All the women nod, even Eidunn. The older ladies carry a knowing smile—they have heard this tale. But to my surprise, the younger girls watch me with eager eyes. A couple of mouths hang open. I had expected everyone to have heard this.
“He worked his entire life. Honest work. No plundering, like greedy men. No stealing, like me.”
Resounding laughter. I smile myself. After my humiliation earlier, what difference does a little self-irony make?
“He earned his own land. Bought it. Paid for it with the sweat of his brow. It was his home. By right. He was known to help his neighbor. But another—Angantyr his name was—laid claim to the land. Forcing Ottar into a wager. Three days later they would meet again to lay out their lineage—their right.”
I smile at the ladies.
“Here’s where it gets exciting. Ottar laid offerings at the altar. It was red with the blood of his gifts. This we have all done, and Freya answers. But to Ottar, who had lived a life of giving, not taking, she appeared in the flesh. In all her shining glory she stood before the mortal man. He fell to his knees, praising her wisdom and beauty.”
I pause again, giving them time to picture Freya’s timeless form. Her eternal radiance personified. For a second I envy Ottar, so honored as to witness the goddess.
“Don’t stop!” says a girl, making me laugh.
“Freya wanted to help her most loyal follower. A man who worshiped the goddesses, who saw the beauty of feminine energy. The world’s feminine nature. Freya turned him to a golden boar, and jumped on him. Riding him.”
The ladies release a raunchy laugh, giving each other sly looks. Their laughter ripples through me. Raw, authentic, shameless.
“Lucky man,” says one.
“Freya knows how to please herself,” says another, barely able to speak.
“The lucky man.” I raise my voice to recapture their attention. “Is ridden to the cave of a Volva, Hyndla. Freya wakes Hyndla from her sleep, demanding the wise-woman recite Ottar’s lineage. Hyndla, however, accuses Freya of bringing her lover to a ritual reserved for women. Freya points at the boar, saying ‘Do you really think I would make a hairy pig my lover?’”
The girls burst into giggles, failing to control themselves. Eidunn is red, snickering with the other ladies. Never have I seen her so happy. I grin—it had been my intention to make them laugh. I notice lighthearted humor captures the girls, like sorcery.
“As we know, a Volva gets her power from Odin, but also equally from Freya. Hyndla has no choice. She must do as Freya demands. She recites the names of Ottar’s ancestors, generation by generation, until she arrives at Freya’s own brother, Freyr. Ottar was truly a man of great stock, a living descendant of the Vanir. His blood was a mix of Vanir, Jotnar, and human.”
The bouts of giggles have died down—all eyes are on me. They are in my hand. Heat blooms in my forehead. This ispower. Given freely, not taken. Is this some form of magic? Do ancient tales hold powers we don’t understand? They are with me, each holding their own image of my words. All of them, mine.
A man’s face bursts into our space. I jolt, the fragile warmth between us chilled in an instant. It’s an old thrall with a rugged mustache pushing aside the cover we had raised.
“Care for some company, ladies?” he says drunkenly.
Ausveig stands before I can react, pushing his face with an open palm.
“Out, you troll!” she shouts as she forces him to retreat. The girls cheer Ausveig’s protection of our private space. They turn back to me.
“Keep going,” says Eidunn, surprising me. Her voice, warm for once, sends tingles down my spine. Such a reserved woman, and yet she is engaged, eager to hear the end.
“Freya demands a memory-beer from the Volva, who has to comply. This is so he can remember every name the Volva has recited. Freya rides Ottar to Asgard, the famed home of the gods, seat of the Aesir, where he gets to spend a day in their presence. One of the few ever to receive such an honor. When he returns home, he drinks the beer, tells Angantyr of his lineage, and gains rightful claim to his land. The land he has earned.”
As the ending leaves my lips, a hush settles. The girls breathe as one. For a moment, I feel threaded into something greater than myself. Words roll off my tongue. They are my own, yet I did not think of them.
“Truly, Freya is loving. Freya is kind. Freya is the one we hope to imitate.”
CHAPTER 13
“Day three, how are you doing so far?”
Vidar stretches in the morning sun, showing off. Every muscle on display, like he’s carved from stone. Men don’t get much more impressive. A prime example. Heat pricks along my neck at his display. The man belongs in Asgard.
“Oh,” I say, leaning on the table and casually looking him up and down, “all things considered, I’m fine.”
It’s hard to move my eyes away. Willpower alone allows me to turn and focus on my task. Cutting vegetables. Ausveig and I decided to prepare the evening’s soup outside, considering the beautiful weather. The rhythm of our chopping helps me stay focused. We have a basket of turnips and another full of purple carrots. The sleeves on my linen shirt are rolled up, allowing a sweet wind to sweep over my forearms.
“Last night must have been tough,” says Vidar. “You did very well.”
