I turn to him—he shakes before tying his pants again. Must be a blessing to be a man. A simple life. A simple life for simpletons.
“Oh, there it is,” he says. “Well done, Kilda, eyes like a falcon.”
I don’t know whether he’s serious or teasing. The smoke would be easy to see for a blind man. But I don’t care whatthe skald thinks. Grabbing my gear, I walk eagerly toward the Volva’s camp.
Two lavvus are pitched.One larger tent, and another smaller one a stone’s throw away. A fire burns in a firepit by the larger one. Finally, some rest. We have arrived. Victory.
A tall and slender woman steps out of the bigger lavvu, wearing a blue robe, a dark braid lying on her chest. I’m surprised to see she has nothing on underneath. Her nipples and hips show through the thin fabric, making me toss a glance at Ari to see if he also noticed. She can’t be more than ten years older than me, a few years older than Ari.
His head is bowed in reverence, as one should before a woman connected to the will of the gods. I follow his example, averting my eyes from her expression of blatant female sensuality.
“You arrive,” she says in a dark tone. “At last. I thought you had been pulled to the depths by dwarves.”
“Forgive us,” says Ari. He is surprisingly humble. None of the intolerable attitude he usually points in my direction.
“Don’t worry,” she replies. “A rolling stone can only land where it’s meant to.”
“My lady,” I start. “I would like to?—”
“Elof!” shouts the Volva into her tent. “Elof! Come out.”
The Volva smiles as she looks me up and down. Her eyes judge every inch of my body, piercing my skin. A sharp gaze that peers into what I carry within. She is surreal. The air around her vibrates, I can feel it—waves of energy washing over me. Groa never exuded power in this manner.
“You must be Kilda, then,” she says.
“Yes… yes. I am Kilda.”
“Well spoken, this one,” she says as she winks at the skald. “And you are Ari.”
“Yes, my lady of the staff,” he replies.
“My staff is inside, just call me Ylvin for now.”
The Volva raises her nose and sniffs the air, like a wolf that has caught a scent. She breathes deep, releasing a sigh. Her eyes land on Ari as she grins. What a strange woman.
“Ylvin,” I say. “I am ready to?—”
“Elof!” she shouts again. “Come out, by Odin’s beard.”
A grunt comes from inside as Elof prepares himself to join us. Ylvin turns her eyes to me again. They shine like a lake in the summer sun, an unusually bright blue that hints at the powers coursing through her body.
“Kil-da,” she says slowly. “Meaning the source?”
I nod, proud that she recognizes my mother’s choice of name.
“I like it,” she says. “But leather pants? That’s an interesting choice.”
“They are easier to?—”
I’m interrupted by Elof finally stepping out. He is a full head shorter than Ylvin, with muscles bulging in an almost unnatural fashion. Squinting, he stretches, like he had been sleeping, or drinking perhaps. Elof is also wearing leather pants, hanging low enough to expose his pubic hair. Very permissive.
Ylvin must have noticed me staring at his crotch, because she slaps the stocky man on the chest—covered in a pattern of red and black paint.
“Pull up your pants, by the gods. We barely know these people yet.”
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles as he tightens the strings around his waist.
“Forgive my husband,” says Ylvin. “We had a late night.”
