ride with thundering hooves over the Rainbow Bridge to hold court.
Today was a special occasion. Odin—the Allfather, as he called himself nowadays—had invited gods and giants from near and far to celebrate the birth of his son and to cast the runes of destiny for the newborn.
Thori.
Odin and Frigga’s firstborn.
Heir of Asgard and once to be king of the gods.
Of course, Njord would rather be anywhere else than at this pompous blessing ceremony. He’d spent most of his youth in Asgard, a noble hostage to ensure peace after the firstÆsir-Vanirwar. And for some time, he’d considered these gods his friends: Odin and Frigga, Idunn and Heimdall, and many of their valkyries andeinherjar.
Only when he claimed his birthright to rule over Nóatún again, and Odin maliciously demanded his little sister Ahti as a pledge, did Njord understand that there had never been any real friendship between them.
Njord had returned to Vanaheim anyway, his refusal to give Ahti away leading to another war. Only this time, theVanirhadn’t budged. They’d lived with a fragile truce ever since, both tribes raiding the others’ shores when they could get away with it. And although theVanirwere the older lineage of gods, guardians of the wild and givers of fertility, the younger warrior deities of Asgard—and especially Odin—acted as if they were above them. As if Odin’s cult of death and wisdom acquired by sacrifice were something worthy of imitation.
Fools. The whole lot of them.
If Ahti hadn’t had her eye on the beautiful Queen Vellamo and therefore begged him to help her with her clumsy attempts at courtship, Njord would have sailed east to explore new waterways. But given Odin’s flexible attitude toward a warrior’s honor, one could never know when he would decide to stab theVanirin the back. He had done so before. And as the devoted brother that Njord was, he wouldn’t leave Ahti alone among their foes.
Spending a dull night between dim-wittedÆsirand rowdy frost giants, it was, then.
The wind rustled in the leaves of the world tree, and Njord’s gaze was drawn by a shadow creeping through the undergrowth. Who dared to enter this sacred place just prior to the ceremony and by doing so incur Odin’s wrath?
Aside from Njord, of course, who couldn’t care less about Odin’s whims.
Njord stepped closer on silent feet and spotted a shadow kneeling in front of the well. A priestess, dressed in fine linen embroidered with golden threads that glimmered in the pale light of the moon. She opened her pouch and pulled out a set of runes carved into white deer bones. Meticulously, she placed the runes at the edge of the well.
Was she an acolyte preparing the ritual for her mistress?
Judging by the smoothness of her movements, she must be still young, but the pale mask of woven birch bark that covered her face indicated the status of a High Priestess of Asgard.
Frowning, Njord drew closer. This didn’t make any sense.
But before he could investigate further, Bifröst came alive with the roaring sound of storm and wildfire. The colorful arc of the rainbow bridge illuminated the night, coming to rest right next to the well.
In a hurry, the strange priestess gathered her belongings and vanished into the darkness as Odin’s splendid retinue rode out from the Halls of Asgard and across the bridge to their sacred place of assembly.
Where she had knelt, Njord found the imprints of small feet in the damp earth. The scent of incense lingered in the air, and an intense, foreboding feeling washed over him. But as odd as the priestess’ behavior may have been, he should leave now if he didn’t want to clash with Odin before the rune ceremony even began. The Allfather’svölurand their ploys weren’t his concern after all.
He was already turning away when a white glow caught his eye.
No.
He should walk away.
He should leave.
Instead, he crouched down and picked up the discarded rune. As he had assumed, the magical symbol was carved into a piece of deer bone, the rune itself dyed with a golden color.
Nauthiz.
Need.
