“Come to the fire. Sit. Warm yourself. You look like a disgruntled bear.”
Njord scowled but did as she told him. His knees protested as he lowered himself onto a velvet cushion that had seen betterdays. Skalmöld scooped some of the steaming liquid out of her cauldron and into a wooden cup. She offered it to him.
“Drink. It will help you relax.”
He sniffed the cup suspiciously.
“What is this?”
“Tea. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
She arched a brow.
“Do you want my help or not?”
Grumbling, he took a cautious sip. He’d hoped for a cup of the mead he’d smelled earlier, but the concoction she offered him was as clear as a thin herbal tea. The liquid tasted bitter, with a faint undertone of something floral, just this side of awful. But the warmth of the drink was welcome.
“So,” he said, setting the cup aside. “What do you know about the disappearance of Queen Ahti?”
Folding her long legs beneath her, Skalmöld settled onto the cushion opposite him.
“Only what the runes have told me. She and her wife vanished from Saeborg the night theJötnartried to raid the citadel. No word, no trace. Her son, Rune, is looking for her. As well as her brother Njord, the Shipbreaker.” She gave him a pointed look. “And now, the sea god—lord of tides and tempests—comes looking to a humble seeress for aid.”
He glared at her, but she only laughed, a low, throaty sound that made him think of emptied horns of mead and verses sung at the fireplace in the Great Hall of Nóatún.
“Peace, Njord. You were right to seek me out. The answers you’re looking for are not easily found, but they aren’t beyond my reach.”
“Then tell me where she is,” Njord hissed, his anger returning tenfold.
Skalmöld shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Your sister’s path is shrouded, her fate entangled with the fortunes of the Nine Worlds. To find her, you must travel the road beyond the stars.”
He frowned. “I told you not to talk in riddles to me! Speak clearly!”
“I’m saying,” she said, leaning forward, “that you must enter a trance. Your spirit must embark on a journey to the realms beyond. Only this way can you hope to glimpse the threads of her fate.”
“A spirit journey? This is your formidable advice?” It was Njord’s turn to laugh. “Don’t you think we’ve tried to find her on the dream road a dozen times before, me and Perhonen alike?”
“Sure,” she agreed. “But if you want my help, you’ll have to take my advice, whether you like it or not.”
For a moment, he considered leaving. She was just like any prideful priestess he’d encountered in his life; surely she wouldn’t be of any help, just toying with his desperation for her own benefit. But the memory of his sister’s laughter, her mischievous smile, stopped him. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. To find Ahti, he’d try anything.
“Fine. What do I need to do?” he gritted out.
Skalmöld stood, gathering a horn bowl, dried roots, and ash from a sacred fire. She ground them together in steady circles, her voice weaving soft threads ofseiðrinto the air.
“First,” she said, “prepare for the journey. Breathe. The fire is your anchor, the smoke your guide. Sit close and clear your mind.”
Njord snorted.
“Clear my mind? You might as well ask me to stop the tides.”
Skalmöld grinned, amused.
“Then think of your sister. Hold her image in your thoughts, and let everything else fade.”
He grumbled under his breath but did as she instructed. The fire’s warmth seeped into his bones as he stared into the flames, their dance mesmerizing. He thought of Ahti, of the way she sang to the waves, her voice flowing with the rhythm of the sea. She had always been brilliant as a shieldmaiden and as avala. Njord was so proud of her. To think that she was alone now, scared and probably hurt, was unbearable.
