Raising the silver chalice toward the twilit sky, thegoðicontinued his reverent incantation and poured some of the golden mead into the fire. As it sizzled and snapped, the sweet scent of honey wafted into the wind with the aroma of myrrh. “Thor, God of Thunder, we offer golden mead. Grant yourstrength and vigor to Sigurd and lead him to victory in battle.” The priest lifted the chalice to Sigurd’s parched lips.
Pulse pounding, Sigurd drank. As he shared the mead offering with the Norse god, Thor’s blessing coursed through him with the thunderous might ofMjöllnir.
Thegoðiset the chalice down upon the flat stone and lifted the silver bowl toward the crimson-streaked sky. The lapis stones threaded with gold sparkled with blue fire as the melodic chant floated over the heathered moor and across the coppery fjord. Bowing his antler-adorned head, the pagan priest poured some of the sacrificial blood of the boar, consumed at the feast, into the herb-laced flames. “Odin, accept this sacred blood and grant your wisdom and guidance to Sigurd Sea Wolf as he sailsÚlfdrekito face his fate.”
Dipping a sacred ash twig into the silver bowl, thegoðianointed Sigurd’s brow with sacrificial blood, bestowing the divine blessing of theAllfather.
The chalk-painted priest retrieved the silver chalice of mead from the hearthstone and turned to address Sigurd and the Sea Wolves. In the molten gold of the sun and the copper flames of the fire, the eyes in the fierce wolfskins atop their human heads glimmered with otherworldly light. “TheSjórúlfarwill follow me down to the beach for the blessing of theWolfdragonship.”
Clutching both the silver bowl with sacrificial blood and the sacred chalice with golden mead, thegoðiled Sigurd and the Sea Wolves from the heathered moor at the top of the cliff down the stone stairs carved into the sheer rock face of the crag.
On the beach below, while the chalk-painted priest chanted an invocation, Kveld—the Nightwolf and spiritualvitkiof theSjórúlfar— carved a trio of runes into the sand, murmuring an incantation of his own. Black wolfskin cloak over his long black hair, black beard braided with bones and beads, the dark Nightwolf stood in stark contrast to theopalescentgoði.
Sigurd recognized the trinity of runes in the sand from Kveld’s intense lessons.
Algiz,the elk, for Njörðr’s protection on the seas.
Ansuz,the god-rune of Odin, for divine wisdom and guidance.
AndThurisaz,Thor’s thorn rune, togrant him the Thunder God’s strength while binding Sigurd to the ship, the gods, and the sea.
As King Álfr, Queen Hjördis, and the noble guests from the feast watched in wonder from above, thegoði’shaunting voice floated on the briny breeze. “Sigurd Sea Wolf, hand me yourÚlfhjartadagger.”
Mouth dry, limbs shaking, Sigurd unsheathed the wolf blade from the belt at his waist and handed it to the moon-faced priest.
With ritual precision to accompany his melodic, rhythmic chant, the chalk-facedgoðimeticulously sliced Sigurd’s palm, letting three drops of blood fall into the sacred triad of runes carved into the soft sand. Next, he poured three droplets of mead into the same runes, followed by three drops of sacrificial blood from the silver bowl, all the while chanting his incantation.
“Three drops of blood… into the triad of runes… for a trinity of gods. With this sacred number nine, I bind Sigurd Sea Wolf toÚlfdreki.”
Dipping the ash twig first into the chalice of mead, then into the silver bowl, and finally touching it to Sigurd’s bloodied palm, thegoðistrode across the pebbled shore and anointed the dragon prow, murmuring the binding spell. When he had finished, he poured the remainder of the sacrificial blood and mead into the sea, along with a lump of myrrh.
“With blood, mead, and myrrh, I bind Sigurd toÚlfdreki, the gods, and the sea.”
Gold and crimson like the glorious sky, the blood, myrrh, and mead were swallowed by the swirling waves, as if godsaccepted the trio of sacred offerings and bestowed their divine blessing.
Sigurd drew a shuddering breath, adrenaline surging through his veins as he waded out into the icy fjord. Above the row of painted shields, he gripped the sturdy gunwale and hoisted himself onto the deck ofÚlfdreki. The fierce wolf head on the sail snapped in the blustery wind, while the deep blue dragon prow—with snarling wolves, ridged spine, and spiked wings—roared against the copper glow of the gloaming.
TheSjórúlfarfollowed close behind, their fierce eyes reflecting the molten gold of the setting sun and the shimmer on the rippled fjord. Forming a circle around Sigurd aboard his newdrakkar, they lifted lupine faces to the twilit sky and howled their Sea Wolf blessing.
Hackles rising on the nape of his neck as the wild, primal call rippled through him, Sigurd raised his raw voice to the wind and howled with hisSjórúlfarpack.
The wolf brothers thumped his shoulders and grasped his forearms to acknowledge King Álfr’s generous gift, striding across the deck to admire theWolfdragonship.
Pride surged as Sigurd’s fingers brushed the blue-grey fur of hisBlárúlfrcloak, the silver torcÚlfhringrupon his right arm, and the wolf head hilt of theÚlfblódrsword sheathed at his hip. Armed with magnificent wolf weapons and a warship, he was eager to avenge hisfaðir’sheinous death.
In a low, reverent voice, he spoke to his mentor Hródvarr and the Night Wolf Kveld who stood at his side. “The gods have bound me to this ship. WithÚlfdreki,I shall sail to Sweden and avenge myfaðirSigmund’s death by slaying the traitor, King Lyngvi of Götaland.”
Hródvarr’s response rumbled over the creaking timbers. “Lust for vengeance is not enough, Sigurd Sea Wolf. One ship is a mighty gift, but a singledrakkarcannot challenge a king.Reputation must be earned through victory and valor, allies won with gold and glory. You would do well to temper wrath with patience.”
Kveld’s feral eyes gleamed beneath the fierce lupine head of his black wolfskin cloak. “The runes bind you to the gods, but even they favor cunning as much as strength. Let the storm of your vengeance build, and strike when the tides are in your favor.”
Sigurd nodded, gripping the rail as the wailing wind tore through his hair and cloak. The fiery light of the setting sun glinted off the silver inlays of the dragon prow and the snarling wolves painted on shields along the gunwales.
Bound by the gods, theSjórúlfar,and the ship itself, Sigurd’swyrdwas tightly interwoven by the Norns.
He gazed at the golden sun low on the horizon, deeply inhaling the salty scent of the sea.
He would heed his mentors’ sage advice and bide his time before seeking vengeance.
