Chapter Two
It took Sif a long time to fall asleep that night. She tossed and turned, trying to ignore the sensations that her meeting with Hakon had awoken. Unconsciously, her hands followed the paths that Hakon’s hands had travelled across her body.
Sif’s fingers drifted down to her most womanly parts.Gods, how Hakon’s cock had made her feel!With every thrust, he had owned Sif’s pleasure, claiming her pussy, letting her fall deeper and deeper in love with the man and his dominating ways.
Sif’s lips parted in a moan as her fingers explored herself, finding her clit and gently, slowly, working her fingers back and forth across its swollen surface. “Oh, Hakon,” she murmured, picturing herself once more against the rail, holding on for dear life against his relentless, driving claim. As Sif imagined it, her fingers worked harder and harder, until she cried out softly as her body shuddered with pleasure, and she finally relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.
***
Sif found herself in a meadow, unlike any she had ever seen. She could hear the lazy buzzing of dragonflies over a small stream that ran through the middle of the meadow, neatly cutting it in half. As she looked around, Sif saw a modest hall on the far side of the grassy clearing. The thatch on the roof gleamed so brightly it could almost be mistaken for gold.
“I’m dreaming,” Sif said to no one in particular. She wondered why this fact did not seem stranger to her. Then she shrugged, and followed the path that led across the meadow to the timbered hall. Sif climbed the steps to the front entrance then gasped, startled, as she felt something butt against her ankle. She looked down to see a cat, purring and weaving its way around her feet.
“Hello, little one,” crooned Sif, amused. She dropped down to her knees and rubbed the cat behind its ears. The diminutive cat closed its eyes in pleasure and purred even louder, pushing its head against her hand.
Suddenly the cat stepped back, hissing and arching its back. Its hair was standing up and it spat, growling low in its throat. Sif followed the cat’s gaze and leapt to her feet in alarm. At the far end of theclearing was an enormous wolf. Its fur was dark, a kind of greyish black, and its yellow eyes glittered with a malicious intelligence. It was panting heavily, as if the day was too hot for it, its tongue lolling in a cavernous mouth. Though it paced back and forth some distance away, Sif imagined she could feel its hot damp breath, heavy on her skin.
“Come, little one!” said Sif urgently, gathering up the hissing cat in her arms and pushing against the double doors which guarded the entrance to the hall. The doors parted easily, and the cat leapt from her arms and scrambled in the interior even as Sif closed the doors behind them. She searched for and found a stout piece of timber which was clearly a bar, and slid it through the thick metal staples on either side of the doors.
Sif leaned against the doors, breathing heavily. Wolves were always something to be feared, especially in the wild, but there had been something especially terrifying about the beast that was stalking outside. A wolf was a creature of nature, neither good nor evil, but the thing outside had radiated a kind of gleeful wickedness.
It had felt evil. Old, and malicious.
“Thank you for rescuing Illvirki,” came a voice from within, soft and feminine. “She is brave, but sometimes heedless. It is the way with cats.”
Sif turned to regard the speaker. It was a woman, stately and elegant, with copper red hair that fell to her hips. Her face was dusted with a scattering of freckles, and she held a second cat in her arms. The woman looked fresh faced and young, until Sif saw her eyes. From the woman’s eyes, eternity stared back at Sif.
A certain knowledge appeared in Sif’s mind, in the way that happens in dreams. “Lady Freyja,” she said, bowing her head. “You honor me by bringing me here.”
Freyja gave a bitter laugh. “An honor that becomes rarer and rarer, through no wish of mine,” she replied. “Come, and sit with me by the fire.”
Sif followed the goddess’ gesture and joined her by the hearth fire, sitting in a comfortable, cushioned chair. As she sat down, the cat which had greeted her outside reappeared, bounding into her lap and nestling into Sif’s arms.
“Illvirki has taken a liking to you,” observed Freyja. “She respects fierce women. Come, take some mead.”
Sif accepted the cup, still in a daze at the turn events had taken in her dream. “I’ve never thought of myself as fierce,” Sif said hesitantly.
“Illvirki,” replied Freyja, “is rarely wrong. My little Hugrakkr here prefers the sensual side of things. I’m afraid, however, that we are in a time that values ferocity over sensuality.”
Sif took a sip of mead. It burned sweetly. “You mean the wolf outside. What is it? It seemed less animal, and more…something else.” Illvirki shifted in her lap, and Sif stroked the cat’s back to settle her down.
“Ah yes, the wolf,” said Freyja, her lips twisting as if she had tasted something foul. “Think of the wolf as a symbol. Your world, the world of Midgard, is turning. New factors are coming into play. These events are reflected here, in my hall of Folkvangr.”
A sense of dread washed over Sif. “What events? I have heard nothing, save the comings and the goings of the everyday.”
“And what do you imagine that you can hear and see?” asked Freyja archly. “You have yet to come into your power.”
Sif blushed and looked down for a moment before lifting her head and gazing directly at the goddess. “You shame me, and perhaps rightly so, but you also brought me here for a reason. Perhaps we should speak of that?”
Freyja’s eyes flashed then she smiled. “Never question Illvirki’s judgement. You are a fierce Sister. And it is of Sisters that we must speak; my beloved Sisters of the Ironwood face danger once again.”
“From where?” Sif burst out. “The Burners were crushed, their threads unwoven, in the days of my parents.”
Freyja nodded. “Your parents and their companions did me great service. The Burners are indeed a spent force, at least for now. But the same malice that drove the Burners, the evil that gave them power, is once again taking a hand in the affairs of Midgard. Terrible things will happen if this evil goes unchecked.”
Sif feared Freyja’s words, but beneath the fear was a thrill of excitement. For her whole life, she had heard of the deeds of her parents, as well as the exploits of her uncle Brynn and her aunt Kasia. She had always imagined herself in their position and had wondered how she would fare in the face of such terrible danger. Such a notion did not make Sif feel afraid. Rather, she felt invigorated.
“Tell me of this evil, and tell me what I must do,” said Sif.
